So far since we moved to this house I have blogged about rats in the compost, giant arachnids, slugs (and children ha ha ha). At Christmas, our suspicions were raised when the chocolate coins I had hidden in the small bedroom had been nibbled – I went and bought a mouse trap that has sat unopened on top of the microwave ever since. Sunday, I went into the room again (we don’t use it much) to check on the progress of my chitting potatoes*, only to find a small pile of droppings next to a neatly nibbled spud. Unwrapped and set trap.

Last night, quietly watching telly**, I noticed Cameron gesticulating at me from his sofa (we have one each. His is larger and has better sound quality, and I sit there when he is away). A mouse had run around my sofa then popped underneath – it spent the rest of the evening peeping out at us in a cute and cheeky manner. We need a cat – although I brought the trap downstairs and it had efficiently caught said mouse by the morning (I put him out the front door: I do hope they don’t have a homing instinct and that he will just have gone off somewhere else not come straight back in again).

Am hoping we just had one (but am about to rebait the trap and put it back upstairs again just in case) not a family.

*They are fine yet still not in the ground. Arg.

**Gavin and Stacey, I think, so we were pretty quiet. It’s not laugh-out-loud-funny, season 2, is it.

OK, I’d like some menu ideas please. I have post-Christmas catering fatigue (we had takeaway for New Year and have been eating “simply” since – unagi for tea tonight, which just needs to be put in a bowl of boiling water. Yum.): I don’t want to make anything that requires effort; I don’t especially want meat; I don’t particularly want to have to go and buy anything, but accept that I probably must. Maggie went back to preschool today and Cameron and I celebrated with a bacon and egg sandwich from the B&Q carpark, which really hit the spot.

Still quiet here. Cameron shampooed the carpets today, while I taxed and insured my car (woohoo) and shoe-horned toys into unyielding and over-full toyboxes. Tamsin is coming on really fast: having people around constantly has provided an adoring audience for her attempts to walk, spurring her on to longer and longer efforts. She really can walk well now, although crawling is still faster and therefore the default. We call her tornado Tamsin for her ability to rocket through the house leaving a trail of havoc and devastation.

Little other news. Am turning my mind once again to the allotment: this year’s plans are Bigger and Better (and hopefully More Realistic) – last year’s were hampered by Tamsin’s metamorphosis from sitting still and watching baby to marauding crawler just at prime planting season: next season she should be stomping about in wellies which, at least in theory, should be easier to work with. I’ve had carpet over the unused bits of land for a year, too, so they should (touch wood and cross fingers) be rather more weed-free and easier to plant in.

Lastly, we have discovered the Mighty Boosh. Why didn’t anyone tell us before?

Gah! This weather! Feels even worse because we had two reasonably nice days this week, on one of which there were no showers at all. Astounding. We walked to a castle and down by a river and, OK, wellies were quite welcome but still. Nil precipitation. My washing dried.

This weekend is back to normal: I failed to leave the house yesterday then today we zipped around the zoo, dashing for shelter every time the rain came back on – but I am really not complaining too hard as we saw some different animals. Our usual zoo route, led by Maggie, goes elephants, monkeys optional, bats optional, giraffes, okapi, chimps, orangutans*, flamingoes, penguins, sealions, play. Tigers, Lions, marmots, home. Today we saw rhinos! Meerkats! Lots of antelopey things and wildy horses! And managed to end up at the posh ice-cream stand at the appropriate time (as opposed to the cheapo Nestle stuff that we are usually forced into). 

Of course I’ve been reading a bit of Harry too. Not page by breathless page, as I’ve consumed the others – one just doesn’t get stretches of uninterrupted time any more – but zipping through it nonetheless. The postie handed it to Cameron yesterday morning with a cheery “Harry Potter” (I imagine he had a fair few to deliver), confusing Cameron somewhat. He’s not a fan. He has, however, read the last couple of pages.

Oh, and we finished season 3 of Lost. What the …?!

*Anybody in the vicinity of Chester Zoo: the new orangutan house is fantastic. I recommend.

Just a short quick post, sort of whispered (because Pewari, who is paranoid because she’s had lawyers’ letters, is convinced Gillian McKeith is actually psychic and will find me out and sue me for being mean) but I must direct you to this fabulous article*. I confess I don’t watch her programme; I saw it once or twice and couldn’t bear the bullying, nor the fact that she claimed to analyse people’s poo and the corners of their mouths. The article misses out the most important point (presumably because it would be libellous; as, presumably, is this. But I am a small and insignificant blog rather than a national newspaper so prepared to risk it): that she gives no indication of taking any pleasure whatsoever from life. Frankly I’d rather eat the odd ice cream or plate of chips and be happy than survive on aduki beans and goji beans (huh?) and be cross all the time**.

*I like the quote …otherwise it wouldn’t be called “science”, it would be called “assuming”, or “guessing”, or “making it up as you go along”, which sounds horribly like my PhD, and those of many of my friends – but that is another story altogether.

**Of course I am cross all the time. But that is the lot of a mother-of-two and not a result of over-indulgence in blue-green algae. That’s not food, it’s slime!

I spent most of yesterday evening watching The Baby Borrowers (Cameron is away): three episodes back to back. Anyone seen it? Five fairly innocuous yet extremely clueless teenage couples were moved into their own homes, then given a baby for a weekend, then a toddler, then they will have pre-teens, teens, then some elderly people to care for. I was amazed by how utterly useless most of the girls were - I’m sure I wasn’t quite that self-obsessed even at 16 – but even more amazed by how good the boys were, even the chap who kept harping on about being a “non-verbal communicator” (what does he do, send thought waves?). Most of my amazement was saved for the babies’ real parents: who in their right mind would hand over their baby for 3 days (now a toddler I can understand)? Wouldn’t they miss them? The babies seemed to take it all in their stride and weren’t obviously teary but the poor little things were in a strange house with strange people, with just a few familiar toys to make them feel at home. It just doesn’t seem very kind.

One of the couples has hardly appeared, which presumably means they have taken it all in their stride, but the others have been shown in all their glory. (It probably says more about me than them that I was surprised their parents let them appear: there is no way my mum would have let me move into a house with – gasp – a boy at that age! And also surprised by all the swearing given that they know they will appear on telly and that the children were listening. I am just terribly middle class and old-fashioned, I know.) I especially enjoyed the girl who went and spent 2 hours removing her hair extensions rather than going home where her boyfriend had been house-husbanding all day; she then had a huge hissy fit and stomped out when he asked her to make him a coffee. I can’t see that one lasting though to be fair he did do that annoying “mummy” thing of thinking he and only he knew how to look after the baby. Red-faced, I recognised myself a little.