The hot humid blast furnace that is Summer is well and truly here. It all happened quite suddenly really with only a week from 'ok, I can live with this' to the now regular 'sod work, I'm off for a dip' Not sure the bank manager understands this ethos though!

The eldest is now free from the confines of daily nursery and is spending a week in Summer school. There appears to be no difference except that he can wear his own clothes and not the fascist uniform. This I think is the only change. They also swim and play water sports, although not sure what this entails. Drench the Teacher, soak the quiet girl or something I suppose.



Leave it to the Super Hero's to walk the dog!!

Louyn is happily chugging along. An excellent infant without the demands of his sibling. No interest in TV, only building and unravelling toilet rolls when given the opportunity. He also seems to be a darling of the Gharghur Mosquito community which has invoked a huge spend on systems to eliminate their presence. So far so good.



The Homesteaders...

The whole family is looking forward to a short break in the homeland. Whilst it demanded that I attend work, the good lady has plans for a fun filled trip. TheO can't wait to build a snowman eating a pizza despite our explanation that it won't be the same as last time (winter 09) I think that I will miss the deckchair terribly though!

Now firmly entrenched in a new residence, a sleepy hilltop village, life is not relaxed. Things are not quite what we were led to believe. First there was the Milk Festival, an event that took over a weekend, involved beer and wine tents, a food court and much music and dance. This was outside the front door. Next the visit by the Archbishop of Malta. The same provissions as previous, just that the only visitors that came were Nuns. The village celebrates it 400 years of having a church and these matters don't sit quietly with the locals!



TheO surfs the net

At this stage we have all just about managed to acclimatise to the bells. They start at 5am to let everybody know, its 5am. This continues every hour, on the hour until everybody gets the point, at which stage, it's time to get up. I now understand why it's called a sleepy village.

The boys loving the new space, with TheO inviting everybody to tea. He has also been rewarded with a pet Rabbit called Pumpkin. Being the national dish in Malta, I may well have an excuse when the fun & games of 'find the rabbit' and 'what goes in, must come out' exhaust me and my sense of national culture gets the better of me. Best have some white wine and Garlic in!



Nearly a whole year old!

The little'est lad celebrates his first birthday party at the weekend (5th June) and has invited some pals along for a knee's up and his Il-Quccija. Hopefully the beer and wine tents will come too, but perhaps without the clergy!

I wish somebody had warned me of the pitfalls in giving personalities to stuffed toys. The first born once found it most amusing to converse with Harry the bear over a 'gottle of geer'. But as TheO became more confident, his relationships with other stuffed toys began to develop and reach into all corners of the toybox. It was manageable and a bit of a laugh for a while. But recently, I have been woken at 5am and alerted to the immediate fact that Mr Rabbit is not talking or that Mr Platypus needs to impart some vital rendition to Mr Crocodile. It's releasing an inner multiple personality disorder within me I can't stop. I have already made a business call as Mr Shark, with the insatiable appetite for biting the heads of small children! Chomp!



'Daddy, make him say something...'

The latest continues to prove his good humour. Having developed a taste for potting soil, the new game is to catch him doing it. Like a flash, he darts onto the terrace and has his digits deep into the compost of the potted plants before you can switch into responsible parent mode (it's the 5th one along from Mr Fat Cat) Hiding stones in his mouth is also a favourite, producing much mirth and giggels as we attempt an extraction. Perhaps he uses these to sharpen his only tooth (lower right centeral)



Relaxed & well!

With much of the obstacles now removed, the good lady has declared the 27th attempt to move house. The outlook is looking good with the information superhighway ordered, and nearly installed! Even more possessions have been transferred. It could, however all go belly up if I can't snap out of feeling like a small grey and white stuffed Rabbit. Lettuce anyone...

Not really sure where ones sense of humour comes from. Is it a DNA thing, a carefully cultured and biological result emanating from years of careful stock selection? Or perhaps Darwin and his undiscovered theory on the survival of the 'funniest' has a more erudite explanation. What is for sure is that the most recently born has it in abundance. It's not that he tells a good joke, he's 11 months and coherent dialogue is difficult, but the deliberate 'naughtiness' that he is aware of and practices with a grin. Pair with this a laugh that would make dirty old men cry, and you have an idea of what we have produced.



The joy of the joyrider...

The obvious attention that a wee bairn of this age attracts has caused some hidden rivalry. The prodigal son demands everything possible. He also wants to be carried, like his brother, fed, like his brother but stops short when we show him a nappy (thanks be...) Despite the efforts to be centre stage, the little lad had proved himself a fantastic elder brother, baby entertainer and dressing distracter! (nothing has the equivalent power of a wriggling baby)



A rare breakfast time shot.


The plan for the last three weeks is to move, finally, to the new residence! Sick children, sick parents and a slight lack of adventure have all delayed things! However moving 90% of all our possessions has proved to be the real incentive. Hanging onto creature comforts, the good lady complains the house has no Internet, the children complain of no Digital TV and I complain of no sleep. Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow! But GO say 3 - 4 weeks!

The blur that has now become my life is complicated further by, quite possibly, the worst moving in method ever created. I devised the 'slowly slowly' method back in London and implemented it here. It's rubbish and takes forever. There is also the quandary of chucking out all cheap plastic toys that have been collected for the last few years. Broken and made in China, it can be painful bringing the history to a close, although the soles of my feet applaud!!. The two boys have been little assistance, unpacking crates faster than I can fill them. The good lady insists that they need supervision whilst I pack, and watching a film with a nice cup of tea is the best method of doing this. I'm sure she has a point!

TheO now quite the young man. Insisting on a career as a Rock Star, he now shouts 'Rock n Roll' whilst attempting to Breakdance with hands giving a Rapper salute. I think Accountancy might be more his thing. The network no longer captivates his imagination, far more interested in puzzles and Bakaugan, and with the warmer weather, a healthy apperception of Tennis.

The last born has now almost recovered from being ill for the last six months. I forget what a germ factory being under a year can be. Latterly, there have been many visits to the quacking medical fraternity! Armed with a screaming child, they write a prescription for Panadol syrup. 'yes please take all my money, I'll see you again tomorrow!' And then there is the Pharmacist... The outlaws swear that to make money here, you need to open a Chemist shop. Sell cheap plastic toys too and you'll be well minted!! Hang on, I've got some of those...



The boys take a quick break from unpacking, alas before they have reached their destination...

Things are only now starting to get back to normal. With so much time taken up with frantic activity, it's little wonder that frivolous musings get the back burner treatment. With visiting Australians, birthday parties, painting and filling of walls behind us, the carnival season has once again descended. Citing Neil Armstrong (who few seem to have heard of over here), TheO took advantage of his space suit and the party atmosphere (gravity free) to overdose on sugar and the carnival spirit. Louyn gurgled encouragement and demanded a bottle.

A typically damp time of the year, winter has so far turned out like a British summer. Sunshine and a bit of periodic rain. I think for a moment of the freezing temperatures across Europe, the thick snowfall over the UK and that maybe, with all the tribulation, it's worth it. I quickly rethink as the LPG runs out and the chap at the fruit and veg stall charges me double!

The boys continue to delight. TheO now demands a career as an astronaut, a claim which coincides with his recent understanding of space, the final frontier... He does however thoroughly fail to understand that the 'null-void' is not real and he can't send daddy there!

Louyn has started to find his voice, and now cackles with the best of them. Lost somewhere between sane, polite dialogue and grunting, he exercises his chords to the limit. Eating well and resembling the Michelin man, the good lady is concerned less he ends up a 'tubby'



Lou baby, I think we're lost...!