Award from A Broad - 29 July 2007

Well hello! I've been fighting a losing battle with my broadband. Yesterday it won - hence the late award. Today, I return - unscathed but determined. I will prevail!
Enough dramatics.

The logo has been chosen - offically through the vote, but also by Lady M, who last week successfully guessed the outcome and posted it on her blog. Had the chosen logo differed from her choice I would have asked her to change it (which may, or more likely, may not have worked). But as she got it right, we'll chalk it up to female intuition.

So the logo is:Although I may mess around with fonts and layout in weeks to come. It's all this time I have....

But on to this week's award. Yesterday, among other things, was also my mother's birthday. Happy Birthday Granny!

Which meant that I specifically wanted to find a blog that she would enjoy. The criteria were - funny, warm, posts not too long (my mum is a busy working granny) and clever. And I thought she might enjoy one of my favourites - Drunk Mummy. Please understand that this is no reflection of my mother's drinking habits - her initials are PMW, with the 'M' being for 'Moderation'. Although there was that incident when she discovered vodka and Red Bull at a function in Jo'burg....

But we digress. Drunk Mummy writes a fantastic blog with lots of warmth, humour and advice. The advice portion is strictly about wine. But, fortunately, in the world of Drunk Mummy, there is a bottle for all occasions - house cleaning, camping, swimming in Welsh waters all warrant a glass.

Her style is laid back and light. It's a bit like having a chat with a really good mate. I always leave with a smile on my face. And if you don't, well, you could always drown your sorrows in her recommended tipple.

Mom, you might not be able to actually get your hands on any of the wine suggestions (my mum lives in Cape Town) but I'm sure you can find some suitable substitutes (I repeat, she's in Cape Town).

PS What with the dodgy broadband, this post has taken me four and a half hours to put together. Let it never be said that I am not a dedicated blogger!

The Journey

I went down to Durham yesterday to fetch our new car - peace having once more been made with the British banking system.

I caught an early morning train down, via Newcastle, to Durham and then drove straight back. My ideal would have been to spend a bit of time exploring Hadrian's Wall, or maybe some of the nearby coastline but parenting commitments back in Glasgow did not permit.

That said I really enjoyed the journey. It reminded me of why I don't like flying - firstly because I am afraid the machine might plummet to the ground, but also because flying is too fast and too distant from the action to give a real sense of the journey. Driving a large vehicle along long stretches of highway reminded me of the trip I did with my mom and my dog from Cape Town to Zambia.

Over a distance of over 3000kms we left the pace of the city and moved in convoy with our truck to the sedate and dusty streets of Lusaka. We encountered heat, dust, goats, elephants, giraffes, unbelievable African bureaucracy and phenomenal scenery. Our route took us through Mafikeng, into Botswana, through Nata with its endless salt pan, over the border to Zambia on the Kazungula ferry and onto the Great North Road to Lusaka.

The ferry was undoubtedly the moment of greatest symbolic change- a 400m comma between what I knew in southern Africa and what I would come to know in Central Africa. It slowly carries a truck and a few cars at a time over the crocodile and hippo laden waters of the Zambezi. As you wait your turn there's little to do but ponder the islands and banks belonging to Zambia, Namibia, Botswana and Zimbabwe, and the animals who travel obliviously passport-free between them.

I hear that the new bridge at Shesheke is easing the pressure on the pontoon as many trucks now detour through Namibia. But it took us time to cross the Zambezi – queuing, waiting, chatting with others doing the same. And finally being carried over on the belching platform as it fought against the rivers flow. It was the best introduction possible to Central Africa – chaotic, beautiful, slow. It could not be forced and it all got done in its own way and in its own time. I'm sure it was frustrating at the time but now I long for journeys that speak so accurately and honestly of the destinations they reach.

Scary things

The night before Easter, my normally confident little Bambi announced that she was 'a bit scared' of the Easter Bunny. It transpired that she had seen two people in bunny outfits handing out eggs and (do give a child credit here) thought something was amiss. As tempted as I was by the thought of a sugar-free Easter, I felt that some Easter eggs should make it into the fray (not the least for me!) and began negotiations.

She was not buying the story about the human sized bunnies being fake - this was clearly what differentiated the Easter Bunny from normal bunnies. Extra height and reticulated thumbs are quite obviously what gives him his supercharged chocolate producing powers. Eventually we promised to not let him into our house. But, if it rained, he was allowed to leave any offerings inside the storm door. One should always take care not to let one's chocolate offerings get soggy, you understand.

Then, several weeks later, she announced that she was scared of Barney. This made more sense. A large, purple dinosaur would freak me out too if I hadn't made the whole person inside connection. Don't let those catchy tunes fool ya!

But then, when I asked her what she thought Barney was going to do to her if she met him, she told me that he would tickle her. Exuberant tickling by a large purple dinosaur....hmmmm. Okay, fair enough. Again we decided that, should Barney ever visit our street we would simply not let him into our house and take cover in the pantry.

Today I took Bambi and Granny to see The Wiggles - Live in Concert at the Royal Concert Hall. Her first foray into live theatre was in the form of four loudly dressed Australian men. I'm still not too sure how I feel about this. I had imagined something more highbrow. Carmen for Kids, or The Nutcracker perhaps. At least Dan Zanes. But then he didn't make it to Glasgow.

Anyway, before spending a fair whack on tickets I asked her if she was scared of The Wiggles.

'No Mummy. They're men. Like Daddy.'

Just wait till the Good Man hears that he's a hip-wiggling, primary colour-wearing, Aussie accented singer of itty ditties. At least in the eyes of his daughter.

She's here

The Good Granny has arrived. It turns out she was on an aeroplane, which is good as I'm not sure where I would have gone to fetch her had she arrived by balloon.

Bambi leapt straight into her arms, the five months since they last saw each other floating away into the distance as they quickly reaffirmed their bond. Gifts were given, biltong shared, stories told and announcements made (Granny, when I grow up I want to be a tooth fairy).

And now they're curled up together on the couch doing whatever it is that grandmothers and granddaughters do after too-long separations. I have not been invited.

And all is as it should be.

Antici.........pation

Bambi's life has turned into a rotational chart filling extravaganza. It all started with the No-accidents-for-ten-days-and-you-get-a-doll Chart (my erstwhile sensibilities about bribery now being but a vague memory). It took the form of ten little raindrops (at least that's what we told visitors they were), one to be coloured in each dry day. Dry trousers that is, not dry weather, or Bambi would still be doll free.

Then the Good Man started travelling and, as proof that it is possible to buy forgiveness, we invented the Six-sleeps-till-daddy-comes-home-with-a-dress Chart (a little clothes rack), and the Eight-sleeps-till-daddy-gets-home-with-biltong Chart (wee cows), and the Three-sleeps-till-daddy-gets-home-with-fancy-chocolates Chart (teddy bears - not sure why).

But now we are on the final hurdle of an extra special chart. It is one more sleep until Granny arrives. It shows nine balloons - I didn't think Bambi could handle a longer countdown although I've been secretly counting down for much longer. The significance of the balloons is merely avoidance - I hate flying and can't face thinking of people I care about on aeroplanes either. I can just about deal with an image of my mother clutching a bunch of balloons as she traverses the African continent.

And she's bringing biltong.

oh goody!