Toby makes a getaway

In a quiet Yorkshire backwater away from the dubious inner city underworld, we exist, minding our own business and trying to get along without much ado. That was until I had the men in uniform knocking on the door to question me about our car being used as the getaway car for crime earlier in the day north of the boarder.

Politely yet flustered, toddler clinging to my leg, I explained my day had been packed with a post office run, play date with the village women and a trip to the hairdressers to have my roots done. All very exciting but not at all Miami Vice, I hoped my alibi would hold water. He eyed me up and down and considered the knackered looking Touran on the driveway with deep thought.

 I simply could not have been there doing that today. Nodding to himself satisfied he delivered the verdict that the car had most likely been cloned.

Subject to identity theft, I'm nursing my wounds. A nasty mister somewhere has pinched a car the same as ours, stuck false plates on, and assumed our identity when doing whatever nasty misters do.

Pissed off, I'm told I can look forward to being pulled over by a patrol car in the coming days as there's a call out on the reg number so no doubt when Grace is pulling one of her toddler tantrums and the dog is barking her head off at a man wearing a hat, I'll be sat on the hard shoulder of the motorway grinding my teeth while the chassis number verifies that our car is our car.

Just another day in paradise as Jane at northernmum would say!

The only possible upside is that when that speeding ticket comes through, I can bat my lids and tell them it wasn't me guv.

Only a few hours old...

Image0090, a photo by Little Bambini on Flickr.

....to 2 years old. How time flies!

Azbo Aaron... Judging a cover by the book

Clearing out the spare bedroom of the hoards of clothes and toys that Grace has outgrown is a mammoth task reserved for days when I've ticked off everything else on the to-do list and it's the last thing standing. I hate it, with a passion but needs must and seeing as I've not been able to open the door fully for at least a month, the deed needed to be done. Armed with laptop, camera, caffeine and the promise of a stiff drink on completion, I dug myself in an evening of dire eBay listings.

Zoom forward a week, things have sold, the room is clearer. I have some money in my pocket and said stiff drink has long since been necked (thank you Uncle Frank for the Glayva you bought us!)

Do you ever wonder what your buyers are like? Who is taking on your clutter, to them a little gem? I regularly bid on eBay for hidden gems that I refuse to pay full price for, like Converse high tops for a toddler who'll probably only be in them two months at most. So I often wonder if the person selling wonders who is buying their junk, my little gem of a find?

Assume my interest then, when a bundle of Grace's toys sold for a tenner to someone going by the screen name of Azbo Aaron. Not ASBO, but cooler, more hip. Azbo.

Now I'm not one to judge on first impressions, sometimes not even second. That said I did rather feel I ought to batten down the hatches and warn the neighbours there might be a wrong'un effing and jeffing up the street with a can of White Lightening hanging off his arm. Then I told myself not to be such a bloody snob and that regardless of his ASBO, Aaron was someones son who at some time in his life got a rap on the wrist for pissing on the bus stop and swearing at the vicar.

I reminded myself I've known highly educated professionals, Old Etonians even, who've pissed behind the curtain at a rugby club reunion, who've run naked across the beach when someones pinched their underwear while they were swimming and whom probably had more colourful language than me and my cousin Christina on an Essex night out. None of which is particularly social to the average Joe.

So I park my assumptions and ride it out. As it turns out, Azbo Aaron sent his Mrs to pick up the haul so I'll never get to put my wonderings to bed. Probably just as well, I've had enough of pot kettle black for one day.

Heather goes running...

In just a weeks time I will be running the York 10k for charity. It's my first road race, and my first fundraising challenge too. I'm at 90% of my target so it's looking like I'll hit the goal to raise enough money to put an air conditioning unit into the animal hospital I'm running for. TOLFA (the Tree of Life for Animals) is a charity close to my heart. It's founder Rachel is a good friend of mine who decided to give up her life as a veterinary nurse in this country and buy a patch of wasteland in India.

Since that time some years ago now, she has built a hospital, with kennels, wards, treatment areas and an operating theatre. The team of vets and volunteers work hard, neutering strays and vaccinating against rabies which is prevalent out there.  And more recently they have started work on education projects with local villagers to help them better look after their cattle so they in turn can better help them work the land. It's a great project with no major sponsors. They also run a volunteer program for anyone with animal handling experience, from vet students, nurses to animal lovers who can offer nurturing care.

source

My training has been up and down. I suffer with an old back and knee injury so training runs have come in fits and starts inbetween bouts of forced recovery. I've managed to fit runs in early morning or after Grace has gone to bed, so I'm hoping with luck and the wind behind me, the effort I have put in will be enough. FINGERS CROSSED!

Photos from the charity can be seen here

A photobook (slum dogs of India) published can be viewed here

It's a dogs life

Riding Miss Daisy

It's been a long time since we were pulling out hair out thinking we were going to have to rehome the baby dog when we realised we were ill prepared for housing a dog and a baby under the same roof. Since then we have worked hard to wear the dog down teach Grace respect for animals and that's largely going well, apart from today when the funniest thing EVER from Grace's perspective was riding Daisy round the living room.

You can read more about our arse about tit experience of introducing a new baby to the dog here

Water Confidence

Back to basics

Grace got off to a great start with confidence in water as we decided to take her to swimming lessons early on in her development. From around 3 months old we joined a swimming class and Grace began to look forward to the weekly dip in the pool but I soon got bored of the commitment to be in a certain place at a certain time and by the time she hit her first birthday we'd stopped going. We did go to the local pool a few times but typically without the impetus of joining a class it dwindled out altogether. By the time we hit Turkey in May this year, she'd lost all her confidence and although she wanted to be in the pool ALL the time, she would not submerge and had no interest in assuming the swim position. Oh-oh!

Eager to get back on track we've signed up for lessons again starting in September and it's my mission between now and then to work with her making water fun. Thanks to the two days of summer we had this week, we made a start with the paddling pool. Thank you mother nature!

Do as I do...

So as I was saying, Grace is taking more of an active role in her own welfare. Cleaning her teeth, washing her face, lathering the shampoo in her hair... whatever it is, she takes part... she's learning. Fortunately I was wise enough to send a choice of two sunhats to Grandma's house this morning, as Grace took care to make sure Rosie the Bear was safe in the sun too. (Ignore the fact she's indoors with the curtains drawn to keep the blazing sun out!)

Helping Rosie the Bear into her sunhat

Taking a step on from there, tonight me and Matt the Husband were treated to a dose of moisturiser from Grace while in the throes of getting her ready for bed. We both left the room smothered in pink lotion where she'd done her best to spread it out and rub it in. I'm hoping she picks up Indian Head Massage at nursery tomorrow.