No pain... no gain...

Yes, this really is me on a bike; Jason hasn't photoshopped it. It did occur to me, as we set off along the Tissington Trail from Ashbourne, that perhaps my first attempt to ride a bike in over 20 years should have been without my precious 22 month old child strapped to the back. But he had every confidence in me, so off we went.

3 1/2 uphill miles later, against strong headwinds, we finally made it to the lovely village of Tissington for a well earned ice cream. It was yet another glorious day, and as we coasted back (those uphill miles already forgotten) I decided it might be worth investing in some second hand bikes for our remaining time here.

We have finally confirmed our return date. We do advise everyone else in the world to avoid flying Heathrow to Singapore on September 18th, unless they are willing to risk spending 14 hours saying "hello" and "bye bye" to Sam. This gives us only 4 1/2 more months to cram in a lot of European travel. Jason has also forbidden me to buy any more stuff, as packing up Yew Tree Cottage is already going to be a logistical nightmare. I am trying not to think about it...

I did manage to avoid buying an Anya Hindmarch "I am not a plastic bag", although not by choice. 20,000 of the £5 recyclable shopping bags were released to Sainsbury's stores last Wednesday, and I optimistically phoned the Ashbourne branch at 8.10am to see if they had received any. "They sold out within 5 mintes of opening" said the supermarket manager. Shortly afterwards, over 400 appeared on eBay, selling for as much as £200!

Later that night, we saw some wit had listed an original "I AM a plastic bag" (a quality white plastic bag with "I am a plastic bag" scrawled over it in thick black pen) - and already had a bidder willing to pay 99p for it (plus £2 postage). I am not sure who benefits most from this brilliant marketing exercise - Sainsbury's, Anya Hindmarch, the recycling bags movement or eBay?

Jersey Days

Before Dylan's chicken-spots appeared (but while he was unknowingly highly contagious) we had a delightful 5 day break on the island of Jersey. It was the first time we had packed wellies and beanies for a beach holiday - and we needed them too, as it was unseasonably chilly and windy. But we had enough bright blue sky days to enjoy our seaside experience, after over 4 months in landlocked Derbyshire.

Just off the French coast of Normandy, Jersey is an odd blend of quaint England and rural France. All streets are named in French, although no one speaks that language, and the houses are a mis-match of elegant, shuttered, pastel painted French homes and pebble-dashed English seaside semis. If England had at some point invaded France this is what it would look like - a France with pubs, tea and scones.

Dylan loved climbing over the rocks (in his wellies - a bit trickier than gripping with bare feet), looking for fish and crabs in the rockpools, and digging sand castles. I enjoyed the beachside cafes with homemade cakes and good coffee. The dramatic tides were remarkable, changing the landscape of the beach (and the accessibility of boats and small island lookouts) within an hour.

A highlight was the Norman castle, Mont Orgeuil, with it's breathtaking views over the village of Gorey ("it looks just like Balamory!" exclaimed Dylan) and the east coast of the island. Dylan and Sam dressed up as knights and jesters and loved exploring all the steep staircases and heavily fortressed rooms.

Durrell Wildlife Sanctuary was also a great experience - founded by Gerard Durrell, the Steve Irwin of England (just substitute tweed felt hat for khaki shorts). An amazing collection of rare animals, from orang-utangs and gorillas to lemurs and flamingoes. As it was a particularly freezing morning we kept to the humid indoor enclosures (ie reptiles) as much as possible.

Since our return, the weather has of course improved dramatically - the mercury crept over 20 degrees today and we all wore shorts to celebrate. Jason fired up our new BBQ for the second time in a week. Bring on summer!

Lambs, chocolate eggs, sunshine - it must be Easter!

Dylan woke on Easter morning covered in spots. A long phone call with NHS direct later, it was clear he had chicken pox (it has been going around the school...) It didn't deter him from a constant vigil for the Easter Bunny, and a very excited egg hunt after the bunny (undetected) made his visit, but sadly he didn't feel like eating much chocolate. Sam, on the other hand, had to be physically restrained from stuffing all the easter eggs into his little mouth at once. Sam is now a big fan of Easter.

Dylan is coping very bravely with all his itchy spots (he is a veteran of itchiness) - he has seen most of his friends go through this so it is a sort of rite of passage for him. But it is pretty awful, and we have to cancel his much anticipated Easter Party on Wednesday. I had already bought the food and organised a beautiful sunny day (18 degrees forecast!) so I think I am more upset than he is.

It has been the most glorious Easter weekend - balmy 16 degree temps (which, given the summer average in England is only 15 (!), is pretty good) have had us enjoying the garden, and even BBQing for the first time here. The sight of sunburned poms in their shorts and t-shirts is also good for a laugh.

We have been kept very busy counting, and saving, lambs. Since last weekend they have been popping up in ever increasing numbers in "our" field, without requiring my midwifery assistance - I think we are up to 20 by now, and most of the ewes have either had twins or triplets. My sympathy for the ewes is also on the rise. The lambs are adorable but very silly, and constantly finding themselves on the wrong side of the fence, which leads to the humourous sight of me chasing them around our garden and dropping the back over the fence to their cross mums.

Just before the lambs started arriving, we woke to the sight of a sheep lying on her back, feet sticking up in the air. Uh oh, I thought, one of the ewes didn't make it. Her legs started waving at us. Rigor mortis? Jason donned his wellies and went to fetch the farmer next door, who promptly rolled the poor sheep over back onto her legs again and she ambled off to enjoy the grass without so much as a thank you. Apparantly this can happen, as their backs are flat and if they find themselves on their backs they can't roll back - I would guess, from experience that being heavily pregnant wouldn't help this either! But they can die if they don't get rolled back, so Jason smugly went to work that morning feeling like a sheep hero.

As you can tell, we are quite taken with our growing flock, and starting to question our fondness for lamb cutlets...