Tag Archives: Portsmouth

Wild things

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Welcome to the danger zone, where your kids are old enough to remember what you’re doing.

I always feel like we get a bit of a free pass for the first couple of years – it’s not actually a free pass, of course, but as you cry through their injections and fail to lovingly home-make their pureed food, at least you can console yourself with the thought that they won’t remember it later. Not so now. Their long-term memory cells are steaming away. We are building a childhood, between us.

There’s nothing like knowing that your children will talk about your foibles in their future therapy sessions to make you regret TOTALLY LOSING IT in a hotel room, one Spring Bank holiday when they were four and two. And, um, all the other times you totally lost it.

I hope they’ll also remember the good stuff. We try so hard. Sometimes it comes off alright.

This was a completely impromptu trip, that started on Friday night when we were giddy with weekend and bedtime and chocolate (always dangerous). One Holiday Inn booking later, we were off to the New Forest for a couple of days. The last time we went, we stayed in a magnificently weird horse-themed B&B and H looked like this.

DEAD

DEAD

When we went back, I wondered why we’d left it so long. Just over an hour away, and so much of this.

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We had gorgeous, gentle sunshine on the first afternoon, and went off on a ramble through the forest. It felt wilder than our woods at home, with lots more to see. Two deer ran across the path and carried on grazing as we walked by, totally unafraid. Tim reached peak Dadness when he made two sailboats out of bark and leaves, and they set them going on the river. Then sunk them with stones. No, maybe that was peak Dadness.

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I would never in a million years think to do this. Dads are the best.

This boy. He walked four miles on both days with no complaining, getting excited about everything. ‘I thought that trail was astounding’, he said as we finished on Sunday afternoon. Then, after a pause: ‘I got that word from The Gruffalo‘.

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You can’t do the New Forest without New Forest ponies. This one was loving all the attention. Emboldened, H approached the next one when our backs were turned. And it tried to kick him in the head. SORRY ABOUT THAT, H’S THERAPIST.

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After a moderately chaotic night in the hotel, we went off to spend the second day in Portsmouth. If you’re ever wondering what to do with your Tesco Clubcard points, I can recommend times one thousand using them for a yearly pass to Portsmouth Historic Dockyard. We paid almost nothing for ours at Christmas, have been back three times since and done something completely different. Today we took the waterbus out to the submarine museum, and toured the HMS Alliance (plus a couple of smaller submarines too).

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I just cannot think of anything more suited to small children than a huge iron structure filled with levers, knobs and wheels they can play with to their heart’s content. We peered through giant periscopes, sat in pilot seats in front of blinking screens and dials, and were all in a perfect lather of excitement.

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I’m not saying the best bit was when T embraced a random woman’s thigh, thinking it was me. But it was pretty hilarious.

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After a quick jaunt round the Victory, because you always need a quick jaunt round the Victory, we followed our hearts to some Nutella Krispy Kremes, and then headed home. After we’d arrived and I’d unpacked the suitcase and made them dinner, it only then occurred to me that H is off school for the rest of the week. The New Forest, a giant submarine and no school run for a week. Never mind them: that feels like total joy to me.

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Christmas Impossible

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I hate airports. Stuff Hugh Grant with his ‘my favourite place in the world is an airport’ thing. The Arrivals part is brilliant – marred only slightly if you are the owner of theĀ child dragging his brother along the floor by the foot – but sooner or later you’re making that inevitable return visit to Departures. Heartbreak, raw for everyone to see, in the middle of all the horrid jolly souls going on holiday for New Year.

All the McDonald’s Festive Pies in the world can’t make up for it, I can tell you that.

This is why I am to be found eating bananas and custard for dinner at 8pm, watching Tom Cruise do tiny ridiculous things in Mission Impossible, and compiling the BIGGEST PHOTO POST EVER of our last week. Indulge me loves; it’s nice to put it all in one place.

So! My sister got married this Christmas. I am one of four, and half of us live overseas. Which meant my mum and step-dad, two younger brothers and their other halves all came here for Christmas week. Since some of our party had never been to the UK before, we crammed e v e r y t h i n g in. It was wonderful.

Wedding first. Absolutely lovely. How classy do they look, eh?

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The boys were already rabid about having so many extra adults to play with.

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Then some play time. On Sunday afternoon we ran quickly over to Silchester, the ruins of an ancient Roman town nearby. I bet the Romans had sunsets like these too.

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Of course, you can’t do England without London.

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We tripped around Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey and some other pretty fancy stuff. You know London. Full of it. Embarrassing, really.

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The next day, minus siblings, we went to see Nelson’s flagship at Portsmouth, the Victory. It was fantastic.

H got a bit into it.

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Please zoom in on that photo by the way: his face is hysterical. Full-on Power Ranger.

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Listening to the tour really brought home to me how splendid and patriotic and yet how irredeemably crap it must have been to serve in the Navy in the 1700s. Body parts. Everywhere. All the blimming time.

Then we did Oxford. City of my heart. Seller of excellent noodles.

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After all that, there was Christmas. I made my first giant Christmas dinner and it was intensely stressful and, like a miracle, came out beautifully even so.

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Even better, my littlest brother proposed to his girlfriend on Christmas Eve, and we all cried, especially when she said yes.

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After Christmas everyone started to go home. Time for some leftover turkey, and one last walk.

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I am wearing (fake)fur-lined leggings in this photo below, by the way. Thanks, Primark. I felt like Lyra Silvertongue ALL DAY.

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Phew, still alive? That brings us up to today, with me sat in pyjamas, eating banana custard and watching hobbity Tom Cruise do implausible things, in a doleful sort of way.

It was a great Christmas. Once-in-a-lifetime, really. I’m glad I get to remember it here.

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