Cocktail

In his element. After a fabulously lazy day (which didn't start until 11 for any of us) Mr B decided that this afternoon was 'Margarita Time'. So here he is mixing them up in the world's smallest cocktail shaker (all our proper ones being still in Scotland, this is the one from his cocktail making 'travel set' - every house should have one).

Earlier, we headed into the market and divided jobs: Mr B foraged for food, while I took the kids to the Forum D'Associations (freshers fair for clubs in the town) to sign them up for this year's sporting/other activities. Katherine was greeted with great gusto by the basketball coach when we stopped there - I suppose he is delighted to have someone who is fully a foot taller than everyone else her age! Conor told me he no longer wants to do football... after I'd gone over and chatted to the football coaches and picked up the documentation to sign him up again... So now I can't get him interested in any sport. I have laid down the law, though, that one sport is compulsory - but he can choose. So we have basketball and football as possibilities. Or riding (though my bank balance is less happy about that choice as it is dearer than all the other clubs by about ten times....) We were hijacked by the local philatelists for a geography quiz and a bit of chat, and some folk tried to sign me up for the bridge club - until I convinced them that I really really really didn't know how to play and that, no, not every English person knows how to play...

Later there was a long lazy lunch outside, much chatting and getting caught up on all the bizarre news stories we'd both seen all week, and later, of course, a delicious marg in the sunshine: thereby ensuring us freedom from rickets and scurvy in one easy step. Unfortunately, this sunny idyll was interrupted by a crying daughter arriving, with blood pouring down her leg. She had returned a toy to a neighbour and been stoned (yes, I do mean that) by him and a friend for her pains. So now she has a large gash in her leg which means she is finding it very hard to walk and - almost certainly - will have a scar. The boy in question (a friend who used to go their school rather than a neighbour) ran away and could not be told off (by Conor, not me) but Conor did tell the parents who were hosting him. Do you not think they might have popped round to check she was ok? Grumble grumble. And after I gave all the kids cakepops for their snack too.

Anyway, there are a couple of not very exciting backblips for those who care to look (cakepops yesterday). Now I must find bugproof clothing and go and join Mr B on the terrace.