Back in Singapore after our Spanish adventure, a question looms large: Would I take the Sprogs on another long-haul flight? The spontaneous answer: Not for a bloody long time. Ok, they endured the flights far better than me (those overnighters are so brutal, they might put me off international travel permanently. I'm hoping its like... Continue Reading →

I am at my most attractive when I'm travelling. My face assumes a lovely, glossy sheen in foreign climes. It erupts with lots of impressive second, third and fourth heads. The extra heads usually migrate to my chest and, if I'm feeling extra glamorous, my legs. I showcase these extra heads in short skirts purchased... Continue Reading →

Remember cracker night when you were a kid? A bonfire on the neighbourhood spare block, awe as dads light Catherine wheels, squeals as teenagers let off double bungers ... Then the government spoilt everyone's fun and banned backyard fireworks because they were "dangerous" and could blow people's hands off and stuff. Barcelona begs to differ.... Continue Reading →

Ah Barcelona, I knew I'd love you, even if you didn't have "wiffy". Fortunately "wiffy" is up there with kettles and bathrooms on the accommodation essentials list these days. Our host Biggi (short for something unpronounceable, apparently) proffered our precious "wiffy" code with our keys. God bless you Biggi. Immediately after checking the "wiffy" connection... Continue Reading →

It's our last day in France and possibly our last day of Internet connectivity for a while. I'd been hoping for what the Spanish entertainingly pronounce "wiffy" in our Barcelona accommodation, but there's only Ethernet, which Husband tells me is no use at all. So I'm sitting in the dim, early morning light trying to... Continue Reading →

Sometimes it's nice to spend a few hours talking about the Sprogs rather than with them .... And so Husband and I passed a pleasant evening together at a fancy hotel restaurant down the road from our holiday house. Husband's best friend, who's been sharing the house and his truculent two-year-old with us for the... Continue Reading →

Two-year-olds are so frigging cute it's almost criminal. They're also the most effective birth control on the planet when they don't belong to you. That's because they cry about absolutely everything. They cry because they are tired. They cry because they are hungry. They cry because they want to take their shoes off. They cry... Continue Reading →

I'm not sure two-year-olds are cut out for touring medieval ruins. Or four-year-olds. Or five-year-olds. Or seven-year-olds. Or 43-year-olds for that matter. I thought Carcassone would be a no-brainer - restored castle walls containing multitude of cheap souvenir shops and junk food. But no. The masses still revolted ... were revolting. Our group of four... Continue Reading →

Ok, it's not really a cottage we're staying in. Unless cottages are three stories high with six bedrooms, three bathrooms, multiple living areas and medieval turret. I just though "manor" might sound a bit pretentious and lessen sympathy for our medical crisis. And while it's not quite as glamorous as the pictures on the website... Continue Reading →

Sprog 1 started pissing blood yesterday (that vomit fountain wasn't caused by Fartons, palm oil-fried crackers, bananas, a virus or car sickness after all). Going by how challenging it was to get a beer from the apathetic and non-English-speaking hotel staff, I didn't anticipate getting medical assistance would be a walk in the park. After finally wrestling the front desk guy's attention from his constant mobile phoning, only... Continue Reading →