Dirty rotten scoundrels!

And the winner of the muckiest feet award goes to........ Grace! 

At the end of a day out to Anglesey Abbey, Lode Mill and Thetford Forest, Grace had turned a grubby shade of dust and the wrinklies were tired with running around after Grace. Uncle Frank took turns with Grandpa running races on the lawns at the Abbey but Grace won and has a National Trust medal to prove it!

Alas on the day Grace declared her knees fully heeled from the previous wipeout, she takes another flying tumble and scrapes both knees and palms again. Poor Mummy's little soldier, a few tears but nothing a gingerbread man couldn't fix. 

We're off home tomorrow, the end of a super week away from the treadmill as we know it. It's been great spending time with family, makes you realise that Yorkshire isn't all that close to Norfolk after all....

Twilight Sundae

Well into the swing of our summer break in Norfolk, it feels like we were never away! The drive down was perilous and slow, a crazy combo of motorcyclists oblivious to oncoming traffic on the red route into the countryside, and mind numbing tailbacks at Sutton Bridge while the boats came through. Grace chilled out in the back watching Peppa on loop, patient with the promise of fun with Grandpa and an ice cream sundae bigger than anything she's seen before. We made it in time for lunch and Mummy made good on her promise.... 

Full steam ahead!

Apparently I am a very poor judge of time. Talking to my good friend Frances on the phone last week, I was telling her how it must be a good 20 years since I'd sat on Santa's knee on a Santa Special at Nene Valley Steam Railway. She chuckled. As a lanky teenager, sitting on Santa's knee with my 16th birthday looming was the last thing on my 'things to do near Christmas' list.

In making that closer to 30 years, we went on a trip down memory lane...

Silent Sunday

Grace (27 months), Grandpa (78 100 years)

Grandpa's Bottom

My father has a lot to answer for. Ignoring the fact I am an end of line item with built in kinks and glitches, he isn't a bad man.... except when it comes to passing wind.

For us regular folk it's a natural occurrence. We might not shout about it, we might not want to own up to it when we do it, but we all do it. It happens. It's called farting. And although it mightn't be the politest of pastimes, one tends to turn a blind eye to it assuming one can keep a straight face and ignore the aftermath.

We ignore these little subtleties with Grace as much as we can. She farts like the rest of us. Quiet ones, cute ones, smelly ones. You get the gist. The point I'm making is that most of us do it, say 'pardon' and move on. No big deal.

Not so my father. He has the full range in his back pocket (pardon) ready to unleash at the speed of light if the need arises. And alas, this habit has rubbed off on Grace. A picture of politeness, Grace's cheeky grin might be a red herring.... it's confirmed... she has Grandpa's Bottom.

I'll paint the scene.

We're playing together, reading a book with Laura, Grace's godmother. All is going well. Grace is attentive, enjoying the interaction. Engaged even. I see the moment change. She stops listening, her brow furrows. She pushes the book away, walks over to me and squats as if she's working out with Jillian Michaels. And then she farts, grinning, positioned perfectly over my lap.

I'm horrified. This wasn't an unexpected 'pop'. This was a calculated, well timed fart. She knew it.

I have failed. Grace has Grandpa's Bottom and she's not shy about it either.