Just One Evening

I had such high hopes for beautiful evenings spent in our garden this summer. I dreamt of evenings sat outside with a glass of wine (though water would have done) with David, lanterns glowing with tea lights and fairy lights draped beneath the umbrella. Maybe one of us sat in the pod on a big cushion that we never ended up buying, swaying slowly. I envisioned having our little patch of brown filled with beautiful flowers and greenery, and music gently flowing out of the open living room window while we chatted easily and enjoyed each other's company.

We still get to enjoy each other's company. Unfortunately it's mostly locked up indoors, windows firmly shut because of my ongoing hayfever and more often than not, there's a bucket at my feet, because of the nausea, just in case.

It saddens me to look out at that garden, (even with nosy neighbour sticking her head out of the window opposite trying to catch any movement of anyone that might be worth gossiping about) and see it left unused. Brown patch still very much brown save for the weeds that have grown back after I painstakingly spent hours trying to get rid of them just a few weeks ago. Umbrella still closed and covered after the long, cold winter. And find myself wishing for cold again because I know it'll calm the hayfever.

Before I know it, the summer I so wished for will be over and I won't have had a chance to enjoy it. I hate watching it go by and not be able to do anything about it, except dream about the way it could have been.

I'm sad today. Disappointed. But tomorrow's a new day and the weather should be cooler. And who knows? Maybe one of these days, it'll ease up, and maybe I'll get even one evening in my garden before the winter's back.

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An Introduction

Well I promised you all an explanation for my recent behaviour and here it is.

For the last few weeks, I've been rather unwell, mostly in the afternoons and evenings. Unfortunately there's not much I or anyone can do about it as it's down to those wonderful things we know as hormones. (And hayfever.)

Lovelies, I'm almost 10 weeks pregnant. David and I are very very excited about it all and yesterday we got a first look at our little Bean, who seems to be doing very well, jumping around in there. We saw a beating heart, little fingers and arms and kicking legs and then Bean got camera shy and gave us his (her?) back.

So, here's introducing my upside-down little Bean :)



(Fingers crossed that my anything-but-morning sickness lifts soon to allow me a smidgeon of normality!)

Lines of Light and Dark

Last year, as summer came to an end here in the UK, I was invited to be a guest blogger on Biscuit in the Basket. This year, to mark the beginning of a brand new summer, I'd like to repost my piece here. Hope you enjoy it!


September 2009

England's not exactly known for it's sunny days, but this summer there've been a good few of them. Sunlight fills me with joy: It reminds me of brilliant summers in Malta when I was young. We lived in an old house which was over a hundred years old and had once been a guesthouse for the posh and pompous. Downstairs, our bedrooms, had been the maids' quarters. There was a little storeroom, which we used as a study. It was always so dark in there; I would run past it like a flash of lightning, day or night. Surely there were ghosts and other terrifying creatures hiding in that little room, ready to eat me alive.

We lived in that house for 12 years. Yet the strongest memories that remain are summer ones. I don't remember looking out of the window and seeing rain. It always seemed happy. Always full of sunshine. Whether the old wooden shutters were open or closed.

The summers were brilliant. Carefree schoolchildren, books forgotten for the three months of summer. We'd be playing in the paddling pool in the huge garden at the back of the house, when we'd hear a van hooting its horn and a man shouting in Maltese. The pastry man was here. We'd get out of the pool, pull off any swimming aids (clearly unnecessary in a few inches of water but made us feel like professional swimmers), and we'd run through the house, leaving a trail of little foot-sized puddles of water, throw open the front door, coins jingling in our clammy hands, and we'd queue up at the pastry man's van eager for pastries. He had the best ones: the long soft pastries with the white cream and the bright red jam. They were always delicious and we could never have enough of them.

Then one summer he never came again. And we never really thought about it either. That paddling pool always got filled with water though, even when we were technically way too big to fit in it, and when there were far too many friends trying to join in. Anything for some respite from that stifling Mediterranean heat.

Summers quickly came to an end (although our parents always found three entire months never ending!) and memories fast-forward to my sister and I sitting at the kitchen table, suspiciously inspecting our brand new schoolbooks. The shutters would be closed in a further attempt to keep out the heat. But rays of light still seeped in. The room would be filled with alternating lines of light and dark, all around. It felt somewhat reassuring: another school year might be around the corner, but the sun hasn’t quite deserted us yet.

23 Hours

In 2000, I got my driving licence. I was a couple of years behind my peers, but I'd been in no rush to drive. But at 18, and with a piece of paper to prove I could do it, my next step was to get my hands on a car. Thanks to my then-boss who helped to get me a sweet deal on a new car, I bought myself a Fiat Punto in light blue - a standard model as I could afford no extras and was already working 3 jobs (fit in around uni) to pay for it all.

The big day came and the car arrived. I went to pick it up with my mum and dad and was too scared to drive it home, so I made my dad drive. The next day, I decided I had to try, so I got behind the wheel.

23 hours after my dad drove the car out of the showroom, the car looked anything but new. It smelt new, it sure as hell was new, but it was dented all along the left-hand side, the mirror broken in 3 places hanging on a thread like a dismembered arm. I had misread the situation, misjudged the space and dragged the side of the car all the way along a (parked) Land Rover, in too much shock at what was happening to even think of stopping before I'd damaged all three side panels of the car.

I had no spare money to fix the car, so it remained... dented, a permanent reminder of that embarrassing day. I eventually started driving again (it took a while to get back into the car and trust myself not to completely wreck the car on a second attempt), and although the story is always a very amusing self-depreciating tale to tell, I've spent ten years driving terrified that it'll happen again, always leaving miles of unnecessary space on the left-hand side of the car.

But lately I've noticed a change. I'm not terrified any longer. I'm barely even scared. I'm cautious, sure, but that's probably a good thing. I can drive through a tight spot and keep breathing. Not missing a heartbeat, or two. It's taken ten years to get to this point (boy does that make me feel old!!!). I can't say I haven't enjoyed driving in the meantime, but it certainly offers the possibility of enjoying it a whole lot more!

I can't promise to drive closer to whatever there is on my left though - I might just have to live with that one!

[The photo was taken - by Cora (right) - in July 2005, after one of our trips to Bugibba for delicious pancakes!]

The Saturdays had the greatest fun...

When my sister, Denise, and I were at school, we learnt poems off by heart. Denise was far better at it than I was. She still remembers most of those poems to this very day. A while back, one particular poem that we really loved popped into my head. But, typically, I could only remember the first line and couldn't for the life of me find it anywhere online.

I emailed it to Denise, and asked her to continue it. Within minutes, I had the entire poem in my inbox (although she claims she's forgotten the fifth paragraph). Whenever I read it, it makes me smile, and I thought I'd share it with you today. I wonder if any of you have ever heard it..?



The Saturdays' Party in Fairyland
M. C. Davies

All the Saturdays met one day
Each was very polite they say;
They shook each other by the hand
And had a party in fairyland.

They wouldn't let any Mondays in
And not one Tuesday at all could win
Her way past the supercilious crowd.
And Wednesdays - why they weren't allowed!

Thursdays could only stand in the street
And look through the door at the things to eat,
And the Fridays and Sundays pretended they
Didn't like parties anyway.

But the Saturdays had the greatest fun!
They played hopskotch and run-sheep-run,
And frog-in-the-meadow and pull-away,
And all the games they wanted to play.

And after they'd played and played and played
They had pink straws in their lemonade.
And the cookies and tarts were like a dream,
And all the Saturdays had ice cream!

I'd my doubts when I heard and you'll have yours,
But strange things happen on foreign shores,
And they say the best fête ever planned
Was the Saturday's party in fairyland.


Have a wonderful Saturday! x

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