Diary of a Gay Dad. I am a full time dad to five young children.

With an early Full moon this month, the Indian festival of Holi (the festival of light) is also an early one! And to celebrate this event, I am blogging the chapter of my book ‘Eighteen Moons’ that included my experience of the festival when I first lived in India in 2013. It was a couple of days after the births of Amritsar and Tara. This month’s Equinox also falls early on 19th March, seemingly the earliest astronomical start to spring in 124 years! So, here is Chapter Four of Eighteen Moons, entitled Happy Holi…

As I walked along Juhu Beach the night was warm and still, the city murmurings suddenly distant and overhead the full moon was crystal clear and luminous. It seemed auspicious, full of the promise of good things to come. Surely, I told myself, all would be well, John would arrive soon and we would take our girls home together.
I took off my shoes and held them in one hand as I walked on, the sand cool between my toes and the water lapping at the shore beside me. It was good to feel the sea breeze, and to have space to reflect on another unpredictable day in this extraordinary land.
That morning I had planned to set off for the hospital, as usual, to see the girls. I had visited them the previous morning and once again I had only been allowed a brief time with them during which, garbed as always head-to- toe pink, I held each tiny hand for a couple of minutes and gazed at their perfect faces; their minute noses, barely discernible eyebrows, rosebud mouths and delicate caramel cheeks, framed by tufts of jet-black hair. I hadn’t been able to send John a photograph yet – no cameras in the ward, nurse Ratched had admonished sternly when she spotted my phone – so all I could do was describe the babies to him.

After a few minutes I was hustled out by the nurses, who told me that the following day I could stay longer and perhaps even feed the babies. But what no-one had mentioned was that the following day was also the spring festival of Holi – when all of India would erupt in a riot of colour, celebration and excitement – and going anywhere would prove impossible.
When I came down to the hotel reception in the morning I had been greeted by the receptionist with a beaming smile.
‘Good morning Sir, Happy Holi, have a very good day,’ he said. 

‘Thank-you, you have a good day too.’
What had he said? Happy Holi? What was that, I wondered. I stepped outside the hotel and looked around for a taxi. Strangely the usual ranks weren’t lined up and waiting. Puzzled, I walked down the road towards the beach, hoping to hail one as I went.
Suddenly I felt a slap on the back of my leg and I looked down to see a splatter of purple liquid dripping down the back of my calf. What on earth? I turned around. Behind me were three young men, armed with water guns and shoulder bags. As they drew level with me one of them reached into his bag and brought out a handful of yellow powder. He lunged towards me and smacked his hand onto the back of my head.

I yelled and put my hand up to my head, where I could feel the powder. The three of them were falling about laughing and reaching into their bags. Out came red, green and more yellow.
‘Happy Holi,’ they called, before hurling the powder at me and spraying me with their water guns which, it turned out, contained the purple dye.

They ran off and I stood looking after them, aghast and dripping a rainbow of colours that must have looked ridiculously comical.
I headed back towards the hotel. Whatever this was – some kind of bizarre tourist-mugging ritual? – I’d had enough. I only had a couple of meters to go to the hotel entrance, but my route was barred by another excited group of young men, also carrying bags and water guns and covered from head to toe in every colour of the rainbow. As they aimed their guns at me – pink and orange this time – I turned and ran towards the beach. But I soon realised there would be no escape. More and more people, all patchworks of colour themselves, were splattering one another and everyone else within reach.

On the beach music was playing, paint-spattered people were dancing and the colour-spraying was in full-flow. Intoxicated by the joy and craziness of it all, everyone was singing and shouting. Even the sea, normally a polluted, dull grey at Juhu, was a riot of colour.

I wondered whether to join in the dancing, but being a tourist, I was a key target. As more and more paint and dye came my way I turned and ran for the hotel.
I had left the lobby half an hour earlier, clean and freshly-dressed. I arrived back, gasping for breath as I hurled myself through the revolving door, looking like some kind of crazed hippy living out his psychedelic fantasies. I dropped to my knees and placed the palms of my hands onto the floor. My friend at reception smiled politely.

‘I see you have been joining in the Holi celebrations Sir.’ Diplomatically put.
‘Er, yes, well, something like that.’
I headed for my room and a very long shower. After which, unable to leave the hotel without risking another rainbow dousing, I settled myself in the bar.
Holi, I discovered, chatting to a friendly member of staff, is the Hindu festival that marks the arrival of spring. Known as the Festival of Colour (I think I got that part) it is a celebration of fertility and love as well as the triumph of good versus evil.

How could I object to a festival that was about such optimism and joy? Even if it did prevent me from seeing my new daughters for a day. I just had to hole up and wait it out. It wasn’t until the evening that things calmed down and I was able to venture down to the beach to walk under the glorious full moon as I described the day’s events to John.
The following morning everything was back to normal. Taxis lined up across the road and only the odd splash of colour on the road remained to mark the events of the day before.
I reached the hospital and headed for NICU reception, where the duty nurse confirmed that I could feed the babies.

Wonderful news, but I was a bit nervous. What did feeding the babies entail, exactly? I wasn’t completely sure.

Gowned up I was shown into the feeding room, where there were a lot of soft furnishings and some rather grubby chairs. The room was very hot and didn’t smell all that good. I took a seat between two women, both happily feeding babies and a moment later I was handed one of the girls and a bottle.
I had no idea what to do. I knew the contents of the bottle had to be emptied into the baby, but how?

Looking at the others in the room, I did my best to follow what they were doing. I tentatively nudged the baby’s small mouth with the teat of the bottle. She opened her lips and I put the tip of the teat against them and then waited. Nothing happened. Why wasn’t she drinking the milk?

I looked around for help, but the maternity nurses across the room were smirking. They clearly saw me as a source of entertainment. I guessed that not many new fathers spent time in this room. The nurses clearly thought that feeding was women’s business and I had no place being there.

I tried again. I was growing more and more tense and the baby – I was so nervous that I wasn’t sure whether it was Tara or Amritsar at that stage – was picking up on that. I nudged the teat into her mouth. She spat it back out again. We’d reached stalemate.
There had to be a knack to this, but they weren’t about to show me what it was. I was told to, ‘just give the baby the bottle’ and that was it.

Relegated to the failure ranks, I handed over both baby and bottle to a nurse and fled, under the scornful eyes of the assembled mothers and nurses. Standing outside I felt indignant. I wasn’t going to be beaten by this. How hard could feeding a baby be? I just needed to get the hang of it. I took a break, cooled down and then went back and asked to feed the other baby, who turned out to be Tara. They brought her and I tried again. I watched a
mother across the room. Her baby was sucking noisily at the teat. I pushed the teat more firmly into Tara’s mouth, and voila, she sucked. Only for a minute, but she did take some milk, before appearing to lose interest and go to sleep.

I handed her back and left. I would crack the feeding thing – I had to, I reminded myself. Soon the babies would be discharged, after which I would have sole responsibility for making sure they didn’t starve.
Galvanised by this prospect I went to look for Doctor Anita Soni, the paediatrician who had delivered the girls. I’d already spoken to her a couple of times and I liked her, she was I found her just coming through the ward doors.
‘Doctor, when will the babies be able to leave the hospital?’
‘Another week or so,’ she said. ‘They are doing well.’
She hesitated and then placed a hand on my arm and looked into my eyes.
‘I just heard you are here all alone. This will be difficult with two new born babies. I think you must consider the assistance of a nanny while you are here in Bombay.’

I was startled. I hadn’t thought about a nanny. But she had a point. I’d be on my own with two babies. And we were in a foreign country. There would be no Tesco or Waitrose deliveries in Mumbai. I didn’t even know where the local food store was. And what about baby formula and sterilised water and nappies and – what did babies in India even wear?
I needed to get focussed.
‘Would the hospital be able to recommend a nanny agency?’ I asked her.
‘No, I’m afraid not. I advise you to ask at the hotel you are staying in. If it is one of the hotels recommended by the hospital, they are sure to be able to suggest some options.’
‘Thank you for the advice.’
She smiled and hurried off and I turned towards the stairs. I had a week’s grace and an awful lot to do. She was a rather eccentric, larger than life character who was always laughing and waving her arms around dramatically.

That afternoon I came back at feeding time, prepared to give it another try, only to be told that the nurses had just fed the babies. ‘I’m sorry,’ an unapologetic nurse told me. ‘The babies were very hungry, they could not wait.’
I settled for half an hour watching them sleep and then told the nurse I would be back in the morning at feeding time.
As I left, I ran into Alon and Saul with baby Avi and they invited me for a coffee. We found a coffee shop nearby with a shady back yard and settled down for a chat. It was the first chance I’d had to talk to others in the same situation. They told me they hoped to be back in Israel within four weeks.
‘What? Four weeks!’
‘It is normally four weeks for us in Israel,’ Alon repeated. How long do you expect to have to wait?’
I was stunned to hear it was so easy for Israeli parents. I gave them a rueful grin. ‘To be honest I don’t know. The time on the government website advising on international surrogacy said six weeks when we first began. Then it was eight weeks and now it’s saying four months.
Saul winced. ‘Oh, that’s tough. Imagine if you have to stay here for four months. And you are on your own.’
‘I won’t be for long,’ I said, sounding more confident than I felt. ‘John will be here soon, and hopefully we can get the passports for the girls in less than the stated time.’
‘Really hope so,’ they nodded sympathetically.
Alon looked thoughtful. ‘You know, we met another couple from the UK yesterday on the ward, they also had a twin birth, the day before your daughters, I think. Maybe you should have a talk with them as they will be probably in the same situation, yes?’
‘Absolutely.’ I was very keen indeed to meet another British couple who would be fighting the same battle.

After Alon and Saul said goodbye and headed off to their hotel, I went back to Juhu beach and phoned John.
‘Find the other Brits,’ he said. ‘That could be so useful, and give you some company too.’
The following morning, after another determined – and ultimately doomed – attempt at feeding the girls, I waited in the reception area to see if I could spot the British couple. No sign of them, but ten minutes later I got talking to a couple from Denmark, Tobin and Thomas. Their daughter had been born a few days earlier and they were waiting for her to be discharged.
‘We’re staying at the Marriot Hotel,’ Tobin said. ‘The Lakeside Chalet one. We know the couple you mean, they’re staying there as well. They have a boy and a girl and I think they’re taking them home from the hospital today. Why don’t you nip down to the main reception and see if they’re there?’
I thanked him and shot down the stairs to reception. At the counter stood a couple, each of them holding a car seat with baby in situ. I went over to them.
‘Are you guys from the UK?’
They both turned to me.
‘Yes,’ they exclaimed. ‘You too?’
‘Yes. My girls are upstairs, they won’t be discharged for a few days. But I heard about you guys and wanted to say hello. Seems we might be here for a while so it would be nice to know some fellow Brits. I’m Andi, by the way.’
‘Kayla,’ the woman, blonde, attractive and friendly, held out her hand.
‘And I’m Jamie.’ The man was a little older, his grey hair tinged with pond green.
‘See you’ve been enjoying Holi,’ I grinned.
‘Yes,’ he said ruefully, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘Damn stuff won’t come out. Think I might have permanently green hair now.’
‘Suits you darling,’ Kayla laughed. ‘It’ll soon be all the rage.’

‘These two are Millie and Max, by the way,’ Jamie said, indicating the babies sitting serenely in their car seats like two mini-Buddhas.
‘Hello guys,’ I waved down at them.
‘We’re staying in the Lakeside Chalet hotel,’ Kayla said. ‘Where are you?’
Over on Juhu Beach, but I think perhaps I ought to move to your hotel,’ I said. ‘Everyone seems to be there.’
‘Oh! do come,’ Kayla said. ‘Jamie will have to go home soon and I could do with some company. And the Lakeside gives a 15 percent discount to surrogate families.’
‘Why don’t you come over this evening and join us for a beer,’ Jamie said. ‘We’ve got a nanny booked so we’ll have a babysitter and we can head to the bar for an hour or two.’
‘That sounds great,’ I said.
That afternoon I went for a stroll around Mumbai. I was going to be there for a while, so I wanted to get a sense of the place. I hadn’t had a lot of time for sightseeing, which was a shame since I was in such a vibrant and exotic city. As I walked through a street market selling every kind of spice and vegetable under the sun, I thought about Kayla and Jamie. I felt hugely relieved to have met them, they were friendly and would be good company and they were also relying on the British government to give their children passports and allow them to come home with their parents. It didn’t seem so much to ask, but it could apparently take months to achieve.
I walked into the bar of the Lakeside that evening and saw Kayla chatting to another couple. I went over.
‘Andi, hi,’ she smiled. ‘This is Sophie and Pete. He’s just been posted here and they’re waiting to find a house to rent. Jamie’s at the bar, I’ll go and tell him to get you a drink.’
As I watched her head over to Jamie she stopped twice to speak to other people on the way.

Clearly Kayla, outgoing, sociable and high-energy, knew everyone in the hotel. Jamie was quieter, more reserved, but equally warm.
‘I’m glad you’re going to be about,’ he confided. ‘Kayla will need a friend when I go. It won’t be easy managing here on her own.’
‘I’ll be happy to help her,’ I said. ‘But to be honest I think I’ll probably need her more than she needs me.’
‘Either way it’s a good deal,’ he laughed. ‘You’d better move over here tomorrow.’
I agreed. The next day I checked out of my hotel and moved into a room at the Lakeside Apartments, as it was known by its residents. It had five floors, each with some 20 one-bedroom suits, a couple of two and even three bed apartments and a laundry.
It overlooked the Powai Lake, right in the middle of Mumbai. The lake was created when the British dammed a tributary of the Mithi River in the 1890s to create an extra source of drinking water for the city. Sadly, the water was now too polluted to drink, but I was glad of the lake, every now and then it sent a cool breeze wafting through my windows.
Over the next few days, in between hospital visits and feeding sessions, I went out and bought the baby things I would need; formula, nappies, vests and baby grows, baby shampoo and lotion, bouncy chairs and a cot. In fact, the list, compiled under Kaylas’ direction, was so extensive that I was amazed. How could two very tiny people need so much stuff?
‘You’ll be surprised what they get through,’ Kayla said darkly, when I questioned the need for quite so much infant clothing.’
‘I haven’t stopped being surprised since I got here,’ I replied.
By the time the girls were ten days old I was longing to take them back to the hotel with me. Visiting them in hospital for half an hour at a time, with nurses constantly hovering about, was frustrating. I want to get to know them properly and that would only happen when I had them in my care. So, I was pleased when Doctor Soni told me the girls were doing well and could go home the following day.
I arrived at the hospital bright and early the following morning with two car seats.
Before we could leave there were documents to be sorted and, inevitably, bills to be paid.
 I also needed the girls’ state-registered birth
 certificates. I spent at least two hours going between the registrar’s office in the hospital, the accounts office and the ward, where I needed Dr Soni’s signature for a form before the certificates could be issued. She couldn’t be found, and I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t be taking the girls home that day after all, when the registrar’s office said they would get the signature and then send an ‘agent’ to the hotel with the birth certificates, for a fee of 300 US dollars. Reluctantly, I agreed, knowing that I could spend many more
hours in the hospital and still not have the certificates.
 This was the first time an agent was mentioned to me, but certainly not the last. As I was to discover in the coming weeks and months, there was an ‘agent’, for which read middleman (or woman) for just about every step of every transaction, all eager for their ‘fee’ for something that should have been
 totally straightforward.
 Once this arrangement had been put in place, I paid the fees for the babies’ care and for Rehanna’s caesarean and her hospital stay. It was £1200 for each baby and £600 for the caesarean a total bill of £3000. All these ‘extras’ had not been mentioned by Somya when she outlined what it would cost us. I winced at the thought of telling John just how fast the bills were piling up, but there was no choice.
Finally, I was done and the babies were brought out by two nurses and tucked gently into the car seats.
‘You need two people, one to carry each baby’ Nurse Ratched said stiffly. ‘We insist on this.’
‘Well I have only me, so I’ll just have to take one in each hand,’ I replied.

She huffed and puffed, but in the end, since a second person was not about to materialise, they let me go. I said goodbye to the staff and thanked them. Five minutes later I stepped outside into the heat of the Indian morning, one car seat gripped firmly in each hand.
I was about to become a full-time dad and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to pull it off.

Yes, being Sunday we opted for the family roast! A leg of lamb, none the less, with a myriad of vegetables including mashed swede, garlic and butter green beans, glazed carrots, the usual fayre!

The day has gone well, just one or two flash points! The worst being a half dried up puddle of pee in the spare room, the remnants of a standing up one! Caleb of course, though he squatted down and smelt it saying that it smelt like Ritza’s pee. Naughty Caleb.

All upstairs with daddy at present having a slightly later than usual bath time as the meal overran slightly.

Hey hey, another weekend over and preparations for school in the morning.

I hope you all had a pleasant weekend of it. Thank you for reading.

Ingredients:

600g Melon (one small cantaloupe melon)

350g Mango (2 medium sized mangoes)

300g Apple pulp (4 apples)

100ml lemon juice

1kg sugar

Method:

On this occasion I used fresh melon (not frozen), so I used an appropriate amount of apple pulp to account for the extra melon juice.

Deseed and skin your melon. Prepare your mango to free up the flesh from the skin and seed. If you are uncomfortable with this, feel free to use use frozen mango pieces. Place in a saucepan with the lemon juice and boil for 10 minutes. Let it cool a little and blitz with a handheld blender. Add your cooked, pre prepared apple pulp and blitz once more! Of course, you could cook your raw apples first with a little water, on a low heat and cook until tender then add your melon and mango! Either way works just fine!

Once your puree is ready, add your 1 Kg sugar and mix well. Bring to a rolling boil. Be careful your mixture does not overflow once it starts to boil, stir occasionally to stop any sediments from burning on the base of the pan.

Remember, a good jam will gel after a rolling boil of 20 minutes. You will overcook your jam if you pass 30 minutes. That overcooked Jammy taste is not so good. You want a fresh fruity flavour.

This Jammy combo produced a lot of bubbles that need skimming before bottling / jarring up! Rather than put this down the sink, I reserved it in a bowl, in order to use as a pouring syrup on the children’s Greek yoghurt tonight.

The children, when asked for marks out of 10 shouted 12 and then 100! So I guess Melango Jelly is now very much on the family menu.

The 4 full 320ml jars have since been sterilised in my steamer and the half jar sits in the fridge awaiting an earlier consumption. Yum yum yum! Remember that you loose some of the volume in weight due to evaporation! Enjoy…

Have I been overdoing it a bit? I guess that I have been blogging daily for a while now so I thought that I would take a little time out!

Today’s little video is courtesy of Thor and his attempt at flying this morning! It made me smile.

Well, life continues as it should, one or two moments of drama this week. The most noted would be the cancellation of Amritsar and Tara’s Lego Club. It would seem that there was a fully articulated mannequin in the classroom! And whilst the male teacher was out of the room, one or more of the children put the mannequin on the teachers desk and articulated the middle finger to the up position, leaving the others clenched (the up yours gesture)!!! As you can imagine, the teacher was not impressed. The club is cancelled until he gets a written letter of apology from the guilty party. Tara and Amritsar have promised that it was not them, but will not say who the guilty child was. Oh dear!

Another post to follow shortly with the recipe for Melango Jelly. Wow, we’ve certainly got a winner there…

Plus the juice from 2 x lemons and cooked weight for weight of sugar!

What can I say, the full recipe to follow tomorrow! However, Dadda’s Jammy combos are plus one today. Now, how does:

Dadda’s homemade ‘Melango Jelly’ sound to you? I think that the ingredients speak for themselves, don’t they! A big hit I am sure with the little ones!!!

Jam should never be boring! Hold off on spreading that cheap gelatinous strawberry gloop on your toast that you purchased from the supermarket…

You might just remember that I favour the astronomical start to our planets seasons (at the Equinox’s and the Solstice’s), but I get the order and clean cut nature of starting the seasons meteorologically at the beginning of the month and not on 21st / 22nd.

But I will note that for some, yesterday was an end to the long winter months, here in ‘The Shires’! And all I could report on was Thor’s rather unruly table manners! I have to smile.

The red leaved plum tree in the garden has blossomed in the last week or so and the buds on the hydrangea are beginning to bulge with this years anticipated growth. I am also reminded that we are getting closer to the girls 7th birthday on March 25th, just a few days after the Spring Equinox! I am again reminded of the festival of light in India, the celebration known as ‘Holi’. In my book (memoir) Eighteen Moons, I write with some detail, of my experience of Holi seven years ago whilst in India.

I look back, with all that has come since, I consider my sheer innocence and bewilderment of what was to follow, these seven very rewarding years.

My book is still there, gathering dust on the virtual shelf on the Amazon platform (paperback and ebook), just search for Eighteen Moons! And for you non readers out there, I am considering the audiobook route in the coming months. I found a voiceover actor called Angus who is extremely professional and proficient with recording audiobooks, so I thank him in advance and will of course let you know about how things are doing on that score in due course!

I just had a thought! If you don’t really read books, why are you reading this? Well, thank you so much, I am extremely honoured that you made it all the way to the last paragraph.

Now, who doesn’t like a ‘Full English’ for Sunday brunch? Or if in Ireland, a ‘Full Irish’? Okay, Thor isn’t an easy eater. Out of all five children, when it comes to food, he is definitely the most difficult. The last weeks, I’ve just kind of given up! I’m tired of mealtimes with the children. Thor is a constant thorn in my side. I know before I even shout out ‘dinnertime’, there will be problems ahead. Thor has taken to nibbling the crusts of a sandwich as slowly as humanly possible before teasingly the actual heart / filling of the sandwich!

It’s every mealtime though. Today’s brunch was no different. He found fault with the tomatoes, the mushrooms, even the fried potatoes! Now, none of them bar Tara used to like mushrooms. But if you insist at every mealtime when mushrooms are present they at least try one or two, in the end, they get to like the flavour and texture. Caleb now loves them, Aaliyah is certainly on the cusp, even Amritsar will eat a few. Today’s mushrooms were extra special! I used dehydrated and soaked them in water for 30 minutes. The end result is really meaty, not slimy affair, an intensity flavoursome fungi.

Okay, everyone loves brunch don’t they? However, Thor ended up being sent to bed. I give up I exclaimed! He came back down within the hour, made us empty apologies and that was that!

You might have noticed in the first picture that Aaliyah had her pink plastic plate as she smashed her china plate a couple of weeks ago. Caleb has just done the same. Granny’s dinner service diminishes yet more. He will enjoy his plastic mini mouse plate with next week’s lunchtime offering!

Dinnertime now approaches and I am very nervous…

I have to hand you a memory at this point! My own childhood and my recollection of Sunday dinnertime. Now, my mother wasn’t the greatest in the kitchen! I think that is why I qualified as a chef at the tender age of 19 years old (C &G 706 1 / 2). ‘Man cannot live by bread alone’ was my mantra – there will always be a job in the catering industry I thought! Excuse the slightly sexist connotation please! This was before the evolution of the ‘Celebrity Chef’ mind you. Anyhow, back to my childhood Sunday dinnertime. Beans on toast, an egg omelette sandwich, tinned pilchards on toast – you get the picture!

So the children’s dinner tonight! A moist sourdough bread sandwich with two hour broiled pork leg, well seasoned, moist and succulent, with Helmanns mayonnaise. This was accompanied by cheesy quavers, an apple and a chocolate cake bar. Enough said. A sandwich that he would otherwise enjoy, but today, Thor nibbled, complained, nibbled some more and by in large, he refused to eat his food yet again.

No up to bed on this occasion as we are preparing for bath time. But believe me – I do grow tired of Thor’s eating habits. Of course, a lot of it is for show – he needs a forum to enact himself! Maybe in the long run – these testing moments will show a positive outcome in his ability to express himself. He is a funny boy most of the time – I guess he is just looking to fulfil himself within the spectrum of his audience.

It’s not easy at times. But I still love him to bits!

The first blue sky in months! Today was that illusive day, found only once every four years, the 29th February. We set off early and arrived at the Ashton Court Estate near the city of Bristol at 11am. The children had chocolate in the car on our arrival. I thought ‘Louisa didn’t play golf did she’? We were at the cafe on the golf course. I spoke to Zoe, my niece. ‘We are at the cafe in the old stables’ she exclaimed! Okay, 20 minutes later we arrived. It was an informal affair, just close friends and family.

After 30 minutes we set off to the rose garden for her mum Mary to lay her ashes. My heart goes out to Mary, Zoe, Hannah and their brother Daniel who sadly could not be there.

The children were a tad loud throughout the day, but did amuse, even bring a few smiles. Thor was probably the screamiest he has been in quite a while, especially at the pub that we went to after the rose garden.

Rest in peace, dear Louisa.

You might remember that all of the children have a very special soft toy! Tara has her beloved Kangy and Kit. Thank you uncle Paul and auntie Kylie for that. You may also recall Thor’s much treasured MiMi (John’s baby gift) and his new, much loved Paddington bear, a gift for Christmas from Sindy. Aaliyah on the other hand, has a little pack of dogs (she loves dogs) including Remus and Gracie we have Doggy and Doggy, the latter Doggy being a Christmas gift from myself. Now, Caleb ‘bonded’ with Chicky, an Easter toy who used to only come out at Easter, but Caleb took pity on him a year or two back and made him a much loved full time soft toy! And finally we come to Amritsar and her very strong bond with a little white and green bear called Gurney, a gift from cousins James and Theo. Little did we know that from a pile of their old and slightly tattered baby bears brought over on a visit when the girls were still babies, that Gurney would be elevated to that special mantle of ‘Much Loved Bestie’!

No, Gurney did not come down this week for a nose piercing, rather for the fact that he had his little button nose nibbled off last week by Tarka, our friends dog whilst on our East Devon visit. I thought that the best way forward was to darn his nose back into existence and Darn away I did.

Not quite as good as new, but certainly as good as having to make do. Amritsar is smiling once again and Gurney is gurning away as happy as can be.

The next morning Kangy appeared for some surgery on his neck, the following morning was Paddington’s turn for a full back seam operation. Everyone is happy once more!

What with the Apple Corporation killing my iPhone 6 Plus, I have had to do the upgrade that they would like us all to do. How did they do this you might ask! Well, firstly they stated that ‘older iPhones’ might encounter problems! Then they purposely uploaded software that would slowly kill your phone. They did tell us that this was going to happen after all, so not all bad eh? I believe that the French Government has fined the Apple Corporation millions of Euros for this practice. The U.K. government couldn’t give a damn!

The first of their killings was iMovie. No longer available on the 6 Plus. Then with the latest IOS update in early February (for phones older than iPhone 7), they killed my fingerprint recognition, then the phones microphone died, people could hardly hear me on a phone call! Though strangely, no problem with a WhatsApp or Skype call (so definitely not a hardware problem). There is also the situation of different apps just popping up all over the shop! Oh dear, they really have destroyed what was a perfectly good phone. A phone that I saved up for and purchased it with pride, as I have with all of my previous iPhone purchases.

Upgrades in the past, I made by choice. On this occasion, I was forced to put £330 down and signup for a new 2 year contract in order to pay the outstanding cost of the phone with O2, even though I am still on contact with three mobile with over a year to run.

My partner John has very kindly paid the deposit as a birthday gift. I thank him for that. So, yesterday I started my search with a look on the apple website considering a trade in. And to my absolute surprise, they had (de)valued my iPhone 6 Plus to £60, pretty much the cost of a decent lunch for two in a nice restaurant! So, at this moment in time, I am really not ‘feeling the love’ when it comes to corporate greed and the Apple Corporation.

So 24 hours ago I looked into the part payment and contract option with mobiles.co.uk and now, I sit here with my new iPhone 11 setting it up. It arrived at 9am this morning. Oh, I almost forgot, a new phone number to boot.

Does anyone know how I text my entire contact list telling everybody that I have a new number as a result of a forced upgrade?

It can’t be, but I think that it is – the first snow of the winter, here in ‘The Shires’ fell this morning. I came down at 6.30am and looked outside. ‘Oh my god’, I exclaimed to myself! It only fell for 2 hours, the ground was wet, so it didn’t settle. But what an amazing spectacle for the children to view when they all barged downstairs this morning.

The three little ones were due to go out this morning with their classmates to see the early awakening of the woodland snowdrops! Little did they know that the snowdrops would be accompanied by snowdrops! Sindy our nanny went along with them to help out. So, although they are not quite back from school, I know that Caleb has been a real ‘grumpy bum’ and cried through the entire visit saying that he was cold and his feet hurt. Never mind.

Day two of this second round of the pre – agrarian diet, living without sugar and starches and all is well, though this journey through the season of Lent, I am doing alone. John is free to gorge on the usual contemporary diet of potatoes and chocolate bars. Mind you he never puts on a single kg of weight for the fact that he is living well due to his metabolic rate. So, braised pork, butter sautéed cabbage and broccoli for me and the addition of mashed potato for him. Bon appetite.

One down and twenty more to go! Okay, forty minutes later and the children dug in. Yummy! Enjoyed the traditional way with lemon juice and a half a teaspoon of sugar. A small tip for this year was to include a big splosh of maple syrup in the batter before cooking! Thank you to the BBC morning news for that one. Don’t forget that the batter needs to be quite loose for a thinner, lighter crepe. Oh and please remember that obligatory pinch of salt.

Yesterday saw a post school visit to the barbers for Thor and Caleb. How grown up they look with their smart new haircuts! A little resistance on the smile front from Caleb this morning. But Thor made up for that with his ‘Blue Steel’ look directly into the lens!

I am pretty much down with a cold, but that did not stop me cooking up a storm yesterday with a chicken thigh terrine, home made BBQ chicken and a large vat of Mexican peppers with kidney beans. I feel a tortilla evening coming on pretty soon. As ever I bagged up into smaller portions and put them in the chest freezer.

With it being shrove Tuesday today there are sure to be pancakes later on. But I am reminded of the season of ‘Lent’ the traditional giving up of something. As you may recollect, my carbohydrate binge for the holidays is now set to end. My (next) 40 days of carbohydrate penance starts tomorrow, ‘Ash Wednesday’. I am not a practicing Christian but some traditions are worth keeping alive, aren’t they?

I am now reminded of a traditional mass held at Winchester Cathedral every Ash Wednesday when their choir sings Allegri’s Miserere. One of my favourite pieces of classical church music. John and I last enjoyed the mass with a friend Andy back in 2013, just prior to Tara and Amritsar’s births in Mumbai, India. Obviously we have been a little on the busy side to go back to Winchester on Ash Wednesday since then.

I also remember a story regarding this certain piece of music. Now, you all know that the composer Mozart was an absolute musical genius, but the story goes that the Catholic Church in Rome has the complete monopoly on this certain piece of music as their choir would sing it in the Sistine Chapel within the walls of the Vatican. The music was never written down – hence the monopoly. In waltzes Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, he listens intently, he goes home and puts the entire score down to paper. He stole the piece of music solely enjoyed by the churches elite and essentially gave it to the people! How very ‘Robin Hood’ of him…

We are finally home And dry after our mid term break to North Cornwall and East Devon. I thank our ‘Devonian’ hosts for today’s star picture taken in their dog Tarka’s cage bed! Don’t worry, our crew were not in their for very long! Back to school tomorrow, another day begins. The holidays are over. Just the memories remain!

Halfway home, so only half of the ‘are we there yet’s’! We arrived to a warm welcome at lunchtime at friends Alistair and Lorna’s holiday cottages. Thank you for the amazing lunch of chicken paella. Very well appreciated by all seven of us. And the children loved the spaghetti bolognese served at their dinnertime.

All in their Jim-Jams now watching France v Wales playing rugby. It seems that French pride has upped their play post Brexit! They won!

A simple dinner to come for the grownups of roasted sea bass with steamed potatoes and sugar snap peas. John made the fish purchase on our leaving the holiday house in Cornwall this morning.

Holiday almost at an end. It is strange that I have become so used to the howling of the wind and the lashing of the rain. We are in a sheltered valley here and the breeze is ever so slight.

I’m reminding myself that the children had a great time, even with the big storm. I myself feel a little bloated with the carbs and a little tired too, truth be known.

An update tomorrow when we finally get home. Thank you for reading – this is Andi Webb, signing off. Phew!!!

Sounds a bit dramatic, but at this point, I’m used to dramatic I guess! Aaliyah screaming the house down due to daddy confiscating a small toy / choking hazard for bedtime. They all got to choose a small plastic toy today (under a fiver) at a toy shop. Caleb has also had to give up his small plastic ring and rubber ball.

Back to ‘Goodbye Sun’ then! I have just stood on the terrace and watched the dimming of dusk. I cannot really call it a sunset due to the thickness of the grey cloud. The wind is still howling in tune to the roar of the raging Atlantic.

Thor has just run past me wearing dirty white socks and his nighttime pull-up nappy! Looking a little like Boss Baby.

Caleb has been responsible for a string of breakages today – enough said. Aaliyah is still screaming about her plastic toy.

Amritsar has just exclaimed that Caleb has broken her toy banana! Naughty Caleb – you know, he has the ability to break most things, even a rather expensive dancing iron man toy a few days ago. He not only broke one of the LED lights but he managed to chew off a couple of the fingers also. I have always supervised play with this certain toy. I only took my eyes off him for five minutes.

Thor is still to put on his pyjamas. He is presently running around wearing just his nappy with a hairdryer in hand screaming ‘I’m gonna get you – I’m gonna get you’! Oops, he has only just fallen over and is screaming even louder that Aaliyah!

Everyone quiet now, though the peace has just been broken with Caleb in his bedroom starting to shout loudly. Tara is opening and closing the wardrobe door again and again. Better go see what is going on. (All was well.)

Daddy now shouting at Tara saying that slamming wardrobe doors cracks walls. Naughty Tara. Amritsar has joined the whining and is looking for her toy. She is getting more and more angry. Oh dear, welcome to Bedlam!!!

Okay, there is a fishing port in the south of Cornwall called Looe. And today we visited friends who have a holiday home there for a lunch of homemade Cornish Pasties. What a treat! The real McCoy, though dare I say that Dadda’s homemade pasties would have given them a good run for their money. The secret is pre stewing your finely chopped shin of beef (if available), although any cut of stewing beef will suffice.

Play park, ice cream, soft play and play park, with a wander around the harbour and sandy beach filled the day sufficiently to amuse 7 little tykes. Finally leaving our five at least ready for sleep at a timely hour. We did sneak the movie ‘Swallows and Amazons’ in between a dinner of roast pork and bedtime. Bath time was had this morning before we set off on our day trip, fully knowing that tonight would have been a complete nightmare with them all overly excited, though completely exhausted…

Past 9pm now and guess what? Caleb just strolled out of their bedroom saying that he cannot sleep, Aaliyah laughing maniacally and Thor calling me into their room saying ‘Dadda I need to tell you something’? The girls on the other hand – not a squeak!

All between us and the great Atlantic Ocean appears to be a little picket fence. Well that, the dunes and the beach of course. It is not really sufficient to hold back mother nature and all that she has to blow our way, but the fence is enough to keep our children contained and entertained in the garden between the rainstorms and the wind over the last few days!

Yesterday, we finally got to venture down to the beach for an hour, though it was cut short with the falling in the sea of 5 out of the 7 children. Everyone was freezing, what with their Wellington boots completely filled with icy cold water.

Lunch was a slightly more sedate affair with a whole side of salmon, sautéed peppers and steamed asparagus. A great low carb trio as our friends are also ‘low carb connoisseurs’. I am thinking of again reducing my intake as from next week. But for now, a holiday is a holiday, is it not?

John went out this morning to get some work done and make several phone calls as it was proving impossible to achieve this at the holiday house. We are blessed with an amazing view as you can see in today’s photographs, however the internal ‘decibels’ can impede ones concentration somewhat.