So Champneys then. Brace yourself, this is a little verbose (ooh I love that word). Well our first impression was ‘wow’. The old house is absolutely fantastic, nestling in acres of carefully tended Hertfordshire real estate and recently refurbished to include a plush new wing which has been cleverly incorporated into the original house, somehow managing to blend the two whilst cleverly keeping the new wing modern and the old bit traditional. Well, that’s what we reckoned anyway.

Less ‘wow’ altogether was the rugby scrum at the fitness desk where the extremely frazzled Champneys employees were trying to book in a hoard of day guests - thanks mainly to a 2 for 1 offer that was running at the time. Red-faced Champneys staff were rushing around giving tours and booking people in. One rushed past and barked ‘you’ve missed the tour!’ at us, but happily C is somewhat of a regular and R used to work there, so we weren’t worried about finding our way around. It certainly wasn’t conducive to a restful day of pampering, no siree. We’d gone for a ‘Spa Day’ which included a Thalassotherapy treatment, a half hour facial and a half hour massage, oh and lunch, which left an inordinately long time for lounging and chatting. This was fine by us as we had a lot of catching up to do, but others may find it a bit boring.

Thalassotherapy first then - this is basically a session of being pummelled and massaged by various water jets, fountains and streams of bubbles in a swimming pool full of er…stuff. I think it’s minerals and things, it certainly tastes funny. Adolf Hitler in a white uniform was our guide for the day (blimey, would it kill you to crack a smile?) and we were quizzed on everything from our medical history to our bowel movements before being allowed to set so much as a big toe in the water. We were moved around the various different jets and bubbly bits in the water, and I have to say it was rather nice. All too soon, Nurse Hitler was telling us to get out though, where we were ordered to have a shower (with soap!) to remove the minerals and stuff from the pool. Scary.

I’m skipping a lot of the lazing about we did - we also had a very quick swim (two lengths in Olympic-standard times - it was freeeeezing!!) and various sauna/plunge bath/Jacuzzi sessions which were all free. At one stage Frank Bruno wandered past (’ooh, he’s toned’) and we saw Marlene from Only Fools and Horses, which prompted a session of Boycie impersonations (it’s okay, she didn’t hear). The facial and massage were very nice, although they’re over SO quickly. C got a right result as her therapist had no more appointments and treated her to an extra long session (ooer). She floated back down to the waiting room where R&I were waiting, assuming that she’d done her usual trick and fallen asleep, looking very relaxed, having had extra work on her bad shoulder and a very nice chat to boot. R & I wondered whether the therapist had a bit of a crush (C is gorgeous) but nope, C assured us there were no ‘extras’ (ho ho).

There you have it, then. Lunch was nice (more queuing), consisting of healthy-ish hot dishes like a delicious lemony grey mullet and salmon combo, herby chicken, roasted new potatoes and plenty more in the hot buffet, plus the usual salad bar suspects. The waiter got us all excited by asking us if we wanted fruit or dessert, only for us to discover that the dessert was fruit as well (doh!). Highlight of the day for me, apart from getting to spend a whole day with my much-missed pals of course, was the Spa Shop. Champneys products are superb, in fact I’d go so far as to say they’re on a par with Clarins - a nice wide range, modern ingredients, yummy smells and classy packaging, all for a fraction of the price. Their face masks come in really nice packs of sachets so naturally I had to purchase a pack (well, I WAS travelling), and then ended up loading myself down with an unfeasibly heavy jar of Exotic Body Glow body scrub (heavenly smelling and a blingtasticly fabulous jar), some of their wonderful Intensive Cracked Heel Treatment Balm (yummy smell + soft feet = bonus) and an Overnight Sensation Hand Care Treatment which smells gorgeous - I think it’s lavender - too. The whole lot setting me back just £30.00 which is er …divide by two multiply times three … [takes off socks, crosses eyes] about 45 Euro…phew. I was dead impressed.

Their Mother-to-be range contains a Collagen Boost Body Butter, which R’s sister had used throughout her pregnancy without accruing a single stretch mark. Our therapist recommended it for us non-preggers types too - fab for body smoothing and treating existing marks - a total bargain at a tenner. Sadly they don’t deliver to Ireland, but I’ll be getting Hubby to load his case up before he comes back.

Overall, then, our spa day got about a 7/10, gaining marks for wonderful venue and fab shopping, but losing them for their greedy over-booking and stingy free treatments. Oh, and you had to pay for teas and coffees too. After paying over £120 for a single day (and no, I’m not changing that into Euro - do it yourself)? Pah!

So, this morning we had an emotional reunion with a very stinky Bert. By all accounts he’d had a pretty handy week (oops, sorry - Irishism - for ‘handy’ read ‘easy’) at his doggy-sitter’s, and was trotting happily up and down an outdoor pen when we went to pick him up. #2 hopped out to open the gate, spotted Bertie and legged it off for the first cuddle, leaving #1 and I stuck half out on the road and half through the gate, shouting ‘oy! Open the gate ye pillock!’ through the car window.

Our next problem was trying to fit a very dirty Bertie (judging by the state of him he’d slotted back into kennel life rather well) into our hire car , a rather compact Opel Corsa. One of the lads at the trainer’s managed to take the parcel shelf out and lever him into the very small boot space, but he was a bit uncomfortable and fidgety all the way home, spending most of it with his head hanging over the back seat while he drooled lovingly down #1’s collar. We chatted on the way home about whether he actually remembered us or was just pleased to get a bit of attention, but he did seem quite pleased with himself and was certainly enjoying jamming his nose into the back of #1’s head…something smelled good.

So, after a shower, shampoo and blow dry and looking spectacularly cute and fluffy, we finally got a chance to give him a proper cuddle and give him his gift: a very lifelike rabbit toy, especially created to be indestructible. Hmm..we’ll see about that. Having sniffed then discarded his new bunny (the weird burping noise it makes made him jump), he hurtled down the hall like a furry rocket whereupon he launched himself straight on top of a surprised #2, landing on his lap and quickly stuffing his head straight into #2’s armpit before settling down for a well-deserved cuddle (don’t tell Hubby). I’m not sure whether he recognises us or not, but look at the three of them, they love each other to bits and it’s lovely to have him back. Welcome home, Bertilicious. We missed you.

Phew. I feel somewhat like Dorothy out of the Wizard of Oz. No, no, it’s not the pigtail thing, it’s just that cramming in a visit to every living relative and friend in the space of one long weekend is akin to being whizzed around in a tornado and then being unceremoniously dumped onto your bottom into a strange, dream-like place before finding yourself back where you started at the end of it. We arrived back and sat, blinking, at the kitchen table like survivors of an international incident.

So in the space of our weekend we managed the following: C&R and I had our girly spa day at Champneys (more of that later), the boys went out for a Chinese with their Disreputable Grandad, Hubby and I snatched one solitary meal out together: Thai, since you ask, and very nice it was too. Saturday saw us charge off to the boys’ old school for the summer fete where we saw loads of people we knew and the children rushed off happily with their old mates for the afternoon, followed by pizza with Grandma, oh and I squeezed in a quick cuppa with my lovely sister in law, whilst waiting for the delivery; straight off to my brother’s for a rather yummy couple of bottles of his finest white and a long overdue catch-up, leaving the boys to have an overnight stay with their much-missed cousins…deep breath…Sunday was cricket for the boys, then up to R’s for a really fab lunch cooked by the fahbulous M, in the delightful company of C and her hubby Big R, where we whiled away a delicious afternoon (more wine) as the kids played very nicely together. #1 then went off to cricket nets with his mates while Hubby (who was very giggly by that stage) and I had a further glass of wine with me Mum before heading off to bed. Monday was a trip to the cinema (Fantastic Four and the Silver Surfer - very good), a visit to McDonald’s, a much longed-for catch-up and plenty of belly laughs with the magnificent B, fish and chips for tea (ooh, healthy) and a late visit into town to pick me Mum up from the station after a rather soggy day at Wimbledon. Tuesday was an opportunity for the boys to get a bit of coaching in the nets with DD, before a trip to lunch in a pub now run by a dear friend of ours, #2 went to a friend’s for the afternoon and the evening was dominated by the dreaded Morris dancers (slight disappointment to the smalls after the Disreputable one had convinced them that the Morrises throw knives at each other), made all the more bearable by a lovely meal with the Disreputable one and a couple of bottles of rather gluggable Merlot. And that, as they say, was that. One long-awaited visit over in a flurry of hugs, laughs, meals, a disgusting amount of alcohol and much muttering in airport queues. Still, you can’t say we didn’t use our time well.

Highlights were many and varied but my favourite had to be #1 being told by his Auntie L that he’d grown. ‘So have you’, he cried as he gave her an extra-hard hug, ‘you’re massive!’

Well, I’m off on my hols for a week - dropped Bertie at the ‘doggysitter’ arranged by J and was gobsmacked when he trotted away and leapt in the chap’s car without a backward glance. The boys and I stood forlornly as he was driven off, tail wagging and wet nose pressed against the window. Traitor.

Anyhoo, I might be able to post, but I’m not sure, so here’s some nice elevator music to keep you occupied ’til I’m back…hmmm hmmmm hmm hmmmmmmm hmmmm…..

Okay, so I know how to own a small boy - I’ve read the manual (in fact, I’ve written some of it for your delectation), but hell, nobody told me about the blood and guts side of it. Take #2 (please!), living up to his nickname of ‘Death Wish Child’ yesterday and trying to kill himself again. I received the chilling ‘now there’s nothing to worry about, but…’ telephone call from the school. Again. This time, it seemed, another child had carelessly dropped a large rock on his head and they were on their way to the surgery with him, ‘but he’s conscious’. Oh, is that all? Not to worry then.

I drove to the school whilst on the phone to J, relating fears of brain damage and skull fractures (she’s very calm in a crisis - I tried to phone Hubby and me Mum too but he didn’t answer and she was at a funeral - arrggghhh). Anyhoo, when I got to the school a very subdued #2 was back from the surgery, having received the all-clear on a lump that bowed out half his forehead in the most alarming manner and was a grisly shade of eau-de-nil, and several cuts under his hair, one large enough to have drenched his collar, sleeve and half the front of his shirt in blood. Not a sight a mother needs to see too often.

Still, he’s in one piece and lovely #1, usually a wobbly jelly in a crisis, had been fantastic, helping his little brother into the shower to wash off a large proportion of the frighteningly huge amount of blood, and holding his hand at the Doctor’s.

And how did this all happen? They were climbing up a slope, and the girl who was climbing above him stood on the rock, dislodging it whereupon it bounced down and glanced off #2’s head on its way. ‘Girls’, said #2 disparagingly. ‘They’re nothing but trouble’. Hmmm.

Today, as you know, is Fathers’ Day (or if you didn’t, it’s too bloody late now, you’re in big trouble). The boys sent Hubby a package containing all sorts of mad things: chocolate, CDs that he won’t like (the one with the dancing band ladies that show their bottoms - #2 thought he’d like that) and a book that he might like if we’re lucky. They had a lovely chat with him and told him all about the dogs and the money and didn’t let him get a word in edgeways. For my part, I had a silly chat with the Disreputable One this morning, who acknowledged receipt of my present (’at least it wasn’t another bloody box of Maltesers’) and laughed heartily at the tale of his smallest grandson needing a session at Gamblers Anonymous (see, being wayward is in the blood).

I’m SO looking forward to going home. We’ve got a few things planned with family and friends including a somewhat bizarre trip to see Morris dancers (don’t ask), but I’m really looking forward to seeing him. His humour may be x-rated, he may be exasperating, naughty and dastardly, but he’s big-hearted, generous, funny, a fantastic Grandad, and an all round bloody good laugh. In a rare serious moment during our phone call today, he said ‘I miss you’ and for a moment it caught me off guard. He’s seldom sensible and it touched a nerve. Let’s face it; you only get one Disreputable Dad in every lifetime. I miss you too, Dad. Lots.

We had an absolutely lovely Saturday. #1’s mate J is staying for the weekend and he’s a lovely lad, so after a leisurely morning complete with pancakes, bacon and maple syrup, we popped to my fave hotel for a late lunch (cricket ball burger anyone?) and a gawp at a wedding party (purple bridesmaids and a corset when you are flat chested suit no bride, but I kept my malevolent thoughts to myself, natch). Later we poshed ourselves up and headed up to the doggy stadium for J’s leaving do. Now the stadium restaurant is closed as they’re building an enormous all-weather horse racing track there and enlarging the facilities. This initially caused the disgustingly snobby #1 some concern: ‘what, you mean we have to go downstairs with the normal people?’ but he soon cheered up when he saw J’s little C and a host of other kids, and soon disappeared from view.

Well, the world and his brother think very highly of J&C and she was smothered in kisses, compliments, flowers and gifts, which brought a tear to her eye several times. We got to go and see C for a behind-the-scenes shuftee in the weigh room, which I enjoyed (until I put my drink down and someone spilt it all over his paperwork - oops). Then it was back to the bar. J gave little C, #2, #1 and his mate J 5 Euro each to have a little play on the tote, and later on I did the same, thinking in a sensible, parently manner that it gave them a Euro to put on each of the ten remaining races. It wasn’t long, however, before #2 came back clutching a handful of notes (hmmm…that boy has the luck of the devil). One of our friends is a trainer who had a few dogs running, and we were introduced to other trainers so, obviously, we had to put a few quid on their greyhounds too. Long story short and by the end of the evening all three boys were 100 euro up and I’d got exactly the same amount in my purse that I came with.

I’m not sure whether this is such a good thing. I’m too much of a scaredy dog to have any chance at ever becoming addicted to anything. Take smoking, for example, yes I used to smoke but one comment was enough to make me give up and never smoke again. Likewise with betting, I don’t mind putting a bet on for fun but there’s no way I could ever get addicted. #2 on the other hand had that mad sparkle in his eyes which belongs solely to small boys clutching a handful of cash. So I had to do the motherly thing and remind him of our upper bet limit and explain that yes, it’s a fun evening once in a while, but dogs don’t always win races and that betting on every one will leave you with empty pockets at the end of an evening. Luckily, they listened sagely to our trainer friend, M, when he explained that no, he didn’t routinely bet on the greyhounds he trained as he of all people knew they didn’t always win and that he would likely end up a very poor person.

The evening was rounded off with big hugs for J and the boys were hugely excited to find M the trainer still outside with his dogs, so they got to have a stroke of the winning dog (who was very waggy and proud of himself) before falling soundly asleep in the back of the car 5 minutes after leaving the stadium. I’ll miss J, and I feel strangely comforted by the fact that I’m not the only one. We’re planning an action-packed girly weekend to London before Christmas though, so we’ve got that to look forward to. Next I’m going to teach her to say ‘innit’.

I love my mates. I’m blessed with some lovely friends for whom distance has not been an issue. I did initially worry that maybe we’d lose touch but no, their funny, touching, irreverent and slightly bonkers emailing and texting has remained a rather comforting constant in my life and for that I’m very grateful. It’s nice to know that someone somewhere gives a toss about you enough to take time to see how you are.

As you know, I’ve also become very close to J, my lovely, clever, greyhound-mad buddy and I’m dead happy for her because she’s off to start a wonderful new life with her gorgeous man, the equally-clever, equally-kind and equally wonderful C, and their charming wee man as well. I’m sad as hell for me, but dead happy for her! Many an evening we’ve talked the hind legs off a donkey whilst concurrently balancing our phones and cooking dinner (multitaskers, us) or conducted entire text conversations (’Shit! The dog ate my fecking handbag!’) whilst packing a bunch of greyhounds off to some foreign clime (her) and defuzzing various body parts in the bath (me).

Still, she’s shortly to be back on four wheels (look out Laois!) so we’ll be meeting up for more mad adventures I’m sure, but she won’t be my metaphorical comfort blankie up the road in Dundalk any more and I’d be lying if I’m not suffering from the odd twinge.

Still, Jen, I’ll be applying your tried and trusted life lesson # 10: ‘Hang on with grim determination to the only two things in life that truly matter: your family and your friends.’ Good luck with your new job (woohoo!), God speed, bon voyage, may you be over-endowed (ooer) with domestic bliss, and may all your troubles be little ones. Mwah xxx

Okay, so today I went for my freebie visit to the spa. If you’ll remember, lovely E, the manager, had offered Hubby and I a go at the new thermal spa, but we’d never managed to keep the appointment due to one of the sprogs selfishly deciding to be ill. Anyhoo, now the new mud rasul bit was open and she wanted me to have a go at that too, so how could I resist?

Now we go to Knightsbrook quite a lot (they have a lovely bar area overlooking the golf course where we take the children for burgers the size of cricket balls), but I never cease to be impressed by the massive marble-clad entrance complete with the biggest, blingiest chandelier you’ve ever set eyes on. The people there are just so friendly and I was dead excited to be back again. Because I’m always popping in with me Mum or C&R or just to get the odd bit of waxing or whatever, I’ve got to know E and some of her girls quite well. I have to say it’s lovely being welcomed back with a big smile by people who remember your name (and ask after your friends and family too) and the spa is just gorgeous - all brown leather sofas, creamy marble and coffee coloured walls. I could spend all day there (in fact, I sometimes do).

Right, digressing again there - so I was welcomed by the lovely C and shown to the changing rooms (more buttery marble and piles of latte coloured waffle towels) to change into my funky flip-flops and ridiculously plush bathrobe (I’m desperate for one but not so desperate I’d stuff one in my handbag - it wouldn’t fit anyway). Then it was down a spectacular marble staircase to the thermal spa: an incredible mosaic-tiled mega-bathroom with all sorts of different cabins and cubicles: some hot, some cool, some steamy, some with aromatherapy stuff and even a salt grotto (a high humidity chamber with sea salt infused steam wafting around). This is the good bit: I was given a pot of mud which looked kind of like chocolate spread but actually smelt quite nice - a bit herby and medical - and (because I wasn’t officially having a treatment, just a ‘go’ - usually it’s combined with body brushing or something else) I was allowed to put it on myself. The therapist very kindly offered to do my back, then let me loose with the mud. Seeing as I was on my own, and I’m not shy anyway, I stripped off and smothered myself all over (singing the Disreputable one’s favourite Hippopotamus song: ‘Mud, mud, glorious mud’ to myself as I slapped it all over - and I mean ALL over). This was truly the best fun I’ve had naked in a long time (well, since Hubby’s been away anyway). Then, looking somewhat like a Cadbury’s chocolate finger, I took my seat in the steam rasul where delicious smelling steam soon turned everything cloudy. Had it not been so bloody hot I think I would have dozed off.

Some time later (ahem) and after a brisk shower (ooh, this is fab, you can press different buttons and choose between a tropical storm, side jets, or a ’spike’ shower where you get really pummelled), I headed out to the thermal spa to try out all the different cabins. Sadly this is when it all went wrong as they’d all just broken down. Ah well. I had a lovely sauna, another go with the mad showers, dried off, smothered myself in yummy body lotion, and headed off to the ‘chill out’ room for herbal tea, fruit and a nice lie down.

A bit disappointed that I didn’t get to try the thermal spa but hey, it was a freebie after all. My skin is tingling and soft as a baby’s bum and it was a really lovely pampering experience. This mud really was glorious!

Another little gastronomic intermission for you today then. Made some pistachio brownies while we had our scary guests and they turned out rather good so seeing as I’m the laziest cook in the world and this is the easiest recipe, I thought I’d share. This is a bastardisation (can I say that?) of my mate C’s fantastically good brownie recipe and Rachel Allen’s one from ‘Rachel’s Favourite Food’, pared down for the incurably idle. There’s an excellent opportunity for some child labour here because the pistachios taste so much better if they’re the shell-on salted kind (trust me, the salt really works), so enlist the help of your small people to shell enough pistachios to end up with 4oz (don’t, by the way, enlist the help of your stupid greyhound - Bertie tried to get his nose into the bowl of shells and ended up smashing it on the floor - I’m still crunching on the occasional pistachio shell now - no of course I didn’t hoover - there’s no R in the month). They’ll love you for it, I promise. Next time I’m going to try this with the Green and Black’s Cherry chocolate and some almonds. Ooh, or the Butterscotch with some pecans…yum. Anyhoo, here goes:

A bar and a half (the big 150g ones - there’s no room for the parsimonious in brownie making, girl) of Green and Black’s 70% dark chocolate
6 oz butter
3 eggs
8 oz caster sugar
4 oz plain flour
4 oz shelled salted pistachio nuts (roughly chopped, or don’t bother if you’re really idle)

So, melt your butter and chocolate in a bain-marie (bowl over saucepan of simmering water - yes, I know you knew that, but just in case…). Take it straight off when it’s nearly there as you only need it just warm - you should be able to put your finger in it - any hotter and you’ll have scrambled eggs. So mix up the eggs and the sugar (you don’t need to whisk or anything, just until they’re combined), then add in the butter/chocolate mixture, the flour and the nuts. Bung it in a greaseproof paper-lined tin (I used my lasagne tin which is rectangular (11×7x1.5) and bake for about 35 mins at 180C/350F/gas 4 (sorry!!) until it looks all shiny and cracked on the top, but still deliciously squidgy in the middle. Cool, then stuff into face. Magic.