Moving

The day I moved from my much loved home in Shropshire to start a new life in Sussex, it rained. Not just drizzle, or showers.... torrential rain. Knowing that there was a deadline by which we had to return our rented removal vehicle, we did not have the luxury of waiting for the storm to pass. We battled on. Makeshift covered walkways fashioned from tarpaulins did not stop my new front garden turning into a quagmire and did little to actually shelter anything or anyone. They did serve to emphasise how ferocious the gusts of wind were at times as flapping, billowing sheets of plastic threw collected rainwater in random directions by the bucket load. Miraculously (and by 'miracle' I really mean foresight, care and diligence), my brand new carpets survived completely unscathed and bar a few knocks and bangs and complete exhaustion, so did we.

We have been settling into our new life now for the past month and a half. We have come a long way in that time. Much has happened and the speed at which changes are occurring and days are being ticked off on the calendar show no sign of slowing down.

Yesterday, I drove my daughter and a car load of possessions including a bicycle and a life sized human skeleton to Oxford. Oxford University terms start later than most others so we have only just joined that group of parents who have packed up their children and deposited them in various locations to begin exciting new academic adventures.

We arrived at the college in good time despite having to negotiate the M25 at rush hour. I drank much appreciated coffee as my daughter registered before being shown to the room she will call home (during term time at least!). The room was bare but lovely. I didn't have time to help her settle in and add some home comforts because I needed to get back to Sussex for the school pick up, but I did help transport her possessions up the inevitable flights of stairs ready to be unpacked. And... it rained.
This rain could not compete with the rain I had contended with during my own move but it was not rain that could be easily ignored. In the short walk (or run where we could manage it) from car park to hall of residence, plastic storage crate lids filled with water like little swimming pools. My hair was plastered to my face and dripping wet. I was soaked through.

I had a two hour drive home to dry off, grateful that the car heating system worked well.

So, I have one daughter at University about to embark on the challenge of becoming a medic. Another daughter, having graduated from her University in Warwick is working in London on a graduate training scheme. My other two grown up daughters still live and work in Shropshire and one of them is now engaged to be married. The family dynamic has changed dramatically and it is taking a bit of getting used to.

As I look out of my window today, I can see the leaves beginning to show their autumnal hues and some are floating gently earthwards . I have loved the long summer days and the unexpected late sunshine that has held the promise of winter at bay but autumn has most definitely arrived and it is beautiful. Change is good.

A Good Day

Yesterday was a good day.

I drove my daughter, Taylor, back to her student house to empty it of the last of her belongings and give it a good clean before handing the keys back. The journey was easy, her things fitted effortlessly into the car and the cleaning satisfied an urge in me that surfaces from time to time to restore pristine cleanliness to where once was clutter and dirt.

The University uses a credit system whereby students have a card that can be topped up with money and spent in food establishments on campus. Taylor had a few pounds left on her card so she bought a lunch for us both that had become something of a tradition for her on Thursdays when lectures had kept her on campus all day. A freshly baked baguette generously filled with brie and salad eaten in the glorious sunshine on the central piazza was a perfect reward for all the scrubbing and vacuuming.

Our final job before heading back home was to collect Taylor's results.

We all knew that a mathematics degree at a prestigious university was never going to be easy and having now experienced it, Taylor would be the first to concur. She found it extremely challenging for all sorts of reasons beyond the simply academic ones, yet she persevered. Her boyfriend did everything he could to support her (including sending her a very prickly cactus that outgrew the box it had been delivered in thus causing a few concerns about how to transport it home!) Big sister Liberty made sure she had colourful post-its and notebooks to help with revision. I did my best to encourage her without putting her under any pressure to live up to my perceived expectations. We all did what we could and so did she... but would it be enough.

Taylor's first and second year results coupled with how well (or otherwise!) the final exams had gone meant that a first class degree was not going to happen. The dream was to scrape a 2.1 but a 2.2 was a more likely outcome. A 2.2 could still open doors, just not as effectively as a 2.1.  Of course, the worry was that after all her trying, all her enormous effort... she wouldn't get a 2.2. I would need all of my consolation techniques ready to deal with that particular outcome.

We walked to the maths building. We were moments away from knowing. I grabbed a coffee and waited outside as she and her friends went in to face the truth. Students were emerging from the building, mobile phones to their ears, sharing their news with anxious parents. There was jubilation. There were tears. I waited.

Taylor is a petite little thing. She was wearing dark clothing. As she emerged from the gloomy interior of the building into the bright sunlight, I saw her smile before I actually saw her. A huge, beaming smile.

A huge beaming smile followed by a thumbs up as she waved her piece of paper at me... the piece of paper with an unfathomable jumble of percentages AND the magic number... the number we had dared to hope for.

2.1

We drove home letting the good news sink in and sharing it with friends and family by the magic of text and facebook.

We celebrated with a rather unusual meal created by cooking all the partially defrosted frozen food that had been left in Taylor's uni freezer. Nobody cared how odd the meal was because Liberty arrived with a bottle of bubbly. As I toasted my daughter and sipped my drink, I could rejoice that the stress of 'not knowing' had been replaced with the joy of a fantastic result. I may have it all to go through again with the A level results, but today was most definitely a good day.

Oxford Blues

Over three decades ago, I held an envelope in my hand. Inside that envelope was a rejection or offer letter from Oxford University. I opened the letter. It was a rejection.

This was not a devastating blow to me. I treated it all a bit like a game, enjoying the special treatment I got at school during the application process. I wore a borrowed pencil skirt and gold high heels to my interview. I didn't even know that the prime minister at the time had studied the same subject at the same college I applied for. I cringe now to think how flippant I was about an amazing opportunity.

I could never accuse my daughter Charis of being flippant. She fell in love with Oxford when we visited recently and despite knowing how tough the competition would be for a place to study medicine in the city of dreaming spires, she felt she owed it to herself to try.

Yesterday, we sat waiting anxiously for the postman to arrive with the letter that would direct her one way or another in a critical fork in the road of her life journey. It had already been an excruciatingly difficult wait from her interview in December until this moment  I'm sure Charis won't mind me saying that she was not always easy to live with while the weight of not knowing if her Oxford dream would become a reality sat so heavily on her shoulders. Now that the 'knowing' was one postal delivery away, the pressure was intense.

Adding to the pressure was the fact that she needed to be in Leicester for another University interview by midday. I was driving her there and we needed to leave by 10am to give us plenty of time to find the right building. Ten o'clock came and still no sign of the postman. We waited another 15 minutes before
accepting that this was not going to work out. We needed to leave and no amount of wishing and praying was going to make a postman materialise at our front door.

We agreed that we needed to put it out of our minds, give the Leicester interview 100% and as I would be returning home without her, I would open the letter and let her know if it was a yes or a no after five o'clock when she would be finished with the interview and on a train back to her boarding school. Simple.

Simple, that is, if it were possible to put such an important thing out of your mind. She really did have a face like thunder. I felt pity for the poor, unsuspecting person tasked with interviewing her!

Simple, that is, until I started my return journey and had time to think about the enormous responsibility of opening the letter, knowing the fate of my daughter and having to find a way to tell her if the news was bad.

I arrived home. As I opened the door I had a moment of doubt that the postman may not have called at all but there it was. The letter. The white envelope with the college crest printed in the top left hand corner. My heartbeat quickened. I felt sick. I bent to pick it up.

It did not take a genius to work out that a letter as thick as this one was not going to be a rejection. Dear so and so, you have not been offered a place at Oxford but here is a load of information to show you how good it would have been if we had wanted you. I remembered my letter thirty odd years ago. A single sheet of paper with an apology. I was relaxed and happy as I opened my daughter's letter and confirmed what I already knew.

I did not wait until 5 o'clock to text my daughter with the good news. I didn't even care if her phone buzzed and lit up in her pocket in the middle of an interview. She didn't care that I had deviated from the plan.

She was one delighted young lady with a very bright future ahead of her.

Missing Mash

My daughter Taylor sometimes goes by the nickname Mash - which was fortunate for alliterative purposes in my title. She is only small and despite being a drummer, very quiet. However, she leaves a huge 'Mash-shaped' hole in our home when she is away at Uni.

We took her back to her campus last weekend and the tears that filled her big sad eyes showed that she would miss us as much as we would miss her.

Those tears were never very far from spilling for several days before she actually packed her things and prepared to go. It was heartbreaking to see her emotions etched so plainly on her lovely face.

She and her boyfriend went on a shopping trip a few days prior to her departure. She found a Catwoman poster that she had being trying to get hold of (little bit of a girl crush on the actress Anne Hathaway who plays the feline superhero) and bought it to adorn the wall of her room in the Hall of Residence she calls home during term time. The posters were 2 for a fiver so the boyfriend, being a massive comic book geek, chose a Spiderman poster for himself.

Back home, they unsheathed their posters to admire their heroes.

Taylor has tried to replicate the expression on her boyfriend's face and the accompanying high pitched yelp of surprise and disbelief when the unrolled poster revealed not Spiderman - but teen pop sensation Justin Beiber! Big sister Liberty said that she would have paid money to have been there and witness it first hand.

The unfortunate mix up with the posters created a tidal wave of hilarity that proved a great ally in the battle against Taylor's sadness about leaving.

We had a family get together on Taylor's last night at home. At 4 year old Addy's request we had marshmallows to toast and consequently called it a "Mashmallow" party. Justin Beiber was invited and had more than his fair share of the warm gooey pink and white confection.

Taylor has been back at Uni for a few days now but missing home and exam stress has meant it has not been an easy transition for her. I know she is well supported by the friends she has made and that her boyfriend is only ever a text away but I can't help worrying about her.

In terms of how much I miss her and filling the Mash-shaped hole, I consider myself very fortunate to have this larger than life portrait of her hanging in my hall. It was painted by her incredibly talented friend as an art A'level piece. Not surprisingly, this friend is now at University on an art course.

One day, Taylor will have her own home and will probably take the portrait with her but for now I am the custodian and I love seeing it every day. It is certainly better than a Justin Beiber poster anyway!!

Original artwork by Kirsty Warner

Photography by Kirsty Warner

A cabbage, goat and wolf problem

Do you know the puzzle about a farmer with a cabbage, a goat and a wolf that he needs to get across a river? Unfortunately for the farmer, his boat is only big enough for himself and one other of his commodities for any particular crossing. His problem lies with the fact that if he leaves the goat unattended with the cabbage, the goat would eat the cabbage and likewise the wolf and goat left together would result in bloody carnage and a self-satisfied wolf licking his lips. The farmer has to devise a solution whereby the unfavourable combinations do not occur and his cargo arrives on the opposite riverbank intact. It takes a bit of juggling but it can be done.

My weekend was very much like this.

Obviously there were no actual wolves, cabbages, goats, farmers, boats or rivers involved but what I did have was one daughter (Taylor) that needed to be settled into her new room at University,  a car load of belongings that needed to be  moved into said room, a boyfriend (George) that wanted to see off his student girlfriend and make sure she was OK, two under fives that create a certain amount of chaos whatever is happening, one husband and (unofficial) son in law taking part in a Triathlon half an hour away from the University, sports gear and two bikes needing to be in place for the Triathlon transitions and another daughter (Liberty) wanting to support her sporty man at the same time as marking homework and planning her next week's lessons. Thankfully, the presence of this daughter and her boyfriend meant that we had a second car to relieve the burden on mine but two cars to park in a) the multi storey car park from hell and b) the insanely busy sports centre that was the starting and finishing point for the triathlon, did present a whole extra problematic layer.

Originally, the plan had been to settle  Taylor into Uni life on the Saturday, stay overnight at a Travelodge in Coventry and dedicate Sunday to the Triathlon. As is often the way with plans, this did not happen. Registration and room allocation at the University was split into two groups depending on where your surname fell alphabetically and being a "V" meant that Taylor was a Sunday arrival.  Now we could have called the University, explained the situation and  asked to be admitted on the Saturday, but with Taylor already being quite anxious about the whole leaving home thing, I didn't want to put her in a position where she would feel singled out and different. She was my top priority. We decided to stick with her allocated day and fit the Triathlon around it.

But being in two places at the same time is one of those useful tricks that I am still trying to master!

We stuck with the plan to travel up on the Saturday for what was supposed to be a leisurely drive to the Travelodge that we had already booked. 'Leisurely' quickly turned into stressful when the sat nav was no help whatsoever in central Coventry. I had volunteered to drive to give my husband a chance to relax before his imminent athletic endeavours. I did not cope well with the unfamiliar traffic systems, dodgy junctions and a complete lack of knowledge as to where I was supposed to be going. When I found myself, quite by accident, in  car park - I stayed there (at least until my panic started to subside). My husband went off on foot to locate the Travelodge and he drove the rest of way through town to our destination.

We had to unload most of the car contents for security reasons. Luckily, one of the rooms that we had booked was larger than the others. There was plenty of space for the suitcases, boxes and two racing bicycles. Less than luckily, was the state George's trousers were in after manhandling two racing bicycles up three flights of stairs and into the room.  I really hope that his mum's washing machine and detergent can handle oil stains.

There was a fantastic looking Primark opposite the hotel. I really wanted to browse the three well lit levels of reasonably priced fashion items for some retail therapy but it was closed for business by the time we were together enough to have taken advantage of the consumer paradise, and would be leaving before they reopened the following day. Shame.

Finding somewhere suitable for all of us to eat on a busy Saturday night proved nearly impossible, even with the aid of phone Apps that should have made it simple. We ended up in one of the nicest Wetherspoons I'd ever seen but despite the architectural elegance of their exterior, they were unable to provide me with a veggie burger and came close to not serving us at all because they were unexpectedly busy, short staffed and  running out of clean plates!

Sometimes, when stress and disappointment piles on so thick, you start to feel a strange sense of elation - that you are a survivor and whatever life throws at you... you will triumph. I was getting to that point. Beer helped. Chocolate helped further.

Back at the hotel room, my husband and I watched X Factor in bed while trying to persuade an overexcited two year old that sleep is best. The rest of our party congregated in the largest room amongst the luggage and cycles for a slightly surreal round of the Pointless board game.

Our plan for the next day was to drop Taylor and George off at the University with Taylor's things first thing then speed off to Stratford for the triathlon registration and prepare for the race. As I lay in bed, unable to sleep and going through this in my mind, I realised that it could not possibly work. We would not be able to physically accomplish this within the time constraints. In the morning, I announced a change of plan that seemed to work better.

After a quick croissant breakfast, we used our best logical approach and working together to bring the cars outside the hotel, reload them with everything and check out. Not as simple as it sounds when the code number needed to get out of the car park didn't work, causing Liberty's boyfriend to engage in increasingly heated conversations with an unhelpful car park attendant at the other end of a tinny intercom. The bikes came down one by one in the lift with minimal oil soiling and just as it seemed we were ready to go, my little Addy announced she needed a poo. The hotel toilet needed a key card (which we had already posted in the slot on the reception desk in the absence of staff manning it). A lovely hotel guest came to our rescue, averting certain disaster by lending us her key.

Both cars set off together with sat navs programmed for the start of the Triathlon. I should have known not to rely on sat navs alone. It wasn't long before we reached a road that was not recognised. As far as the sat nav was concerned, we were in the middle of a field. We found ourselves in the dangerous situation of two cars following each other, neither knowing which way to go. After what could have been a rather nasty incident with a bus - we got back on track. The route to the sports centre was the same as the cycle route for the triathlon so we got a taste of what our men had in store for them as we passed cyclist after cyclist, race numbers flapping in the wind, powering their way up a long steep hill.

The sports centre was insanely busy but with over 1000 athletes taking part in the race, that was not surprising. A friendly traffic warden (thank God he was a friendly one) allowed me a bit of leeway to park in a coach space while we unloaded the bikes and other gear. We had one near disaster when George used D locks to secure the bikes to a lamppost only to learn that the whereabouts of the keys to open the locks was unknown. Keys located - panic over.  Sensible Liberty headed off to a cafe to do her marking and planning and I left our slightly bemused competitors to work out where they had to go and what they had to do while I headed back the way we had just come towards the University with Taylor, George and my little ones.

After my bad driving experience the day before, I was feeling a little anxious but with George up front telling me where to go in his lovely calm voice, I soon relaxed.

The University had done a good job with signposting and we were lead through coned off lanes towards a short stay car park for unloading. I was doing really well until the very last little bit where I did actually hit a cone and sent it flying.

One good thing about the stress and the madness and the destruction of innocent orange traffic cones was that it had all been a distraction for Taylor from her own anxiety about leaving home. She simply hadn't had time to think about her own personal worries! Now we were here and this was it.

I was so glad that George was with us. He straight away suggested that they go and get her keys and gave Taylor the confidence she needed to do everything she had to do. Not only this but he also brought me a cup of coffee while I waited at the car with the little ones. I really needed that coffee!

They found her room (which would be on the top floor!) and we made a start with the unloading.

Her room was lovely. Clean and bright and well equipped. The little ones were happy to try out her desk with drawing activities while George and I carried everything up the (never ending!) flights of stairs. Taylor unpacked and made her room a home. Our 30 minute allotted unloading time turned into more like an hour but after seeing what I did to their traffic cone, I don't think anyone was going to challenge me on it!

Eventually, I left George and Taylor to get on with it and took the little ones back with me to try and catch the start of our Triathlon category. It was touch and go whether I'd get there in time and far more worryingly was the problem of finding a parking space. I resorted to using my old parking mantra (hadn't done this in years) - Gracious Goddess show your face, lead me to a parking space. The Goddess certainly was gracious. I found a space big enough for me to manoeuvre into (just about). After a bit of a tussle with the Pay and Display machine (life really never is easy, is it?) I was eventually fighting my way through the crowds with a buggy that has seen better days and refuses to go the direction you want it to. Miraculously, I spotted Liberty in a good viewing position to see the exit from the swimming pool and transition onto bikes. I'd made it. Within a few minutes, there was Liberty's boyfriend running to his bike, mounting and zooming away on the next leg of the race. My husband was not too far behind. We cheered. We watched them disappear out of sight then we went to the cafe for a well earned lunch.

The fourteen mile bicycle road race was due to take about an hour so we made sure we were well positioned at the finish line in good time to cheer our men onwards. I spotted my lycra clad hero from quite a way off and gave him a cheer. Such was his concentration, I 'm not sure he even registered my presence but Liberty and I were rewarded with a big cheesy grin when her boyfriend crossed the line a few minutes later.

It did actually make me feel quite emotional to see them doing so well. Not for the last time this weekend, I felt that telltale throat tightness and blinked away an escaping tear.

We were there at the final finishing line as well to witness their victorious ending. My husband is not really built for running. He did look ungainly as he lumbered over the line but he finished the whole thing in 1hr and 12 minutes and came 15th in his category (which I think was a group of about 50 competitors). Liberty's boyfriend looked amazingly fit as his long strides carried him over the finish (shoelace undone!) a few minutes later. They both did so well and I am incredibly proud of them.

All that was left to do then (after showering, changing and reloading the bikes) was to return to the University, pick up the boxes and suitcases that Taylor didn't need, say goodbye and take George back home. I picked up a bit of shopping for her on the way. I think half of the new students and their parents must have had the same idea because the shop was heaving with young people looking excited and terrified in equal measures with their parents worrying how their babies would cope with this new found independence and remember to eat properly.

With it being much later in the day, the busy registration period at the University was all but over. The traffic cones had been removed. I parked without incident and went up to see how my baby was doing. She had met some people already and had a look around the freshers fair with George. He was happy to have been mistaken for a fresher and collected freebies which he delighted in showing us.

The moment we had all been dreading was looming ominously. The time to say goodbye. I expected tears but little Taylor sobbed. I am getting a lump in my throat now just thinking about it. We hugged and cried and laughed and cried some more. Walking away was hard but I knew that the sooner we did it, the sooner she would regain control, venture out and start making friends and having fun. We left George to say his final goodbye.

I was glad that the driving responsibility fell on me. It meant that I could not give in to my tattered emotions. I concentrated on getting us home safely and by the time we did, Taylor was socialising in the shared kitchen with her neighbours. She has an amazing adventure ahead of her and although we will miss her like crazy, she is exactly where she needs to be.

It was a long and difficult weekend but one full of achievement. I feel very relieved that I got my cabbage, my goat and my wolf safely across the river.

A Uni Send Off

Maybe it's because my daughter Taylor is small and petite or maybe it's because she has big brown puppy dog eyes that make her look vulnerable - whatever it is, the idea of her going off to University next weekend is quite scary. My head tells me she will be absolutely fine and has an amazing time ahead of her - my heart makes me want to scoop her up in my arms, hold her tight and tell her to stay home! Of course my head is right but to pacify my heart, we are doing little things to help us both feel able to deal with the big day.

Yesterday we had a party for the family to wish Taylor and her boyfriend's twin sister (who is now safely ensconced in the student room that she will call home for the next year) the very best of luck.

I do love an excuse for a party and spent some happy hours baking cakes, taking inspiration (and instruction) from the Cake Decorating Partwork I subscribed to earlier this year.

I had a go at some icing techniques to create red, white and blue 'cupcake' cookies. It was messy and tricky and I wasn't entirely satisfied with how they turned out but it has left me wanting to try again. The potential is there to make spectacular looking biscuits. With a bit more practise I might just get the hang of it. In the meantime, my children have demonstrated their support of my cake decorating hobby by kindly volunteering to eat all my disasters.

I was happier with my ladybird cupcakes. I absolutely love my new icing nozzle that creates a grass effect. I modelled the ladybirds out of sugar paste but cheated and bought a pack of icing flowers from Asda to complete the look.

I made a chocolate fudge cake and covered it in white chocolate buttons. I had bought a packet of milky bar giant buttons on special offer for £1 and a packet of cheap Morrisons white chocolate buttons for 39p (or 3 for a £1) thinking it would look nice to have two different diameter circles in the design. Once both packets were emptied onto a plate, it was almost impossible to tell the difference between them. Next time I need white chocolate buttons for cake decorating, I know which ones I will be buying!

My cakes were willingly pushed to one side to make way for the incredibly ambitious Union Jack cake made by the younger sister of Taylor's boyfriend. In the absence of a relevant song to replace Happy Birthday to You during the ceremonial cake cutting, we sang a rousing rendition of the National Anthem.

We presented the two almost Uni students with boxes of chocolates (they will both be making lots of new friends and chocolate can be a good ice breaker!) and celebratory bottles of champagne. When I say champagne, I do actually mean bottles of sparkling perry - weekend offer in Lidl's for £1.29. However, with my genius of a daughter Liberty doing a five minute photoshop job, we transformed the bottles into personalised 'Really Classy Champagne'.

Had it been real champagne with a real champagne price tag, I could not have watched as they shook the bottles and popped the corks with frothy spurting and hilarity in equal measure.

It was lovely to have a little celebration and the opportunity to wish both girls luck and apart from my little ones getting tired and grumpy by the end of it, there were plenty of happy faces.

I very much hope that the good feeling generated sustains us through the next week as we pack and prepare to go.

We're all going to miss you Taylor!

Summer Reflections

The Summer Holidays are all but over and tomorrow, my little girl has her first day at school. Brand new uniform waits on its hangers for the big day and shiny new shoes are ready to take little feet on some big steps. She is eager to learn and excited about the new adventure. For me it will take some adjusting - driving to school each day instead of  the pleasant walk we had for her Nursery and then the whole day without her instead of collecting her at lunchtime. I am looking forward to more one-on-one time with my two year old son and maybe even the opportunity to accomplish some of the things on the DIY to-do list that hasn't seen much crossed off it over the last six weeks.

When I finished University nearly three decades ago, I didn't have the slightest clue what I wanted to do next. My daughter Ivy found herself in the same situation after graduating this year. She came back home to take stock and make a plan. I thought I was fully aware of all the potential pitfalls of having a child used to independence returning to the family home. There were problems with her not having a space of her own and the inevitable depressing feeling that coming home is a backward step. Being aware of the problems did not make them any easier to deal with. Ivy has always been highly strung and emotional and we have had a really tough time trying to help her make sense of her life. It has been a huge drain on everyone's energy. We had a mammoth house change around so that Ivy could have her own room. One of the upshots of this was that my little boy has swapped his cot for a single bed. He loves it. The cot is packed away in my newly boarded loft (one of the DIY projects that I can cross off the list) just in case any of my older children should decide to make me a grandparent. Ivy now has a job in a lovely country pub (in the same village where my little girl's new school is) and she is saving up to go travelling.

This has been an important summer for my daughter Taylor as she anxiously awaited her A level results upon which her future hinged. She did exceptionally well, securing herself a place at her first choice University to study maths. Up until the firm offer of a place, the idea of University was simply that - an idea. Suddenly, it was a reality. Her worries about leaving home, leaving her boyfriend and taking on the huge challenge of University are plainly evident. I know that once she settles in she is going to have an amazing time but I also suspect that initially, there will be some tearful goodbyes. We are doing all we can to help prepare her, including setting her and her boyfriend the task of cooking a three course meal for the two sets of parents (and themselves). They planned it, shopped for it, prepared it and served it - working together with efficiency and good humour. Apart from a timing error with some basmati rice that turned into basmati blancmange, the food was fantastic and they were both relaxed enough to be charming hosts too. The starter of vegetable potato cakes was absolutely delicious.

We made the decision not to go abroad on holiday this summer but we did enjoy some unexpectedly fantastic weather during a short break on the south coast which made up for it. We visited some beautiful places, spent time with family and friends and I fulfilled an ambition to dance at the glorious Tower Ballroom in Blackpool - all things that make it feel like time well spent.

Wasdale - The Lake District

The Summer Holidays are all but over.  I can't help but feel a little sad.  As for tomorrow - well tomorrow is a whole new day.

Hur-A*A*Ah!

A Level Results Day had seemed so far off - then all of a sudden, it was here

I was slightly concerned for my daughter, Taylor, because she had set herself a very high standard to achieve for her first choice of University - Warwick. I knew she would do well but with a lot of study days lost to ill health and a  wild card in the form of an essay based subject (Taylor admits she does numbers not words!) there was a question mark over whether she would do well enough.

We had an inkling that things had gone in her favour when the school telephoned to ask that she come in early to collect her results and talk to the local paper. It seemed unlikely that the paper would want to run the headline "Promising student's shocks teachers with 3 fails at A level".

My husband works in education and had an obligation to be at his school for the all important results day. However, he was reluctant to leave just in case our worst fears were realised and Taylor needed help  in terms of going through clearing to find an alternative University that would take her. He decided that the best solution was to check the UCAS website first thing. It wouldn't tell him what her grades were but it would say if she had been offered a place at Warwick.

When my husband brought me up my morning coffee all dressed for work and with the biggest smile on his face I'd ever seen, I knew we had nothing to worry about.

Taylor was still asleep at this point, but not so asleep that she didn't register my involuntary outburst of the chorus of Kool and the Gang's Celebrate Good Times (come on!! its a celebration!!!!)

She was up shortly after, checking UCAS herself and celebrating the confirmation of an offer of a place at Warwick.

Going into school to collect her results was now just a formality. She achieved two A stars in her Maths and Further Maths and an A in her essay based subject.

I am so incredibly proud of her.

Reasons to be Cheerful

ONE

Top of the Reasons to be Cheerful this week has to be the beautiful weather. Although there is possibly a slightly sinister Climate Change connotation to the unseasonal warmth, I can't help but enjoy it. It was a little odd yesterday, however, as I relaxed outside on my inflatable sofa with a coffee and a crossword - sunshine worthy of a day midsummer day and autumn leaves dropping on my head!

TWO

This morning I spent a little time in the company of my neighbours  for a MacMillan Coffee Morning. It was a nice feeling to be part of a something to raise money for a worthwhile cause.

I am also trying to give something back to the community by getting involved in the fund raising committee at my little girl's school. I am delighted with how much she is enjoying the school experience and want to be as supportive as I can. We had a meeting at a local pub and although I think it will take some time for me to find my feet and understand how everything works, I am looking forward to helping out. As a bonus, it is giving me the opportunity to meet other mums and  make new friends.

THREE

Taylor has been struggling to write her Personal Statement for University applications. She had a reasonably good draft but it was 5 lines over the limit  for the UCAS requirement. It was a moment of great euphoria today after a tweak and a rephrase when she finally trimmed it down to the length needed. I have just read through it and feel very proud of where she is in her life and how motivated she is for her future.