The blog for the next four days has gone totally international and by that I mean 100 miles south to Leeds. Seeing as the dialects change and I'm never ever going on holiday again due to strict austerity measures I'm classing this as international, plus Yorkshire wants to be separate from the rest of England anyway. Think of it as like Catalunya but not as nice and there is no Lionel Messi.
We are away for a wedding and various other get togethers with friends and Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles. Packing for this trip like many before us is a mammoth task and usually involves us packing an entire house and The Chancellor and I coming to blows. We (The Chancellor) always leaves the packing until the last minute and there is a lot of stress trying to find, then pack, then fit into the car all the things we need, as you can imagine. While there is madness and passive aggressive arguments between his parents going on around him the wee man is happily napping in his car seat waiting and expecting us to have everything sorted. He occasionally stirs, looks somewhat disinterested and falls back to sleep. Eventually the car is packed and has lowered on its suspension nearly all the way down to the tarmac. And off we go, all things said in argument forgiven, like all other families tottering off on a family road trip. When did I become so middle aged?
The last time the wee man was here, at my parent's house, he couldn't even crawl. Now he is man handling my Father's new precious blue ray player and gnawing and slavering all over the remote. Sorry Dad. This weekend he will join us at a wedding, then his grandparents will come and take him away and I can get stinking drunk, stay out for the night then wish the next day with a horrendous hangover that I hadn't because I have a small child. Yay to middle ageness and yay to Grandparents for letting me worry about someone else (me) falling over other than my son!
jpr
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