Carry on up the Danube!

"What do you want to do for your 90th birthday, mum?" was the question I asked the Intrepid Granny back in the summer. The answer I was not expecting was "I don't want to be in the UK - the rest is up to you." 

So that was the brief and given that the Intrepid Granny's birthday falls two weeks before Christmas with all the nailed-down, inked-in Christmas events already in place, there was only a relatively small window in which to fit a proper jolly. We enlisted two companions: my friend Mrs Broccoli and her mum, the Mighty Nin, not least because the Intrepid Granny and the Mighty Nin enjoy playing bridge and Mrs Broccoli and I can get up to all sorts of mischief together. And our holiday choice? A river cruise up the Danube from Vienna to Nuremberg. 

So we set off at stupid o'clock in the morning on the eve of the Intrepid Granny's birthday to fly from Leeds Bradford to Amsterdam. Before we have even left the ground the captain informs us that the flight will be delayed due to high winds at Amsterdam so an hour and forty five minutes to transfer suddenly turns into a thirty five minute dash across the full length of Schiphol Airport which we manage - just - but unfortunately our luggage doesn't. 

So by the time we and half a dozen other people have reported our luggage missing at Vienna Airport, our chauffeur has given us up for lost and we have to get a taxi to the ship. Ok, we know the ship is on the Danube but without the berth number we could have been up and down the quay for hours. Luckily we find the ship, the AmaSonata and are quickly reimbursed for our taxi and making the most of our gin and tonics hoping our luggage will arrive ...soon. 

By supper time, we are still in the clothes we'd put on at 2.00am and have been provided with an emergency pack each. This consists of a large white t-shirt, a pair of tights and a gigantic pair of white knickers (no exaggeration, they would have fitted Giant Haystacks!).  Although we are tempted to don the lot (probably over our clothes) immediately, we are eating at the haute cuisine Chef's Table Restaurant on our first night so hmmm ...perhaps not appropriate. Part way through dinner, our cruise manager comes with the glad tidings that our luggage has arrived - hurray! 

Our fellow passengers are largely American with a few Puerto Ricans, Filipinos and Chinese. Surprisingly it turns out we are the only Brits. No worries, we can punch above our weight after all. 

After the delicious haute cuisine at the Chef's Table Restaurant on our first night we are up with the lark and happy to be wearing our own clothes on the 90th birthday morning. Mrs Broccoli and I start the day with a stretching/Pilates class with the very bendy Tiago. A gang of 12 start the class on the first morning and as I start to write (day 6) we're down to seven (by the end of the cruise it's just Mrs Brocolli and me!) but our charming instructor keeps us on our toes - literally! - and I suspect I may be a fraction bendier by the end of the holiday. In the meantime, the resulting aches are moving round my body on a daily basis from neck and shoulders to knees but all in a good cause. And I can definitely eat more with a clear conscience! 

So if you're going to have a 90th birthday, a ship moored on the Danube in Vienna seems like a pretty good place to start. "I don't want a fuss..." Too late... I've been a busy elf and have got surprises and stuff planned all day, starting with cards and presents at the breakfast table and most of the waiting staff wishing and kissing my mother happy birthday. Then it's out into a chilly but beautiful Vienna for our guided tour, followed cake and hot chocolate. Now I can't resist a carriage ride in a stunning city, so off we go clopping around the cobbled streets in style. 

Continuing the equine theme, we have organised a tour of the Spanish Riding School and the Lipizzaner stallions are so beautiful though it is forbidden to either photograph or touch them. Then it's back to the ship to discover champagne and flowers from Spear Travels - thank you Peter and Libby - for mum's birthday. Down in the dining room there's a good deal more kissing and congratulations from fellow guests followed by cake and singing. Now the average nonagenarian might have thrown in the towel after dinner but not the Intrepid Granny. Upstairs in the lounge there's music and dancing and more partying. So that's a birthday well and truly done. Massive thanks to Nick and the team on the AmaSonata for making it one to remember. 

We sail through the night with quite a few stops and starts which become familiar on our night time sailings because there are 26 locks on this trip and it turns out to be quite difficult to sleep through a lock! Up bright and early for more bending and stretching with Tiago (more muscles are making their presence felt) and today's first destination is Durnstein. 

Because we walked miles yesterday, we take the easy train ride up to the village for a wander around the shops and cobbled streets to the winery. Our wine tasting is led by the polished and knowledgeable Steve who hailed from Burton on Trent - of course!  

In the afternoon we sail to Melk where the skyline is dominated by the spectacular baroque yellow abbey which looks down on the town and the Danube below. We berth here, explore the abbey and spend the evening listening to a stunning string trio. 

One of the cities I particularly want to visit is Salzburg. Not on the Danube but only a coach ride away and memories of visiting there when I was fifteen or sixteen are still vivid. On the way to Salzburg we stop at a tiny village where the wedding in The Sound of Music was filmed. Walking through the crisp snow to the church, it feels absolutely and completely Austrian and utterly magical. 

Back on the bus and it's a short hop to Salzburg and the snow is still falling. Our guide takes us from the bus and across the bridge of locks to the spectacular and charming old town. Tiny narrow streets beautifully decorated await us and as we walk we can hum songs to ourselves  from Mozart or The Sound Of Music depending on cultural preferences. I'm a bit low brow actually. 

The Mighty Nin has a finely tuned radar for finding fabulous lunch and coffee places and soup and gluhwein is generally the order of the day. Salzburg is a long day but what a beautiful place - not as elegant as Vienna but it will continue to hold a place in all our hearts. 

Back on the ship, we catch up with our new friends, Patrick and Marlis and Steve and Laura. They kindly take us under their wing and Patrick and Steve play their chivalrous roles looking after six ladies to perfection. We can only manage a glass of wine or two after dinner - it turns out that having a jolly good time is exhausting! 

We sail in the night to Passau which turns out to be a beautiful city where three  rivers meet and our guide is an entertaining student from one of the universities. Passau was badly damaged by floods in 2013 and up to that point relations between students and the resident population had been strained but the students put their shoulders to the wheel and helped the locals clean up the city and now relations are much improved. After the guided tour we find yet another fantastic coffee and cake shop which turned out to be a finalist in the Deutschland Coffee shop Awards which just proves what an excellent nose Nin has for these things. 

We sail in the afternoon and so we get our heads down to learning to play bridge - lesson 1. Various crew members look in to watch the tutorial and we discover our barman, Peter, is the ship's poker champion so we definitely won't be inviting him to play! 

We pause proceedings to enjoy an invitation to the wheelhouse where the captain, Marcel, rules the waves and his bluff sense of humour belies a steely will and his staff certainly jump to his orders. Luckily for us, he has been waiting none too patiently for the lock ahead to clear and whilst we are there, the lights change and he shoehorns the ship into the lock and we watch the gradually-released water raise the ship. Similar to parking a 4x4 in a very small car parking space only rather harder - don't try this at home! Then it's back to the other sort of bridge...

Our evening entertainment is Christmas carols from the crew which turns out to be a lot more entertaining than the Von Trapp family singers of a few nights before. The AmaSonata choir are surprisingly polished and sing in English which is impressive when you know that they are largely from Romania, Bulgaria, Slovenia and, in the case of our very bendy fitness instructor, Portugal. "I have to learn Red Rudolph Reindeer," he says. They obviously don't have that one in Portuguese! To give you some idea of the bendiness of Tiago, imagine the Chinese acrobats in Oceans 11! 

An additional attraction is the arrival of Santa Claus. There are only a couple of small children but once they've sat on his knee, the nonagenarian is at it again. Shameless use of age privileges, in my book! However she is then desperate- no exaggeration- to know who is playing Santa. Her methodology for discovering is to give every crew member a cuddle to find one who fits the mould! 

We wake up in Regensburg, arriving at about 5.00am and unexpectedly this turns out to be our last port of call... But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Regensburg is beautiful, Roman, and incredibly cold. Our guide, Melanie, is funny and informative but spends too much time making us wait on icy street corners in sub-zero conditions while she tells us its fascinating history. The Intrepid Granny has wisely bailed on this morning's tour and she's waiting smugly and warmly on the ship when we get back. It's too cold to contemplate going out again but tonight 's entertainment more than makes up for it.

During the day we receive an invitation. Would we like to dine at the Captain's table? Firstly, what Captain's table? There hasn't been one all trip. Second, the Intrepid Granny and I can't accept invitations which don't include our companions but they have also received one - hurray! We enjoy the Captain's cocktail party with our American pals and applaud the tremendous staff of the ship who have looked after us so well. Then we four are asked to wait behind in the library for drinks - just us - with the Captain, Marcel and Nick, the cruise manager. Everyone else has gone down to dinner and when the restaurant maitre d' calls us down to the restaurant, everyone else is already in their seats. On the arm of the Captain walking through the restaurant packed with guests, I think the Intrepid Granny is going to burst with excitement. 

Yes, we are the only guests having the Captain's table that week and yes, it is the Intrepid Granny's fame and the small matter of having a ninetieth on board that has clinched the deal. Marcel and Nick are charming companions and we are made to feel very special. 

The main news of the night, however, is that the ship will sail no further upstream. Although we could easily get to Nuremberg on the Danube, because the river levels are dropping so rapidly, the ship would not make it back down and this cruise has two more weeks to run. Our terrific cruise manager explains the situation and puts alternative plans in place. Those who want to can travel by bus to Nuremberg the following day and have an all-day tour, whilst those of us who would like more time in beautiful Regensburg can stay on the boat. We opt for the latter. 

So our unplanned day starts with more bendy bits with Tiago and while the Intrepid Granny is having her hair done, Mrs Broccoli and I do a power walk with Tiago. Then, grannies gathered, we head out into the chilly air for an afternoon walk. Regensburg is charming and we can remember enough of the previous day's tour to give the Intrepid Granny an overview of the city's  charms. Oh, and there may have been gluhwein... and cake! 

It's our last evening with our new chums from the States and we have a lovely evening, dining together and then having one or two ... or more... drinks in the lounge. Oh and the grannies did a spontaneous pitch - or rather, galley - invasion as they were desperate to see behind the scenes in the kitchen. And then, the grannies are up on the dance floor again and they are having a ball! 

All too soon it's our final morning and we must say goodbye to our new friends and with our bags packed and ready to go by 8.15am we set off by coach to Nuremberg. We say farewell to Nick who has been a magnificent cruise manager and leave our bags at the Meridien before heading into the centre of Nuremberg and its famous Christmas markets. The city is busting with Christmas shoppers and a strong police presence as there has been a stabbing the night before. But when we can't find a cafe for lunch/gluhwein, the Intrepid Granny decides to approach a policeman. Of course, as luck would have it, the policeman also works for the tourist board and is more than happy to take us along the busy streets to a restaurant slightly off the beaten track. We would never have found it on our own. More gluhwein (because we are now connoisseurs) and the atmosphere is amazing with every table in this huge restaurant absolutely packed. 

We make our way back to the Meridien and our driver arrives to take us to Nuremberg Airport for our 8.25pm flight which will get us back into Leeds just before 10.00pm via Amsterdam. We are met by the AmaWaterways rep who stays for a brief chat and then we wait for our gate to open.... except Amsterdam is fog-bound and suddenly we are delayed by 24 hours. The KLM staff "I'm good but I'm not God" gets us on the same flight 24 hours later and we are booked into the airport Movenpick Hotel. So now we need a plan for an extra day...

Because we had opted for an extra day in Regensburg rather than come to Nuremberg on the coach, we take the opportunity to visit the Nuremberg Courthouse, scene of the War Trials in 1945 and 1946. The exhibition is absolutely fascinating and doing this as two generations - our mothers who lived through the Second World War and ourselves who have studied this period at school - makes for a extraordinary range of perspectives. We see history through different eyes. And the Mighty Nin's father was here during the Trials working as an investigator so we are even more moved by the history as it unfolds through pictures, newsreels and text. The disappointment of not being able to fly home on time is quickly erased.

Fabulous Turkish pastries in a little cafe nearby give us time to reflect on what we have seen and we decide to visit Nuremberg Imperial Castle before we make our way back to the airport. The steep cobbled streets make it hard walking for the grannies but the views from the top are stunning. 

Back at the airport with our bags, we discover that although we have a boarding pass each covering both flights - Nuremberg to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Leeds Bradford - these are void and we now only have the flight to Amsterdam and we are on standby from there to Leeds. My cage is seriously rattled and it doesn't seem to matter who we talk to at Nuremberg, no one will guarantee our seats for our last leg. Throughout the flight to Amsterdam, I feel sick with anxiety that we won't get our mothers home. 

Thankfully, the KLM desk at Schiphol is super-efficient and we have seats to Leeds. Phew! 

A brilliant trip, full of fun and comedy. The AmaWaterways team on the AmaSonata gave us a truly extraordinary week and one which the four of us will never forget. Very highly recommended. 

Puppy Dog Tales

Originally I had planned to call this blog "And they call it puppy love" in a kind of homage to Donny Osmond (actually I was never a fan - too cool for school, me!) but six weeks in and though we love the puppy to bits, the new title is definitely more appropriate.

So when you've got daughter and son-in-law and their new baby living with you, who, in their right mind, would add a puppy to the mix? Well, me, obviously. Because this is the first time in thirty years that there has been no resident dog and a house is not a home without a ... pooch. After Bobbie's unexpected demise in May, we soldier on with no welcoming wag at the door and no late-night searches round the garden to find her because she was deaf and couldn't hear us calling, until we go on holiday in June. Things don't feel right.

I am a great believer that sometimes important things (or in this case, a dog) come to you rather than you going to look for them and before we go away leaving very pregnant daughter number 1 in residence, I have a text from a friend saying that someone in the village has puppies and to get myself round there to look. So we go to look at these cockerpoo puppies, slightly larger than gerbils and only days old. A litter of six in assorted colours. We'll think about it.

Back from holiday with scarcely a breath to spare, number 1 goes into labour and then comes the joyous arrival of baby Finn. Life-changing and truly one of the great events of our lives. And brilliantly and wonderfully, I get to hold my grandson every day so I am the luckiest granny on the planet! And now he smiles and wiggles his eyebrows and I am allowed to be the third most important person in his world. Top stuff!

Meanwhile the puppies are growing and we return twice more to look before choosing the smallest one - a black bitch with a splash of white on her face, paws and tip of her tail. I send a whatsapp to the children suggesting three names. No one replies. Why? Because they don't like any of my choices apparently. So after finally deciding against naming her after the Newcastle Falcons winger/RFU Player of the Year*, she is named Darcy because, when she is not digging holes in the lawn, she has four perfect white ballet shoes.

I have, of course, forgotten how much time it takes to train a puppy and this is the first time we have had a puppy on her own rather than having an older dog and a puppy together. In the past, Molly (the mongrel with mental health issues) learnt from Henry (English springer spaniel and father of the legendary Burton Leonard Bertie and he arrived as an adult dog from emigrating friends) and Bobbie (last dog, cocker spaniel of dazzling pedigree and very small brain) learnt from Molly. The consequence of all of this is that each dog picked up the good and bad traits of the previous one. All three were escapologists in their youth, none would every bring back a ball, pheasant, trainer, sock etc and all the above would be buried - usually in the herb garden. Each autumn I would find a selection of items as I cleared the garden for the winter but the socks were generally unwearable by then.

But Darcy has only me to learn from and the pressure is significant. So we are going to puppy school where we join Ella, the frightfully well-behaved and, according to her owner, entirely-motivated-by-food labrador and Suzie, the equally well-behaved corgi. They sit, Darcy socialises. After two sessions, I am nearly ready to throw in the towel - except that Darcy would probably bury it in the herb garden if I showed her how. So we are persevering and in week three, we may... have been top of the class.

But keeping the stuff we are learning and doing as homework inside that little brain is challenging. And how to explain to her that whilst her toilet skills are nearly sublime on dry days, when it's raining she still has to perform outside rather than going outside for ten minutes and then weeing on the conservatory floor. Of course, the whole bodily function thing is front and centre in a house where Finn regularly performs either a poo-nami or a poo-nado, encompassing nappy and complete outfit and calling for major wardrobe changes.

But Darcy may well be the most intelligent of our pack to date. After being given a big telling off after chewing the Sky cable which is bracketed to the skirting board, she disappears to her puppy palace (crate - thank you, Fiona!) in the kitchen, empties it of chew toys which she deposits by the Sky cable in a pile before going back to chewing the one thing she isn't allowed to chew.

Her - and therefore my - achilles heel are the cattle grids. You can't get far from here without crossing two and Bobbie would never actually cross one, involving finding ways round or sitting until someone lifted her over. So we need to learn to get Darcy's dainty ballerina paws across these every day without losing patience and lifting her over. Many, many treats are positioned on each bar to encourage her over. Cattle grids are taking a long time to negotiate but we are getting there.

But most importantly, my beloved is besotted with the new dog (he would have no truck with the last two dogs) so this is progress indeed and despite holes in the lawn and one chewed dummy - a very bad moment as it was close to Finn's bedtime - we are doing well. And sometimes... she even comes when she calls. A work in progress indeed.

Postscript: We had some very sad news this week with the unexpected passing of my oldest friend in Yorkshire, Bob Clayton. I met him on my very first day at the advertising agency I joined aged 20 and we have been friends ever since. He was top godfather to number 2 daughter and our thoughts are very much with Liz, Peter and Caroline and their families. He will be greatly missed.

*Vereniki Goneva - she would have been Niki.

Going Large at the Fringe!

We weren't going to go to the Edinburgh Festival this year. Too much other stuff going on... holidays, weddings and, most importantly, a new grandchild. Then number 4 made good on her birthday present to her father of two tickets to the Gin Experience just off Princes Street and suddenly we're booking all kinds of stuff around what is going to be a whole weekend in Auld Reekie.

Now I know some people really go for it at the Festival/Fringe, packing in so many events that they finish up running out of performances ten minutes before the end to go on to the next big thing. I'm not up for that and since my beloved - though on a major and thus far very successful diet - needs time to eat and relax, I am mindful of how much we can pack into two days and two nights. Comfortably. I do my homework, check out what's rated by the critics, try to find the 'hot' tickets and look for old favourites from previous years.

So we arrive at Waverley station on Saturday lunchtime with an hour and a half to walk to our hotel, pick up our tickets from the ticket office and make our way to the first venue in time for an a cappella concert by the Alternotives. Our base is to be the Royal Scots Club which is centrally located and brings back happy memories of the late great Uncle Bill. Uncle Bill was a member of this fine establishment and on the occasion of number 1's graduation brought us here for lunch to celebrate. We can do this... so a brisk 20 minute walk each way in the sunshine, we manage all those things and arrive in plenty of time for the Alternotives who absolutely blow us away with their brilliant singing. Definitely a great start! https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/alternotive-a-cappella

It's a beautiful day in Edinburgh and so the perfect opportunity to climb aboard the Festival Wheel in Princes Street Gardens. Stunning views right across the city, to Arthur's Seat and out to sea. Then we make our way to George Square where we sample some delicious street food before we go to our next Fringe event 'Six' in the great purple auditorium which is the Udderbelly. Six would be my stand-out pick of the Fringe events we attended and is making its way to London next - definitely worth seeing. https://www.sixthemusical.com

Next stop is our 'bucket list pick', the Edinburgh Tattoo, kindly sponsored by the intrepid granny. This takes place in the courtyard in front of Edinburgh Castle at the top of the Royal Mile. Bustling our way through tourists, street theatre (where else would you see a man in pink underpants on top of a ladder juggling daggers?) and touts, we join the huge queue to the bag-check and into the vast arena. We have amazing seats (courtesy of the intrepid granny) and as well as the wonderful pipes and drums, there's a fab Swiss Top Secret Drum Corps and dancers galore, with beautiful images projected on the castle walls. The finale, with all the cast on stage, is the piper on the castle walls piping into the silence before the fireworks erupt around us, blazing across the night sky. https://www.edintattoo.co.uk

We wake up on Sunday morning to a drizzly dank day outside but breakfast in this proper old club is the perfect belly-buster and will keep us going till... coffee time?! The Scottish National Portrait Gallery is a mere couple of streets away and my beloved is keen to see the amazing portraits so we get our fix of the heroes (and not so much) of Scotland from Mary Queen of Scots and Lord Darnley to Andy and Jamie Murray. https://www.nationalgalleries.org/visit/scottish-national-portrait-gallery

The weather outside is grim but we make our way across the city centre to our first show of the day which is Michael Morpurgo's Private Peaceful, an incredibly moving one-man play set in the First World War. Here's where I seriously take issue with folks who try to do too much and dash out of one show ten minutes before the end (at a very emotional moment), disturbing the audience in order to get in the queue for whatever they've booked next. Michael Morpurgo's vivid portrayal of the unimaginable terrors of this period of history strikes - as in War Horse - with a deep and thought-provoking resonance. http://www.underbellyedinburgh.co.uk/whats-on/private-peaceful-by-michael-morpurgo?updated=1531872000#calendar-08-2018

To avoid the unrelenting drizzle/sea fret, we dive into a Vietnamese restaurant for a bowl of noodles and spicy meat (beef him, duck me) and then, after a brief respite, we head out to join the big queue of the late afternoon which is for Maureen Lipman. A glance down the line reveals that we are, unusually for the Fringe, at the younger end of the audience range. As in all queues across the weekend, we tend to chat, asking folks what they've been to see, what was good and so on. Our queue-buddies reel off a list of television personalities who are chancing their arm at the Fringe this year, mostly at the older end of the spectrum. Now I like Maureen Lipman - wonderful impressions of  Joyce Grenfell, fabulous monologues and razor-sharp wit - but this is not what we get. Disappointingly this is a rambling ragbag of a show with so much padding that there's more 'pad' than 'bag'. Shame. https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2018/aug/06/maureen-lipman-is-up-for-it-review-big-personalities-old-jokes-and-smooth-music

Get dry, warm up and off to queue again, this time for Andrew Maxwell who made number 4 and me laugh so much at last year's Fringe, that I was in pain. I don't tend to find lots of use of the f-word funny but his sharp, well-observed humour (splattered with the aforementioned f...) is just brilliant. If I was going to be picky, yes, I thought last year he was funnier but it was a very exhaustingly laughter-filled hour - and we were definitely not the youngest in the audience. I'm a fan. https://www.comedy.co.uk/fringe/2018/andrew_maxwell/

Our last morning and the sea fret is so bad that you can't see the Castle from Princes Street. And my beloved needs to work so I'm off with the brolly to the Edinburgh Book Festival in Charlotte Square. https://www.edbookfest.co.uk This is an absolute joy for someone who can happily spend hours browsing in book shops. I've made the mistake in Edinburgh before of buying loads of books to bring home as presents (and for personal use) and then discovered that books are heavy travelling companions. But whilst there is a huge marquee full of great books for adults to browse, there is just as big a marquee for children's books. I have been building up a library of books for my grandson (now aged four weeks) comprising the books I loved to read with my own children - Mog and Bunny, Five Minutes Peace, Winnie the Pooh, Whatever Next, The Very Hungry Caterpillar and so on with additions of dinosaur titles and the Gruffalo. Before the grandson arrived, I would gather up my selection of children's titles in local bookshops, head to the counter and whilst zapping my credit card manage to burst into tears explaining why I was buying these books. "It's for my...future grandchild...blub, blub, blub". This must have been very alarming for the shop assistant, I realise. But I've trained myself now and perhaps because he's actually here, I am slightly (but only slightly) less emotional.

My beloved finally emerges from his work to join me in time for the Gin Experience https://www.edinburghgin.com/our-gins and it's brilliant. Callum, our guide, explains the history of gin - Mother's Ruin - and takes us into the tiny distillery to see the stuff being made. Then our group of about 10 all pack into a cellar and taste Seaside Gin, Cannonball Gin (too strong for me) and a host of liqueurs including Elderflower - delicious - and Raspberry - dare I say it, not quite as good as my homemade but possibly less alcoholic! Feeling a bit woozy by this time, we walk briskly back to the hotel to get our bags and then go for a big bowl of pasta at Amarone to soak up the alcohol.

Special times with my beloved in this great city!

A change of status.

It's not often that I become something else. Changing what you are for the rest of your life makes you feel as if the world has shifted ever so slightly on its axis. And yet, that is exactly where I find myself. My capacity for loving my family had achieved the max ... or so I thought... And then along comes a new person who, despite only weighing 7 and a half pounds, not a walker or a talker yet - not even a smiler, in fact - and he changes everything.

When number 1 asked a few months ago if she and her husband could move into the barn (not a baby Jesus scenario - it is converted into a dwelling of sorts) so that their baby could be born in God's own country rather than in the smelly old metropolis, we could scarcely believe our luck. Not entirely true - I could scarcely believe my luck and my beloved agreed grudgingly to give up his man cave. Clearing, disposing and cleaning has been the order of the day for the last few months and since we have been, for more years than I care to think, a depository for other family members' - living and dead - clutter, this cathartic cleansing has been definitely a good thing.

On arrival, number 1's nesting instinct was at full throttle. Not only was the downstairs of the barn turned into a lovely sitting area as it had always been intended before my beloved's hoarding instinct and our fellow family members' desire to dump their 'I-might-need-it-one-day' stuff on us took over but she felt the need to clear out all sorts of cupboards in the house as well. And 'borrow' various bits of furniture that would 'go' in the barn. There was a sort of tidal swapping of furniture and general clobber between the barn and my office and the good stuff was definitely heading out of the front door and across the yard, whilst the other was heading into my office to be stored, sold, given away, taken to the tip and so on.

Meanwhile, arrangements for the birth of a very small person in Yorkshire rather than London involved registering with doctors, midwives, hospitals and so on. For the second time, I accompanied number 1 to see the midwife (I'd already done this in London) and sat aghast at how times had changed since numbers 3 and 4 had made their appearance. There were definitely moments when I wondered how my four survived their whole childhood and how different was the advice given to prospective parents now. No matter. My role is to do as I'm told and only proffer advice when actually asked for it. (Very difficult to achieve as it turns out).

We scarcely made it back from our holiday in Cyprus and Turkey before things started kicking off. Week 39 and the midwife told number 1 lots of encouraging things about her state of health and concurred that she could train it down to London the following day for an audition. I'm gobsmacked but there's no stopping her. Shall I come with you? No. I'll pay for an Uber so you don't have to get the tube. More no.

But when she didn't feel quite right on the return journey from London, it was straight to Harrogate Hospital for a few checks. Meanwhile, we went to the pub with Four Candles and Boadicea only to discover we'd picked a pub with no mobile phone signal. As we headed home several hours later, we were bombarded with messages to ring now, come home NOW etc etc. The drama had begun...

Well nature took its course in its own sweet time meaning that labour took Friday night, all day Saturday during which I made jars and jars of redcurrant jelly to distract myself from the thought of my child in pain and then Saturday night. Having the self control not to phone and text hourly whilst all this was going on was nearly too much for me. Sunday morning dawned and we'd heard nothing. I went to church to see if God could get things going any quicker to discover that whilst I had been out, my grandson had finally made an appearance.

I'm not going to cry when I go to hospital. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not. I did. Multiple times. But I make no apology. If you're going to cry about something, isn't this absolutely the best reason in the world? I'm a granny!

Snakes, hostile crossings and a little knowledge is a dangerous thing!

This year's summer holiday for my beloved and me has taken the form of a two-centre (look at me! travel trade lingo!) event starting with a visit to lovely friends Nigel and Sarah in Cyprus. This is my second trip to their beautiful home but the first for my beloved. We were made very welcome by our lovely hosts and we enjoyed a few days of relaxing, catching up, eating, drinking, tennis with the Nomads and ...snakes. 

My children will confirm that I am not keen on reptiles generally. I can handle (though not literally) a small gekko, but anything bigger - and particularly one without actual feet - is a scary prospect. Indeed, when I used to take the children to Regents Park Zoo, I would wait outside while they went in the reptile house. No, reptiles are not for me. 

I know from my previous visits to Cyprus that there are snakes of the poisonous and non-poisonous varieties but until this occasion, I hadn't actually come nose to nose with one. On a walk through the forest, with two sturdy men with sticks, Sarah and I encountered my first black snake, whisking rapidly off the path and into the undergrowth before we got too near. We grabbed each other, shrieked, and looked for support but naturally the sturdy men with sticks were at least 50 yards behind and of no conceivable use. Unscathed but more nervous than before, my beloved and I were then told about the snakes in the pump room UNDER THE HOUSE!!! "We think they're breeding so we don't want to disturb them." Me: "How many babies do they have?" "Over a hundred." Eek! 

Then we actually saw the snaky couple - one about six foot, the daddy nearer eight, attempting to climb up the wall of the house! Now I'm checking under the bed, locking the bedroom door and going nowhere near the ssssnake - sorry - pump room. What may have saved my bacon was the arrival of a big digger in the garden bringing two huge ancient wine jars as garden ornaments. I can only assume that the vibration of the heavy machinery scared the snakes off because we didn't see them or any of their potentially huge family again - phew!  

Our other adventure was accidental gate-crashing. In the spirit of 'go large or go home!' we decided we would go for drinks at the beautiful 5*  Anassa Hotel which is seriously high-end (millionaire  Philip Green had his 50th birthday party there with a gang of supermodels and celebrities). We were warmly greeted by staff in the car park, taken by golf buggy to the front entrance and we made our way through the elegant marble foyer to the terrace. We were offered champagne cocktails which initially we refused but the waiting staff were so persistent that we felt it would be rude to say no. We sat admiring the view, drinking cocktails and politely refusing canapés when we became aware that we were receiving less than friendly glares from a smartly-dressed gentleman who appeared to be hosting a big group. Finishing our drinks, we got up to leave but were detained by a professional photographer who insisted on taking our picture and then kindly took some more on our phones. It was only when we made out way back into the hotel that we glanced behind us to see that we had joined in a private cocktail party. Oh dear! Fun though! 

Our few days with Nigel and Sarah came to an end but the bit of the holiday that I was nervous about (before I knew about the snakes, obviously)  was just beginning. Bit of background required here: Back in the 1970s there was a civil war in Cyprus between the Greek Cypriots (now living in the country we know as Cyprus) and the Turkish Cypriots, resulting in a division of the country which runs through the capital, Nicosia. The hostilities are still so keenly felt by both the Greek and Turkish Cypriots that the border was only opened to Cypriots in 2003, some thirty years after the war. Parts of Turkish Cyprus are still no-go areas, most notably Famagusta which had been regarded as one of the most beautiful beach resorts in the world. Travel between Cyprus and mainland Turkey for the most part does not exist and no airport in Cyprus flies to mainland Turkey. 

So how to get from Cyprus to Kalkan in Turkey? Our lovely hosts offered to drive us across the border in Nicosia to Ercan Airport in Turkish Cyprus from whence we could fly to Antalya in mainland Turkey and drive to Kalkan. We queued at the border in Nicosia watched over by gun-toting Greeks and then gun-toting Turks having driven through the UN peace-keeping zone between the two countries. I know some people do this every day, but for me, it was nerve-wracking. Particularly when they took our passports and Nigel had to go back and get them a few minutes later. 

Our impression of Turkish Cyprus? We were only on the (almost empty) main road to the airport but there is lots of new build, flash car showrooms, impressive university buildings, big statement Turkish flags but precious few people. Our hosts were going on to Kyrenia for the weekend so they will have a better understanding. 

Saying goodbye to our lovely friends, we headed into the airport and all went swimmingly until we went through passport control. I am one of those people who seldom has the appropriate riposte at the right moment and I often wake up in the middle of the night thinking of what I should have said but wasn't quick-witted enough at the time. For once, I managed to avoid dropping myself in it... "Which airport did you fly into?" the uniformed customs official asked, examining my passport. Clearly the answer to this question was not Paphos! "We're flying to Antalya," I answered guilelessly. He stared hard at me - we are so obviously tourists and this is not a tourist route. Eventually - long pause - he said "No matter," and handed me back my passport. Phew! 

So we flew from Ercan to Antalya in a packed plane of Turkish people and one cat, endured the usual car hire shenanigans and managed to get so spectacularly lost in Antalya that we finished up on the hairpin bends of the coast road at two o'clock in the morning. But we made it to number 2 and J Stocko's pad in Kalkan and perhaps we won't try that route again. 

And finally... A little knowledge is a dangerous thing... I have an app on my phone called Find My Friends. It should actually be renamed Find My Children. I use it to track offspring primarily so I know they're safe. I know, I know, I'm a mum, I can't help it. So I was checking whether number 4 was working a night shift at the hospital in London where she is a nurse the other evening about 10.20pm Turkey time. She was, and so whilst I was on the app I checked number 2 who was also still at work. Number 3 won't engage in this - he calls it stalking. Hmmm... But number 1 appeared to be at Harrogate Hospital. And she's 37 weeks pregnant!!!!!! Panic! I ring my son-in-law. "You're at the Hospital!!!! What's going on?????" "It's a secret" he says conspiratorially before telling me that it's only 8.20 in the UK and they are at ante-natal class. I could hear them giggling from 2,000 miles away. I am a fool.  

A change is as good as a ...?

I like change. And I like routine. And the combination of the two is what makes life interesting - the comfort and safety of a schedule of habits and familiar moves broken by unexpected bends in the road. But too much of either can be not necessarily a good thing. Too much routine and life becomes dull and uneventful and the appreciation of the small things in life fades with the tedium. Too much change and stress levels rise and I long for the peaceful repetition of remembered things.

And change has been the order of the day in spades recently - some very good and some definitely less so.

The intrepid granny, known for her adventurous holidays, sporting passions (playing and watching) and her love of gin, decided to move house ... after 52 years. Yes, 52 years ago, she bunked me off school - Lord knows what important skills I may have missed on that day - brain surgery perhaps? - and she and I moved from the great Victorian pile in Leamington Spa to a slightly smaller house with a big garden and a paddock for my pony just outside a village near Warwick. Scroll on through time and my brother and I grew up and left home, my father sadly passed away and the intrepid granny continued to live there alone for nearly thirty years. We encouraged her to move in vain - to God's own country or at least to somewhere in a town - but she was having none of it. And then last year, when we had long given up, she calmly bought a house off-plan in Warwick and put the family home up for sale. 

It's taken a year to build her super doopah new home and just as long to clear out 52 years of clutter. Yes, some of the clutter was lovely and full of memories but lots of it hadn't seen the light of day since I left home over 40 years ago. But finally moving week came and I headed to the Midlands to be Mr Shifter. https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=mr+shifter&&view=detail&mid=623F64BBD5B1FA4D0506623F64BBD5B1FA4D0506&&FORM=VRDGAR

Full of dread that she wouldn't like it (she'd been to look a few weeks prior to moving day and at that point, she definitely didn't!), that she'd hate moving out of her home of so many years, that all manner of moving elements would go wrong, and so on... so this had not been something to anticipate with pleasure. And then, blow me down, none of those things happened and it all went well and she loves her new home and every time we speak (every day!) her voice is so full of excitement for each new day in her new home. Result! 

And through it all, my little dog came too. And when we returned to Yorkshire on the Friday night, she was happy to be home for what turned out to be her last days. On our Sunday morning walk, she died sadly and unexpectedly and now she is buried in the garden with the other late family dogs, Henry and Mollie. Each morning I miss her wagging tail, her insistence on a walk (apart from when raining), her delight at her daily chew, her total refusal to ever get her feet wet, her greeting at the garden gate. RIP Bobbie. Top dog and friend. 

And the biggest change of all is the arrival of number one child, great with child as they say in Biblical circles, and her lovely husband. They have made a home in our barn conversion and are now nesting like mad prior to the arrival of the most important baby in my world since the twins arrived 22 years ago. Number one looks absolutely blooming and this baby will bring so much joy to us all. Happy change! 

"I had this perfect dream..."

"I had this perfect dream..." as it goes in Freddie Mercury's Barcelona and indeed, when I am huddled by the fire in January after two daily dog walks have left me damp and dispirited, my dream is usually not some white sandy beach, turquoise sea and clear blue skies - though I'm not saying that it wouldn't be nice - but a cafe or bar with street-side seating in the warm spring sunshine sipping a cappuccino or even better a glass of something pink and alcoholic in Barcelona.

I know bucket lists are supposed to be full of exotic, undiscovered and distant destinations but my bucket list, which is, like so many things in my life, a work in progress, has an eclectic mix of old and new destinations and the ones that I love, where I have been really happy, are always included for another a visit. I think we've been to Barcelona five times now and each visit shows us another side to this bustling, stylish Catalan city. And this time was no exception. Brilliantly, and by a serendipitous fluke, the Barcelona ATP Tennis Tournament falls fairly and squarely on our wedding anniversary so no surprise that this event is a massive favourite of ours.

But first, easy to get to from Leeds Bradford and an obliging taxi ride from the airport, we opted for an Airbnb centrally located for the four of us because on this trip we were joined by our tennis buds, Nigel and Sarah Mou - a smidgeon of Greek there! Great location near to one of our two favourite tapas bars but four floors up with the sort of lift that would not have been out of place in Thoroughly Modern Millie!
https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x54ddfj. Anyway perfect for us and very well fitted out though my beloved would have liked a bigger bed and there was a fair amount of clinging to the edge of the precipice on either side in the middle of the night!

Our two favourite tapas bars are Cerveceria Catalana on Carrer de Mallorca, literally a spit and a bit from our Airbnb - a buzzy mix of suits and tourists and whether you're sitting outside or standing six deep at the bar pointing at the amazing array of tapas, it's all good. And our other favourite is Irati which is an altogether smaller affair, snugly squeezed between tourist shops on a narrow street not far off Las Ramblas. Here you help yourself to cold tapas from the bar and then prepare for the diving hands when the hot tapas emerge from the kitchen at the back - these are the best! Each tapas has a cocktail stick and the bar staff tot up the sticks when you pay the bill. As ever, fab food and a bottle of rather nice red came to 62 euros for the four of us. Can't be beaten...

The tennis in Barcelona is my favourite of the smaller tournaments we've been to. Each has its own character but there is something friendly and welcoming about the Barcelona tournament. We were booked into men's quarter finals so four matches of the best of three sets including a masterclass from Rafa. And when in Barcelona, he gets the kind of welcome from the crowd that Sachin Tendulkar gets from a home crowd in India. Three top 10 players in action and the weather was perfect. Two minutes from the court to a glass of cool beer - it can't be bettered.

No trip to Barcelona is complete without a visit to La Sagrada Familia - the stunning, and constantly evolving Gaudi cathedral. This is my favourite of all modern buildings. I don't have the words to describe the light inside from the many, many stained glass windows or the incredible ceiling which sparkles and glistens above our heads with each carving and image around us perfectly symbolic. That it is still being constructed to Gaudi's specific plan nearly 100 years after his death is surely the greatest mark of respect of the people. And each time we visit, it shows a new treasure. Find somewhere away from the crowds to sit and contemplate. You won't be disappointed. Top tip: book before you go as the queues can be massive.

There were lots of other joyous bits of our long weekend including two very reasonable pairs of shoes for moi and some delicious meals including Tomate/Fan Ho and a lovely if very windy walk down to the Marina. Also new to us was the magnificent Fonta Magica of Montjuic where the fountains nearly match those of the Bellagio in Las Vegas and play to Barcelona by the much-missed Freddie Mercury and Monserrat Caballe. And not forgetting my must-have Cosmopolitan at a rooftop bar - yeah! All that was missing was one more day. We'll be back next April - love it!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0wdxj8-mAU