I’m almost ashamed to recount my behaviour today: a ‘blonde moment’ of such epic proportions should probably just be forgotten as quickly as possible.

It all started out quite normally: we decided to pop into the town to get Daddy an Easter egg and to visit the butcher to get a leg of lamb for Sunday dinner. That’s it, nothing more. So, having traipsed round a packed Tesco, and had a quick rummage round Penneys (well, we were there so it seemed rude not to pop in), we headed back to the car. As I started it up, I noticed the fuel light. ‘Ooh, must get some diesel’, I said to the smalls as we crawled round the multi-storey to the exit… ‘would be quite embarrassing to break down right here’. And then all of a sudden, my car gave a cough…and died. Well, dear reader, I was one car back from the ticket machine, which meant a big, huge and increasingly long snake of cars curling back up towards the car park as I tried, unsuccessfully, to turn my car over. I pushed the ‘help’ button on the ticket machine and politely asked for someone to come and help me before I was lynched by the angry mob.

Actually, I exaggerate, because everyone was very sympathetic, and as soon as some very nice young builders (ahem) in a van stopped to help me by pushing the jeep through the barrier and along onto the pavement (lovely muscles), I received a succession of pitying looks and sympathetic smiles. A fruitless and somewhat less sympathetic conversation with Hubby later ‘yes I’m SURE the light had only just come on…’, and I realised I was on my own. So, leaving a note on the dashboard pleading insanity, we hailed a taxi, made friends with the very nice Nigerian driver called James, and headed off to a petrol station. Well, the first one we tried didn’t sell petrol cans (don’t ask) so we finally found another one (all the time mentally totting up how much money I had on me for this somewhat unexpected detour) where James rushed in, got a can, filled it with diesel and put it back in the car, whilst refusing all my attempts to help in a very gentlemanly manner. Finally back at the car we were rather embarrassed to find the Gards trying to sort out the traffic chaos round a seemingly abandoned jeep on the pavement, but with lots of gushing and apologising, they were soon offering to put the diesel in for me while I once again stood around like lady muck. At this point, J phoned and because #1 had answered the phone and told her all about my stupidity before I could wrestle it off him, she then could hardly talk for laughing, signing off with a ‘oh wait ’til I tell C!’ Noooo, not C, he’ll never let me forget it!

Anyhoo, a couple of heart-stopping false starts, and the jeep leapt into life once more. The boys waved goodbye to their new friends James the taxi, the man from the multi-storey car park and the two helpful Garda lads and I vowed to go back to bed and not get out until tomorrow.

‘Well’, snorted #1 from the safety of the back seat, ‘that’s restored the clever/dumb balance’.

Well, there’s almost no news to tell you. What with it being the holidays and quite mild and sunny, we’ve been content with staying at home. The children got their school reports yesterday and both were excellent: ‘he has been well mannered and well behaved’ was one of the Headmaster’s summary comments about #2, and #1’s was equally complimentary: ‘he has done very well this term’. One (good natured) comment about #1 which made me laugh was from his history teacher: ‘he seldom has too much difficulty with the material. In class he is active during our discussions - occasionally, as noted already, too active to the point where he distracts himself from necessary note-taking!’ What, my baby? At least you can’t say he’s not enthusiastic. Still, it was all positive and this prompted another visit to SuperMacs (I know, but it was their choice … what could I do?). I’m not sure what child psychologists would have to say about junk food being given as a reward but hey, it works for us.

Peanut continues to flourish, and after a desperate call to the lovely M: ‘help, she’s not eating!’ she went back to her rescuer to find out what she ate there. The answer was Felix, and following a mercy dash to the nearest Tesco on Sunday morning (not a quick journey, believe me) she’s now eating properly. Not only the Felix, but also anything and everything else, including my toast and marmalade this morning, which I left unguarded. She’s already developed some weird habits and her favourite resting places include the airing cupboard and any available sink. Already quite talkative (fits in well here then), she yowls and complains if you lift her out in order to wash your hands, then jumps straight back in to the wet basin afterwards. Well, they do say cats are clean…

At the risk of making you completely sick with envy, I’ll just run through my day so far shall I? After a nice lie in (always some bonuses to the kids being on holiday), we had a leisurely breakfast and stepped out into the dazzling sunshine for an equally leisurely walk with mad Holly next door. We then put up the table and chairs, grabbed a cup of tea and some reading material and set up camp in the aforementioned sunshine. The only reason I’ve come in is because I was too hot, and it’s not often you get to say that in April. And just because I’ve gone all smug today, here’s a picture of the view that I’m taking in whilst sipping my tea and sunning myself. Who needs the Caribbean eh?

And Peanut took it easy too…