Raced to Blackpool in three and a half hours on Wednesday night. Left London at ten thirty and was in bed by the sea at tooth hurty (which it was following a second bout of dental horror earlier that evening).
Next morning on the beach was majestic. It was blowing a gale but the sun was up and the sky was a stunning blue. Edward went crazy running on the hard sand chasing the sea birds through the shallow pools while I shivered and laughed at him.
On Friday I drove through the Lake District and then across to Newcastle to stay with my parents and attend an old friends 40th birthday party. I walked past the venue twice before swallowing hard and walking in. Four hours later I had caught up with most of the old gang, met their third wives, seen pictures of their snotty nosed kids and reminded them that I still prefer snails to oysters (“oh, I thought that was just a nasty rumour”).
Saturday was Dads birthday but he was busy doing Masonic stuff so it wasn’t until the evening that we all sat down and pigged out on Chinese food and chocolate birthday cake. We watched The Deep End on telly. It had gayers in it so Dad threw Edwards ball for him during those bits (the adult equivalent of putting a cushion over your head during Doctor Who). Later that night me and Mum wet ourselves laughing at the gas canister sketch on Harry Hill’s TV Burp. No, really, a bit of wee actually came out.
On Sunday I was summoned back to the London by my bf because we had run out of milk and fabric conditioner. I walked into the house and found him up a ladder in sexy little painter-man shorts with a wet paint brush and Sunday afternoon football blaring on the telly. Nice.