W&P with flowers on their heads.

Remember the cuteness I promised you way back when summer was still a beautiful, hopeful prospect? It's up on Rock My Wedding and Lillian and Leonard today. 

You're welcome. 

milestone.

hair, long enough to do.     

4 years ago today.

We were such kids.

I have more to say, but for now, happy anniversary my love. 

I wish you were here and not sitting in Gatwick airport with your dad. 

Photos by Elemental Weddings. 

(apart from the ones of my uncle and N's brother playing guitar, which were by family.) 

Escape.

Nye's parents are here, they're having a 3 week holiday. Apparently it's too hot in the south of France, something that really isn't a problem here (God bless Glasgow.) Once they'd settled into life with the girls, Nye and I buggered off to Brighton for a few days. It was bliss. We slept until 8am. Ate out for every meal, relishing the total silence and lack of food flying through the air. We hung out with friends, enjoying their lovely quiet squidgy children and handing them back when they started to need parenting. We walked for miles and miles, not needing to stop when it got to nap time (although a nap would have been nice, some of those days.) We looked at houses without worrying about Puke getting her head stuck in a cat flap or Widdle sneaking rat poison into her pocket. We watched the Olympics on the beach at sunset, not anxious that we were missing bedtime which might result in a total meltdown (it did actually, but mine. And my meltdowns are slightly less attention-grabbing than Ammie's). Most deliciously, it gave us 5 days to really, really miss our children. Coming home to the little monsters has been such sweet relief. I love those kids. 

how a bunny sounds

N's brother has this excellent print by Kim Krans of The Wild Unknown. Apparently it's funnier if you actually know what the musical terms mean but it made me laugh anyway. 

The people you meet when you're househunting...

The divorcee who has lived here for 25 years and doesn't want to leave but can't afford to buy out her ex-husband. Her divorce came through today. Her eldest son used to live in a lovely big house in Croydon but now he's living in the second bedroom because he left his wife and kids. Did she mention she's been here 25 years and doesnt want to leave? Or that her divorce came through today?

The woman who lives across the road who runs out to warn you: DO NOT BUY THAT HOUSE. It may look perfect but it's been derelict for 10 years and was renovated in a couple of weeks. She prompts you to look in the loft where you notice that the roof is caving in. Some things you can't cover up with white paint.

The man who lives across the street and comes out to ask you if you're thinking of buying the house you're looking at. He's lived here for 23 years and names all of the families on the street. He tells you that you would be very welcome here and that it's a lovely neighbourhood. You assume that he hasn't noticed the crack running down the front of the building or the damp rising up the back.

The middle eastern family who have been living in the Victorian terrace for 25 years and need more room to fit in all of their grandchildren. He is an electrical engineer and has enjoyed modernising the house. He has done so by removing all of the original features, some of the walls and the wooden staircase and replacing them with a 16 ft long brick structure in the middle of the living room and a melamine/wraught iron construcion. He tells you it will break his heart to leave and you believe him. You want to buy his house because he is such a very nice man but the thought of dealing with the brickwork, not to mention the textured walls, gives you hives.

The landlord who lives in his very small house with 6 'students'. He tells you that they're stupid lazy bastards who he will throw out when he sells the house. He lets you know that you can have all of the furniture if you want it. You know as soon as you step through the door and the smell hits you that the best thing you could do with that house is burn it to the ground but you don't want to be rude so you let him show you the whole thing. By the time you've seen the kitchen, read the letters to 'the Rats and Other Vermin', noted the plethora of post-it notes calling the lodgers 'stupid lazy bastards' and felt your feet stick to the carpet, you realise you are holding your daughter so tightly you're making finger marks on her arm and that being rude would have been a fine price to pay for not seeing this hell hole and not having the foul old man try to touch your child. Ten minutes after you leave you vomit into your hand a little bit.

*image from 100 Abandoned Houses, by Kevin Bauman