A Postcard Home

Six days into our summer holiday and I finally remember to send a postcard home…

Dear All

Weather has been foul. The greyest week on record I believe. The rain has not stopped. The visits to the beach have been daily, due to the holiday home being on the dunes, so we’ve seen our fair share of sand and pretty much moved into the shower. The little ones have been a bit destructive, a Chair was scraped badly, the dining table also, plus the living room wall was deeply scratched by Caleb. We ventured out to Barnstable today to Homebase to buy polyfilla and a spatula, plus a match pot of a light sage green paint, almost indescribable from the original. Fingers crossed on that score.

The children have been a little chaotic from time to time and have chosen that 9pm is their new bedtime. Of course, not being a ‘school night’ and being on holiday, we have allowed them a few extra freedoms.

Ice cream has been consumed by all on a daily basis. I’m looking in the mirror and noticing the bulge! I will need to re-engage with the weekly fitness regiment on my return to the Shires! John, like the children seems to have a very high metabolism, so he needn’t worry on that score.

I think that we will limit the little ones restaurant visits for a while, at least until they start to understand that screaming in shops and restaurants is really quite unacceptable! Really hoping ‘Big School’ turns around their tantrums, at least in public places where people deserve a pleasant time on the likes of their holidays. We all work throughout the year to deserve ourselves a good time when we set off on our hol’s to relax, don’t we?

Talking of relaxing, we have a few meets with friends next week and our nanny Sindy joining us for a few days so John and I can grab a little time out.

And I was just going to write, weather fine, missing you – wish you were here!

Nite nite.

Published by

diaryofagaydad.net

A Gay Dad reflecting on life in the Shires of England with my not so famous five and two rapscallion Dalmatian hounds

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