Lazy start yesterday (me and morelearning, still in bed, together, at 11.30am, with our reputation! Fancy that!) But on receipt of a text from his dad saying he was at Woolley Edge services and would be here by 1.30pm with any luck, we decided that it probably was time to get up and clean the house. As you know, house cleaning is not my chosen specialist subject. Anyway, it got a brisk, but adequate, going-over for a couple of hours (the house!!!)

Morelearning's dad arrived, made lunch, ate lunch, watched footie, sent boys out to do shopping while I did ironing marathon (another chore I generally avoid, but needs must. I couldn't help noticing when I set the table for lunch that the tablecloth was, er, a bit scuzzy. I turned it over to the clean side [you won't tell on me, will you?! ] but decided that a clean one was probably in order. There were in fact plenty clean ones, but they were all piled up in a big crumply heap in the airing cupboard, waiting for a day such as today when I would be forced to iron a tablecloth, which comes pretty high on my [long] list of Most Despised Household Tasks.)

Anyway. Boys came back from shopping, littlun came over, I finished the ironing, and we all got ready to go out to a barbecue at Uncle Mo's house.

You always get top food at Uncle Mo's and he had invited not only his arty friends (that's me folks) but also his climbing friends although some cross filtration occurred with Jo [from the arty side], being the only single woman present, taking the opportunity to engage the attention of all the lithe, strapping climbers (you go girl!)

Littlun was very well behaved and showed off his new trainers with red flashing bits and ate sausage sandwiches and then went to sleep on my lap but not before he'd knocked my carefully measured, rare, celebratory allocation of wine into the dirt (twice), causing me to make a premature return to Orange Juice as I'd lost track of how much of my carefully measured allocation I'd already consumed.

Drove all the boys home and made coffee while morelearning put littlun to bed. Then gave in and retired myself, but unfortunately the busy day had proved too much for my unstable pelvis or whatever it is that's causing my hip problems and I've spent the whole night in agony. Morelearning tried to distract me from the pain by telling me a story about Cuthbert the custard phobic at 3.30am which did at least stop me weeping in desperation (I couldn't sob and listen to the story at the same time) but I still feel tired and sore and incapable now.

It was a nice day though. I have a clean house and a house guest I genuinely like and I got loads of ironing done and I ate lamb kebabs and had a lovely cuddle off littlun. And it's not every day you can say that about.

*attempts to move from current position propped up by 5 pillows in bed, winces with pain, thinks better of it, wonders how long it might be before morelearning pops upstairs to ask if I'd like a coffee*

Woke up needing a wee... not too much of a problem for your average person but due to my astounding lack of talent in the Sleeping department, for me it means being awake for the next 3 hours.

Not helped by the phone ringing... at 5 to 4 in the morning... lol

Six: Hello??????????
Voice from other side of the world: Is morelearning there please?
Six: Who's calling?
Voice: It's G. [his brother currently travelling the globe]
Six: G! Wow! Are you having a good time!
G: Yeah... just thought I'd ring to catch up.
Six: Well... he's asleep just now. It's 5 to 4 in the morning here, G. Want me to wake him up?
G: No way! I'm 12 hours out! I thought it was afternoon! I'll phone back in 12 hours time.
Six: You sure? I can wake him up if you want.
G: No no sorry.
Six: It's ok chuck, I was wide awake anyway. You will phone back won't you? I know he'll want to speak to you.
G: Yeah...

I hope he does, 'cos it will do morelearning good to talk to him. He worries about his lil bro being on the other side of the world, just like I worry about my big lil bro being in Brazil.

Morelearning is ok, sort of... but not himself and he needs to take it easy for a bit and escape some of the pressures that have built up. His dad is coming down from Lancashire tomorrow to help me look after him. I wish his mum was still alive, as I think a cuddle off his mum would go a long way just now.

Meanwhile I'm worrying about various stuff:
1. Morelearning.
2. Money. Although it emerged yesterday that due to some coincidences of timing, Market Randomtown District Council is statutorily obliged to pay me maternity pay for 39 weeks, even though I'll no longer be working there after May when my fixed term contract ends....D Only £100 a week, though. Not entirely sure how we're going to manage.
3. Baby/pregnancy/health things.
4. Cleaning house tomorrow (today) before ml's dad arrives.

Thought I'd come downstairs for a coffee and blog, and to spur Boco into action as s/he was being a bit quiet (that bit worked). Was hoping my plan would result in me feeling a bit sleepy by now... *sigh*

I'd go upstairs and molest morelearning, but I'm not sure my hips can take the pace D

Remember Fakemouth?

While attempting to follow her so-called advice, I discovered that changing your name by deed poll costs nearly £50.

I haven't actually got £50.

So today I rang the Halifax again and persevered until I got to speak to Maureen, who is the Manageress, no less, of my local branch.

Maureen could not apologise enough!

I do not need to change my name by deed poll. My marriage certificate and Decree Absolute, with which I was armed on my previous visit to the Halifax, are in fact perfectly adequate. (Surprise, surprise).

Maureen was desperate to track down the member of staff who had given me incorrect information!

She said, "Can you describe the person that served you?"

Sadly, I am just tooooooooooo polite. I said, "Er.... permed hair???"

Morelearning reckons I should have referred her to my blog for a full description.

After returning from my aqua natal class yesterday, me and Boco were swilling about in the bath, washing off the chlorine (Boco likes baths) when there was a knock at the door.

Assuming it was the postie, or Betterware man, or similar, and being naked, I decided to ignore.

Next thing I heard what sounded like keys in the lock. I knew it wasn't morelearning, as why would he have knocked first? Assuming I was about to be burgled/raided/murdered/raped, I heaved my pregnant self out of the bath, grabbed a bath towel, and raced downstairs, where I could see a female form throwing herself against our ill-fitting front door in an attempt to open it.

Ready for a scrap, I wrenched open the door - it was only afterwards it occurred to me how ridiculous I would have looked, had it actually been a person of malevolent intent on the other side.

Anyway. It turns out to be morelearning's lovely colleage Lolster, and another colleague, and between them they are propping up morelearning, who staggers in and collapses on the sofa.

It appears that the love of my life, who has been unwell for a couple of days, has collapsed at work.

Spent rest of day looking after him. I think he will be ok (stress mebbe??) but I'm worried sick. Doctor's this morning.

Messages of support to the usual address.

Having dozed off on the sofa with morelearning earlier I now can't get anywhere near the land of Dreamysleepynightysnoozysnooze (bonus points for anyone who can name the pop culture reference). I tried reading American short stories but they were all depressing including one about a lad whose hand got chewed off by a bear so he shot his father by accident and then carried his dead father 8 miles through the snow until he found some people and they said your dad's dead son and he said I know that. Sorry I've left the book by the bed so I can't tell you who wrote it but I will tomorrow. Anyway that was a 'gripping' story as they say but now I can't stop feeling depressed by it. And I'm really tired because I had a crap night last night because of the pain in my hips but it gets worse when I sleep so I'm scared to go to sleep and I have meetings to go to tomorrow so I really need to go to sleep.

*deep breath*

So I came downstairs for a good old fashioned cry (it's me hormones) (I love that old, bad joke about how do you make a hormone?*) When I start thinking about the divorce I can cry for hours because I feel so bad about what I did to my ex husband even though I know without doubt or question that ml is the man for me I feel the loss of 12 years of memories so badly. I feel sad when I think about the baby we lost and remember our holidays in Tuscany and my handmade wedding dress. They had to keep taking the dress in because I lost so much weight (not intentionally) in the run up to getting married and I weighed 7 stone 2 on my wedding day even though I was 29 years old. I don't miss being married at all but I feel sad for everything I put into being a bride. I miss my cats (so much) and I miss the mutual "friends" and more than anything I miss having a home of my own. I bought my first house when I was 25 years old for £35,000. It was a bay-fronted terrace and it had four fireplaces and in the kitchen there was a built in full height cupboard with the original doors still on it which I adored. I miss my mother in law's house in Norfolk and my father in law tucking his corduroy trousers into his socks and putting his tweed cap on and going out to check on the pheasants. None of this is intended in any way to detract from the happiness and joy I feel to be with ml and be carrying his child. I'm just working my way out of all the other stuff that's all. It's no good thinking where did it all go wrong because if I think where would I rewind to then I just have to keep going back and back until I'd never met my ex-husband at all, because he just wasn't the right person for me. But I don't want never to have met him or not to have had those 12 years with him or shared all the things we did, so we just have to go forward even though I feel sick with sadness when I think about all the mistakes I made and the stuff I did that was bad and wrong. I get scared too about the future and me and ml not having any money after both being used to being fairly comfortably off and it's hard to look into the future and see it being that way again although I guess we will be ok eventually.

Boco is kicking like mad, I wonder if s/he minded me howling. S/He'll probably not recognise me when s/he pops out (pops, ha) if I'm not crying, seeing as I do so much of it

*don't pay her

We have instigated a new system of trying to get littlun to stay in his own bed at night, involving not giving in to demands (drink, bottle, cuddle, hair etc etc). Tonight is the first night of new system. I am trying to maintain my faith in SuperNanny but so far we have got in and out of bed about twenty-six times. As a result, not just littlun but all three of us are now wide awake.

Ml: We could watch Match of the Day.
Six: Oh, yes please. Or we could pretend it's this time last year and I could go in the next room and MSN you at 5 in the morning.
Ml: Or we could have passionate sex.
[Patter of littlun's feet is heard upon landing. Again.]
Six: Or we could just get up another twenty-two times in the next hour.

I am up to the letter I in our book of 75,000 baby names (boys' section). I have so far discounted Iago, Iakobos and Ichabod.

Today is my first Blogbirthday - yes, one whole year since I wrote my first post!

The things I did to get in that morelearning's pants. And look where it's led. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

The proofs of my book arrived from the publishers today!

Very, very exciting.

I need to check for amendments and send it back and then it should be out in a couple of weeks!

I have been priced at £6.95!

And frankly, I'm worth every penny.

My ex husband has just sent me a bill for £170 for divorce costs!!!!!!!

Any advice on how I should respond to this???

For your delight, I present a selection of headlines from the April 2007 Market Randomtown District Council staff newsletter. I'm not making them up, honest.

In this issue...

New staff support service (Informing staff that from April 2007, Work Stress Management Ltd will be providing a staff counselling and psychological support service)

Is your office killing you? (How to implement better health & safety in the workplace)

How to beat office DVT (A selection of exercises to help beat Deep Vein Thrombosis while chained to sitting at your desk)

Where to bury the dead? (A review of cemetery spaces in Market Randomtown - just in case you failed to read any of the other articles)

Not sleeping is so boring! If I don't have the bed full of soft furnishings (cushion under bump, pillow between knees) then I can't sleep because I'm uncomfortable. If I do have them then I can't sleep because the bed is full of soft furnishings. *sigh* Not to mention the bizarre pains in my thigh bones at night that the midwife was unable to explain. My personal belief is that it's due to my hips (I've never had proper girl hips, just non existent boy hips the same size as my waist) going "Shiiiiiiiiiit, we're never gonna get that baby's head through here" and moving about a bit to make some room. But of course I am not a medical expert, and that's mere speculation.

Also, I had a dream that I ordered an Indian takeaway for my ex husband (I wish he'd piss off out of my dreams) and I forgot to tell him what name (except it was more like a special password) I had ordered it in or what I had ordered, so I suddenly realised that when he went to pick it up he wouldn't know what order he was collecting. And when I thought about it even I couldn't remember what the password was, so I couldn't even let him know.

So now I am sat here with a cup of decaff coffee on the sofa feeling the baby kick (don't mind that, though; I get worried when it goes to sleep). Just been looking at the origins of a boy's name I've suddenly become partial to. We had sort of decided on a boy's name but now I'm worrying about it being one of the most popular ones. If it's a boy (which, I have to say, I suspect it is) then he'll have 6 classmates with the same name.

No worries with the girl's name we've chosen - it's very unusual and I guess a lot of people might not like it but we do

Don't try and nag me into telling, either, 'cos I won't!

Suggestions of boys' names welcome. They have to be ones you can shorten to something decent. I don't like names you can't shorten. It has to go with Morelearning's surname as well. I can't tell you what that is, but it is rather uncommon and it's a bit difficult finding names that go.

Me and morelearning played Mousetrap last night. We bought it at the car boot on Sunday. The cheese pieces and the instructions are missing but we worked around it. I haven't played it since I was a kid. Morelearning won. He trapped me in the little basket. He made up for it afterwards.

I feel wide awake and I'm very glad indeed that I don't have to go into my office job tomorrow. It finishes in 5 weeks time. On the one hand I am pretty worried about the financial stuff (no work!!!!) when that ends. But on the other hand I am really looking forward to having some time out to do my own thing again. I might even get some writing done.

*drums fingers in boredom* What now? Anyone fancy a game of Connect 4?

As part of the whole changing name millarkey I went to get some passport photos done today (for a new passport, sirrah). I don't think you have to change your photo when you change your name on your passport, but I'd quite like to, given that my current passport photo has the appearance of someone thinking "Oh God, I can't believe I arrived at checkin yesterday afternoon and found that my passport had expired, and I've been up all night drinking whisky, and then I got up at 5am and drove to Peterborough, and now I have to spend the next 5 hours waiting in this room for them to process my emergency passport application, whilst missing an important family celebration currently, at this minute, taking place in Denmark". Which indeed I was. (thinking).

Anyway. I got the new passport photos done today. I went into a booth that claimed to produce Approved Official Passport Photos. I put my head in the red oval when it told me to. I followed the instructions.

Only when I got home and read the leaflet that comes with your passport application it said that my head on the photo needs to be "between 29mm and 34mm from chin to top of forehead".

My head is only 23mm!!!!!

So I phone the passport helpline, and they tell me that on no account will they accept a photo where my head is only 23mm.

But that's just the size of my head!*
(*Not in real life, obviously; that would be very odd).

So now I have to go back and take more photos while leering unnaturally forwards like a drunkard on the little whizzy-round stool in order to make my head appear bigger.

I paid £4.00 for those passport photos. The dirty, prejudiced-against-small-headed people, robbing, b*st*rds!

a member of Halifax counter staff. Merely for descriptive purpose, I add that her mouth had clearly seen significant collagen implants; her make up was heavy; her permed hair was plastered to her head with hairspray. Are you getting the mental pictures? Good. Now add a bit more make up.

I am in the bank because I have been using my maiden name ever since I left Mr Expence last June, but all my bank accounts etc are still in my married name. Our divorce came through in January. I have decided it is time to make the switch and lose the Expence once and for all.

Ms Fakemouth: Can I help you?
Sixpence: Yes, I'd like to change the name on my account following my divorce, please.
Fakemouth: Have you changed it by deed poll?
Sixpence: I beg your pardon?
Fakemouth: You have to change it by deed poll.
Sixpence: Surely not. I have here my marriage certificate, which shows both my maiden name and my married name, and my divorce certificate, which shows that I am no longer married.
Fakemouth: You have to change it by deed poll.
Sixpence: [wonders why it is much easier to acquire a husband than dispose of one] I've never heard that before. Would you mind double checking for me?

*Fakemouth confers with colleague*

Fakemouth: If you haven't changed it by deed poll we will accept a copy of your passport.
Sixpence: My passport is still in my married name too.
Fakemouth: Oh well. You can't then.
Sixpence: Great.
Fakemouth: Is there anything else I can help you with?
Sixpence: Well, can I at least change my address?
Fakemouth: Oh yes. Have you got your bank card?

*Six hands over bank card*

Fakemouth: Is this a joint account, Mrs Expence?
Sixpence: I am no longer Mrs Expence, as I think I mentioned. No, my joint account is now closed.
Fakemouth: So do you want to move Mr T J Expence to the new address as well?

*Six stares in astonishment*

Sixpence: Well, what do you think?
Fakemouth: Pardon, Mrs Expence?
Sixpence: That would be a No.
Fakemouth: Ok - sign here please, Mrs Expence.
Sixpence: The point is that I am not Mrs Expence. I am divorced.
Fakemouth: Well, you have to stay Mrs Expence on our records until we see something official.
Sixpence: Funny, I would have thought a Marriage Certificate, accompanied by a Decree Absolut issued by Her Majesty's Courts, was reasonably official.
Fakemouth: Could you sign here please, Mrs Expence.

*Six signs form, in a name I no longer actually possess*

Fakemouth: Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs Expence?

*Six unclenches fists long enough to retrieve bank card from Fakemouth*

Sixpence: No, I think I've had enough fun for one day.

*Six begins to move away from counter*

Fakemouth: [in evident confusion] Oh, Mrs Expence! You're pregnant!

*Six fixes Fakemouth with beady eye, opens gob to issue derisory remark, thinks better of it, and exits the Halifax*

my beauty therapist, of whom I am supremely fond, even though she replaced the one who went on maternity leave.

Picture the scene:

Eyelash tint has been applied. Sixpence lies on the beauty therapist's couch, cotton wool pads over my eyes so I can't see a thing.

I hear my beauty therapist moving around the room. Frankly, she could be doing anything.

She decides to put me in the picture.

"I'm just cleanin me ears out, chuck," she says.

Saw midwife yesterday and mentioned my concern about not having gained any weight. My side view is slightly bizarre - massive bump and boobs (sorry Nick) and behind them, my own skeletal protruding ribs.

The midwife weighed me and I have gained all of 2kg since being pregnant!!! Should have gained 5-6 kg by now...

She described the baby as a 'parasite' (hope Boco wasn't listening) and gave me the following sound advice:

"Eat more chocolate."

Yes, it's official!!!!!!

Under medical advice and all that!

*flexes fingers and surveys vast array of chocolate lined up in pantry, wondering where to start*

:D

(Back in bed now; bogblogging is one thing, but bogbreakfasting is quite another...)

Anyway. Here's the tip:

Don't put moisturiser on your hands just before you try to open your cereal bar wrapper.

It will just make you look silly.

Now that my laptop is mended, I can rediscover one of my favourite pastimes.

Bogblogging.

Hooray!

I finally managed to get back to sleep!

Woke up at 20 past 10.

Emailed boss to apologise.

Well I am poorly and everything... and luckily she's a top notch line manager.

Woke up to find this on the pillow next to me:

I love my morelearning!

Especially as he's bought me a new network card and managed to make my laptop connect to the Internet again. It's been broken for about 3 months.

Yes, that's right... for the past 3 months I have had to get out of bed to blog!!!!!! A situation which clearly had to be rectified.

Anyway... I now have to go and get clean, put clothes on, go to work and do all that stuff that more reliable people do.

See ya later!

Hard to get comfy at night, what with all the unaccustomed protrusions (baby bump, D cups etc). Am trying to sleep on left side (which for some reason is best for the baby apparently), with a cushion under my bump (as otherwise I wake up feeling like I've just done 200 sit ups). But it's not very satisfactory. I could go to Babies R Us and spend £9.99 on what is effectively a purpose designed bit of wedge shaped foam. I can't decide whether that would (a) help matters, or (b) make me curse myself for being a gullible sucker for their catalogue full of smiling, sparkly babies and blissful looking mums to be.

I'm not very well either. I have a sore throat and a cough. Don't hold back on the sympathy, I like lots of fuss.

And I don't know whether Boco is complaining about me being ill but s/he has been kicking me relentlessly in various internal organs since about lunchtime yesterday.

Apart from that I'm fine thanks!

Boco, the bargain basement baby, has acquired more purchases, which are accruing in the garage. At a car boot sale on Sunday we purchased a moses basket and stand (new mattress and bedding to be acquired) for £4 (£39.99 in the shops). Also a turtle with different squidgy bits in its feet (rattle, squeak, jingle etc) - needs slight scrub up.

After the car boot we headed off to East Carlton Park in Northants where we spent an enjoyable afternoon chasing round after littlun ("doggie! ducks! swings!")

And on our return to the house I (wait for it)...

*drumroll*

changed my first ever pooey nappy!!!

I have changed no.1 nappies before, but not no.2 nappies.

I think "in at the deep end" would be an inappropriate analogy here but considering littlun had only consented to eat some Malties and 2 chocolate chip biscuits all day there was a vast amount of splattery stuff involved. I think a novice like me would have been better off being trained up on a nicely formed stool but c'est la vie. Good practice and all that.

I then cooked littlun's tea (I washed my hands first). Sausages, which are his favourite food.... and which he suddenly developed an aversion to. Somebody please explain the 2 year old brain to me. Earlier in the afternoon he had begged "I want a ice cream!" and then as soon as Devoted Dad went off to purchase said cold refreshment, turned to me and said "I don't like ice cream". (Sorry Daddy, I din't tell you that but I don't think you minded that much, seeing as you got to eat double your share as a result).

Sunday morning, after very little sleep, morelearning and I were reclining on the sofa under a blanket while littlun played with his trains, and I thought: this is what was missing from my marriage. Shared experience. Even if it's just slobbing about. Mr Expence was biologically unable to slob. He got up before I woke up, so I always woke alone, even though I'm a big fan of long cuddly lie ins. He never sat on the sofa and watched crap telly with me; he used to go through to his office and "work" (aka mess about on the computer). The stuff we did together can basically be summarised as food shopping, cooking and eating; and even that lacked common ground, since he was a vegan and I wasn't. When we went out for a meal together I used to sit there feeling anxious because I didn't have anything to say.

It's taken me such a long time to understand why my marriage didn't work (apart from the obvious things like me sleeping with someone else ) but I feel that I am gradually beginning to comprehend stuff. I dreamt we were on holiday and I got out of the car to check I had packed something in the boot and he drove off and left me standing in the road with all my stuff around me.

Sorry, I am truly waffling now... but what do you expect at this hour of the morning

*sings* I've got D cup breasts,
I've got D cup breasts,
I - I - I've got D cup breasts!

Please excuse my jubilation, but I never thought I'd see the day.

And to PP, who once wrote me a note in our O'Level English lesson saying "Dear Six, Why ain't you got no tits?" I say this:

*lifts top and flashes D cups at screen*

Muhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

On the basis that:

1) when the upload facility finally started working, it wouldn't let me upload my pics cos I didn't have enough space on account of being a freebie blogger and not a fully-paid-up type;

2) the advert for 'how to potty train your Yorkshire Terrier' on my blog this morning pushed me over the edge.

Our cottage...

Hardraw Force [sounds like a grunge metal band to me, but actually a waterfall]

Malham Cove...

Bolton Castle...

Well I WAS going to blog you some nice pics of my hols but having tried about FORTY TWO times and it piggin crashed EVERY SINGLE TIME I'm afraid I have now got to the stage where I CAN'T BE ARSED.

*grumps off in huff*

...is wrong with the upload tool??????

Back to work tomorrow....... still recovering from my first 'holiday with a toddler' (a potty-training one at that) experience. Don't get me wrong, it was really really good and I cherished having a bit more time with Littlun than usual.... but it was also a bit of a challenge for a 5 months pregnant, child-rearing novice like me.

On Friday, on our way to Halifax, we stop off at Haworth to see all the Bronte stuff, as I've never been. We decide a bit of lunch wouldn't go amiss before we start exploring. From the car park we spot 'Chaplin's Bistro' and decide to give it a try.

We enter what looks like a Gentleman's Club (old-fashioned burgundy leather sofas, copious nik naks, a fish tank and - I suppose the name should have given it away - a whole heap of Charlie Chaplin memorabilia, interdispersed here and there with Laurel and Hardy, for no apparent reason).

We are greeted by possibly the campest waiter in the world, who also happens to have a broad Yorkshire accent. The combination of camp and Yorkshire sets morelearning and me off straight away - especially when he minces to the kitchen door and shouts "What's the Chef's Special?" D

Things get off to a good start when Mr Camp-Yorkshire (who to be fair, is a delightful and attentive waiter) explains (a) that they aren't serving food for another 20 minutes, and (b) as it's Good Friday there's a special 3 course set Easter Menu on - take it or leave it.

Having got this far with hungry toddler, we decide to take it.

Littlun is not at his best. He has what appears to be a toddler version of PMT and is alternating between manic bouts of activity and severe grumpiness. Morelearning makes the mistake of pointing out (in an attempt to distract and soothe) the trains running through the station opposite.

Unfortunately 'train' is a magic word.

After 10 minutes of I wanna go on a train NOW! our dinner is ready and we sit down to the equivalent of poor quality wedding food circa 1986, served with the kind of vegetables (overcooked carrots and cabbage) one might expect to find in a residential home in one's dotage.

Littlun is not happy. He urges us with expressive body language to finish our meal, that we might board a train at his earliest possible convenience - to wit: He lobs a large bread roll across the table with remarkable aim. It lands, plop! like a cartoon in morelearning's soup bowl, filling the entire bowl and giving the impression of a pastry crust atop morelearning's soup (which appears to be tomato with a tin of mixed veg added).

Having spurned his fishfingers,chips and beans (Don't like!), Littlun proceeds to devour the entire dish of carrots (of which he is a fan) with unprecedented zeal, until I fear sending him back to his mother with an orange tint at the end of the holiday.

By now we are no longer the only diners in Mr Camp-Yorkshire's surreal universe. A large family is seated adjacent to us.

Littlun becomes restless and begins to pace the floor. As he adopts a tell-tale series of facial expressions, shortly followed by an equally telling aroma, we realise that we have left his changing bag in the car.

Morelearning nips to inspect the loos in vain hope of any useful equipment therewithin (there isn't) while I try to stop Littlun attempting to remove his trousers in the middle of the restaurant.

We hasten to finish our dessert in an attempt to save our fellow diners any further pain. But Littlun is suddenly feeling a lot better.

"I've finished my poo," he announces to the restaurant.

We exit - but not before Littlun has nipped round behind the cash desk and filled his fists with money from Mr Camp-Yorkshire's tip dish, which he then deposits in the charity box (he likes putting the coins in the slot, you see).

Can't wait til we've got Boco as well!!!!!!!!

Currently illicitly hacking onto tinternet in a B&B in Halifax. Am reclining on (VERY CREAKY) four poster bed with morelearning, wearing my Mothercare maternity pyjamas, a sleep bra to stop my unfeasibly expanding breasts caving in overnight, slightly damp hair from my bath earlier, and the very nice ring morelearning bought me in Hawes for an Easter present. (On middle finger, I hasten to add - before rumours start).

We've had good hols but morelearning and I need to fight over who blogs what so I shall keep it brief this time.

Earlier today we did an Easter egg hunt for littlun (slightly unconventional on Easter Saturday, but we have an early start tomorrow). Later, while sprawled on the floor playing with his cars, littlun accidently rolled on his stomach onto his new Matchbox aeroplane.

"Ow!" he squeals. "I've hurt myself!"
"Oh, darling," I reply sympathetically. "Where did you hurt?"
"I hurt my t shirt," says littlun.