That went fast

Last time I posted it was still May.

Now we are half way through June. 3 weeks and 6 days until we leave, less than a month until we will be sitting in a very bare house waiting for our furniture to arrive. It will be 30 degrees outside but there will be a swimming pool to cool us down. The cats will not have yet arrived, waiting for their flights at Gatwick and keeping it all together I hope. They will have calmers and pheromones to help them through the experience.

I think I need some calmers and pheromones too.

My body is running on a permanent low-grade level of adrenaline, the lists have got smaller but new items are added daily. We are starting the 'lasts' and goodbyes. We said cheerio to our dear goldfish on Saturday and the girls did their last pony show on Sunday.

This is all so very real now. 3 weeks, 6 days and counting.

Best. Day. Ever.

There is nothing better than an inset day. It's a freebie, like winning the lottery or a 2 for 1 offer in the supermarket. Except when the sun shines and there are ponies, gerbils and kittens - then it's a through-the-roof brilliant day. We even had cheese straws which in my kids eyes counts as the Best. Day. Ever.

Freddie

I will miss Freddie when we go, really miss him.

Freddie is a Shetland. A fat, hairy pony of the naughty kind. He has forelock (a fringe for those of you not too pony orientated) that sticks out in crazy directions which won him a competition at Forelock Books. Freddie even writes his own blog each week, detailing his antics and pony thoughts. He is strong but kind, he his hilarious and infuriating, he is hairy and soft, but most of all he has the incredible ability to lift your mood even on the bluest of days.

Freddie should be available on the NHS.

A and P came out of school all wound up and grumpy. They hadn't eaten enough food at lunchtime, they hadn't drunk enough water, they had been stuck in all day due to the rain (I'm not sure when rain ever hurt anyone?) and their cheeks were a sweaty red from 30 odd kids all crammed in a classroom. A began worrying about her SATS exams for next year and that her homework about the planet Mars HAD to have a model to accompany it. Lazy bloody homework, model making - guess who's doing papier mache this weekend.

We needed to go and see Freddie. All of us.

And there he was running up and down his fence excited to see us. We stroked, fussed, hugged and groomed him. He even had his mane plaited.

We meandered through glorious bluebells and blossom confetti. We smelt the heady fragrances more pungent after the rain. We all agreed not to make a planet Mars model, but draw a picture instead - sod it. And we all started laughing, noticing, being in the wonderful moment that is Bedgebury forest with a Shetland.

And when Freddie's work was done for the day, he rewarded us with this hilarity. Turn up the volume and enjoy!

Summer for one day

What a glorious day of sunshine, a real scorcher that required sun cream and a barbeque. And how lovely that it landed on a Sunday enabling us all to be together, to admire the tulips and have a game of swing ball. There really is nowhere like Sussex in the sunshine.

After school

They used to have more variation in their hobbies - like swimming, dancing, gymnastics and the like. They have all slowly petered out or been given up. The 4-legged furry friends have taken over completely, slowly and surely turning my children into pony-mad kids, especially A - she dreams, draws, reads about and breathes horses. I think P just does it because we like it, she has yet to find her passion, being only 7 years old.

I take their jodhpurs, boots and hats to school, they play 'Guess the snack!' from the school gates to the car, scoff the food and get changed, so that when we arrive at the stables they are ready to run, apple core in hand - to greet Louis and Dexter.

They are so lucky to have two of the sweetest, cheekiest and cutest ponies to ride. I get just as much out of it as they do, grooming, cuddling, tacking up and running along side them as they trot up and down the country lanes every night after school.

What a healthy, wholesome childhood. Learning to take responsibility for such a noble animal, mucking out and mucking in - especially when the weather is less than glorious. I have never regretted a single moment or penny spent with the horses and intend to find some very fast when we land in Mallorca.

9 weeks and 4 days.

Carving out a new life

The mud is less filthy and the rain less bothersome, knowing we are to leave for Mallorca very soon. The whining wind and grey, gritty drizzle failed to get me down this morning. The irony being that it is easier to live in the 'now' when a new life lays glistening up ahead. I can wait to move to Mallorca, because it will happen in it's own good time - but for now, I am enjoying the present as well as reflecting on all that has been good about our time in Sussex.

We have just returned from a week on the Balearic Isle, a week of appointments and school searching, of trying to find a house and dragging up Spanish I thought had long been forgotten. We travelled from East to West from South to nearly-North. We discovered mountains, snowy-white sands and gentle landscapes dotted with the leftover blossoming, almond trees. Lemons and oranges shone brightly, lambs and piglets scurried across fields and the warm stone of the traditional Mallorcan farmhouse left us feeling welcomed. As though this was the right place to be for the next few years.

We are just waiting to hear if the girls are to be accepted into the school of our choice, and whether the house we really love is to be our home

We're off to sunny, sunny Spain

Not just for a holiday this time.

For years we have fantasised about living abroad. Every Friday night after a week in the rat race, we would talk about how we could do it, over a couple of bottles of wine. The ideas seemed so real when all drunk and fuzzy but crashed with a reality every Saturday morning, when we realised that we were probably here for a very long time.

We discussed travelling the world for a year, we talked about buying a caravan and bumbling around Europe, road-schooling the kids - we considered volunteering as a family in places like Ecuador or Columbia.

Every holiday we would look around the place to see if we could live there. Romania too difficult, Cuba impossible, India too mad, France too French but Spain was always just right.

We had lived in Spain before, you see. In Seville, amongst the traditions and ferias - before children when life was different. We can speak the language, love the food and of course the weather is very appealing indeed.

Mallorca felt just right as soon as we landed, it helps that my bezzie lives there as well. We have plotted and schemed, taken the romance out of the move with excel spreadsheet after excel spreadsheet, I have contacted the schools, I have done the maths. We can do this.

We are going to live in Mallorca. We are going in July. We are staying for a year, but probably very much longer.

And yes, the cats are coming with us.

Silence

I haven't written a post for a while, not because there is nothing to write about, rather there is a storm in my head. A loud, noisy mess which I am struggling to put in order, struggling to quieten down.

Huge changes are afoot, there is so much to consider. There just never seems to be any time to give the changes any proper thought. The children's demands are no less than when they were toddlers, they are just different but all consuming. He needs me to listen. The horses never stop poo-ing. The house is one problem after another which needs to be solved, let alone the never ending dust and washing piles. 

So to be able to have a moments calm, alone, is rare gift. To empty my head completely and revel in the moment is a scarce delight. And when the silence happens on a cold, but sunny day, my heart can join in the singing.

I took my pony for a walk. He is the size of a big dog. We walked, my pony and I, up the lanes and down the hills. He investigated the icy puddles, tapping them with his hooves. I did not hurry him or berate him for his inquisitiveness. We opened our lungs and ran side by side, smiling. The air was still, time hovered for a second, allowing us both to appreciate the deep beauty of the Kent countryside. Alone. 

And in silence.

Mallorca

It was a cheeky last minute trip to see my bezzie and her husband, to be introduced to the next part of their journey. Arriving in Spain I am always engulfed with a sense of overwhelming familiarity and longing - the language, the foods and the waft of cigarettes in the warm air. I always feel I can breathe a sigh of relief when I am with Spain again, a long lost friend, a second home.

Mallorca surprised me with its ease, its clean streets and fancy plazas. The port with its abundance of super-yachts being repaired during the winter, the palm trees lining the streets and the impressive cathedral of Palma all gave off a sense of wealth, pride and international flavour.

My bezzie lives in the campo, the countryside, surrounded by derelict farms and prickly pears. The lambs would bleat in the neighbouring fields, November being a perfectly reasonable time to be born. The geraniums still flowered, the horses wore no rugs and the kids even had a quick swim in the pool. It felt serene as we rode over the land, reins in one hand and talking idly about the last few months.

We walked the beaches devoid of tourists, running with the dog in the freshest of winds as kite surfers impressed us with their swoops in the air and jumps out of the waves.

And as well as the laughter, the partying, the wonderfully cheap-red-wine-by-the-5-litre-container and the paella which made us gasp at its prettiness - we felt like this could be home. The children revelled in trying their Spanish, they joyfully pulled the heads off the langostines and dug out the mussells from their shells, they ran barefoot with a dog and played with kittens, they tried the cheeses and meats at the market. They said they could live here too. 

As long as our cats could come to Mallorca as well.

The epic Romanian donkey trek

The searing sun would find its way through the intricate lace curtains of our hosts family home, waking us all. Time to get up, put fresh pants and walking socks on, heavy boots and nine-day-old shorts. I would sort the donkeys, putting a concoction of potions around their eyes to keep the flies and other insects away - my soft Englishness taking great care with this process, using all our own repellents to help the donkeys face the day. Breakfast would be one of cold meats of unidentifiable origin, lumps of pork fat, white cheeses and jams made from the prolific bilberries and raspberries which grew wild in the countryside. We would smile and joke with our hosts, not a word of language between us, saying our goodbyes as the Romanian mamas hugged the children to their aprons and great maternal bosoms.

A day of walking with donkeys. Through pine forests and open plains, up hills and around mountains, across grazing land ferociously protected by mountain dogs, over streams and past ponds, down deep riveted sheep tracks and stoically along brand new EU funded roads.

We kept walking, with donkeys carrying our needs, their loads lightening as we drank the litres of water necessary to combat the 35 degree heat. The children were incredible in their resilience, playing word games, marvelling at insects and fire-bellied toads, taking it in turn to lead the donkeys and never complaining. Sharing precious Haribo sweets brought from home, one at a time knowing the sugariness had to last until the next break, until we finally arrived at our new family for the night.

It was difficult, it felt heroic, the walks were up to 20km a day, the heat was almost unbearable, the maps were wrong, the instructions a disaster, it felt like the last great adventure to be had on this earth and we all accomplished it together. Flopping down with weariness each night, smiling and remembering the days gems, bellies full of fried meats and gherkins - the satisfaction provided us all with a calm so rarely found in our culture.

I could have just kept walking, forever.

Start of the holidays

A beautiful evening and the beach beckoned. Lets run to the sea when school is out. Six glorious weeks starting with paddling, rock finding, fish n chips and a strong glass of Pimms. The kids squealed, the parents sighed with relief and apprehension, the seagulls circled hoping for a something fried and I revelled in the now.

It's the best time of the year.

Brightling Park Horse Trials

We had such a great day at Brightling Horse Trials yesterday. We were all supposed to go as a family, enjoy a picnic and perhaps a beer or two but the day unfortunately started with rain, which put him and P off entirely. So as they went to the pub for a roast, A and I donned our waterproofs and wellies for a day of thrilling riding and the most beautiful English countryside.

Looking at the spectacular view over Brightling Park towards the sea, was a blanket of emerald fields, divided neatly with dark green hedges and dotted with follies. As the rains and the mists lifted the colours of the English summer shimmered with fertility and beauty - this was the Land of Hope and Glory, England my England, a Green and Pleasant Land. Not one to normally feel a great amount of national pride, I did yesterday. There's nowhere quite like Sussex on a glorious English summers day - and to top it off with horses and my pony-mad daughter, it was a day to make my heart swell. I felt well and truly blessed.

We watched the bravest riders and and the most courageous horses, we measured the size of the jumps compared to ourselves and we 'ooohed' and 'ahhhed' at their enormity. I wondered if I could do it, imagining myself up there flying the jumps, galloping along to the cheering crowd. I was completely and utterly inspired and will be entering a competition soon, bigger and bolder than anything I have ever done before.

This morning I woke up sweating with nerves and anticipation, having dreamt of riding cross country all night. 

I can't wait. I'm so scared. I love it. It terrifies me. I am so excited I am counting down the days. 

Pippa Funnel

Turning back to look at Brazil

It's a busy life, with hardly a moment to take stock - I would think most of us would agree. The paid work, the cooking, the scrubbing, the admin, the children, their activities, the holidays, the term time, the garden and pets. And horses. It's so difficult to fit it all in and hardly a moment to enjoy the fruits - because we all seem to be labouring very hard. A sentence I read in a book last night made me reflect and smile:

"Sometimes you have to turn around, if you keep just looking forward you miss the best views!"

You could argue we should live more in the present, in the now, but looking back gives me so much pleasure, a sense of reading someone else's stories, a different person to who I am now. It fascinates me.

My time in Brazil has come up in conversations about travel and the impending Olympics. I looked at my fading photo's in a drying album the other day, the biro's colour drained as it describes my whereabouts and wild times. An adventure a long time ago with my bezzie, with horses and cowboys, jacaranda trees and enormous toads. A view so incredible that if I had not taken time to turn around it may have faded into deep and distant memories. Always there, but more and more difficult to recall.

Geraldo would grin wide showing the numerous gaps where teeth once used to be. He would start to sing softly as his young horse jig-jogged down the red dust tracks and out of the corral for the day. We all were mounted and prepared for a long day in the saddle, the sun strong, as you would expect it to be in the summer months of Brazil - our heads starting to throb with the intensity almost straight away, the sweat dampens the horses coat and Geraldo makes a cigarette. He does this with such expertise. Although missing a few fingers from drunken mistakes he manages to nimbly roll a piece of ordinary paper and tobacco and stick it all together with sticky-spit - while riding and controlling his young steed. We all smoked as we rode, taking care to avoid the armadillo holes, the rattle snakes and the running emu's. The days work to check the cattle many, many miles away - to disinfect new umbilical cords, to treat wounds, to kill those unable to survive. Hours and hours were spent on the back of a horse that summer, riding to see some cows and riding back again as the sun dipped and toucans flew over head - as Geraldo gently sung his folk songs, the horses listening to the melody, and us all dreaming of our dinner.

*Geraldo on the far right

Jack in the Green

May Day celebrations in Hastings are like no other, the town fills with thousands of people to see in the spirit of summer. Hordes of motorbikes power down the A21 to converge on the sea front, revving over-sized machines, loud and irritating as bikers stride full of swagger, leather and a healthy dose of tattoo's, eating chips and talking petrol no doubt. All ages, sexes and sizes, converging because of a passion - I get that.

The more gentle side of Hastings May day is the releasing of Jack, a parade and drumming of the most beautifully decorated people, full of green leaves and real ale. It's the closest to religion I feel, celebrating the seasons with dancing, horn blowing and booze.

The atmosphere was one of community and fun and we will definitely return next year, with an ivy leaf garland and perhaps some pheasant feathers. Welcome summer! The spirit has been released - but perhaps a little winter still remains, maybe Jack wasn't fully slain as the wind howls, the rain lashes and we all pull our coats a little tighter around us.

A week of ups and downs

I learnt two things this week;

1. You only have your health
2. Never predict how its going to be, ride like you're going to win

It took three weeks to fully recover from this cold/virus/sinus and searing headache thing. Poor A had 7 days off school and 7 loads of drugs to clear her severe chest infection. Even hard-nut P had a day off for an earache. My wisdom tooth reached ridiculous levels of pain and after three and a half hours in the dentist chair the grotty, rotten tooth was out, leaving me dribbling and relieved - I could now get on with my life.

Fletch, the great big orange pony I am lucky enough to ride, has changed his behaviour from 'Winter Fletch' - a lunatic on speed - to 'Summer Fletch' - a much more chilled out horse, with only the odd flip-a-dee-doo-dah to keep me concentrating. He surpassed himself this week enabling me to learn and took me to victory twice, even in gale force winds with the rain lashing sideways soaking us both to the skin, literally.

And with all the pain of the tooth and the adrenaline of show jumping and dressage competitions, I haven't had time to think about Greece. A spring break wandering through ruins, eating olives and sitting on deserted beaches before the hordes arrive. We are off to seek solace in some silence, a break from the everyday to be ready to tackle it all head on when we return.

The ginja-ninja on fire - you can achieve the moon when your tooth doesn't hurt

The trek

The rain lashed sideways at a 45 degree angle, biting with cold as it hit our cheeks. My head was fuzzy from the night before - I was hoping the filthy, Cornish weather might clear my hangover and wake me up. It was nine o'clock in the morning. A ridiculous time to be up on a Sunday when the kids were at their Granny's, but up we all were like keen little pony clubbers, weather unimportant as we donned our chaps and boots for a trek over the Cornish countryside, egging each other on and keen to get cantering.

We chose our ponies, ones with feathery feet and moustached upper lips, all looking mightily displeased to be going out in such a storm. I was looking forward to just sitting there, not worrying if my pony was going to spook or buck or leap - my fat, hairy trekker surely had no such spirit in her.

We whooped and hollered out of the drive, being badly behaved adults giggling madly with excitement and the weather. The stink of the sweaty steam started to arise from the dirty ponies coats, their ears pricked and their gaits quickened as they could feel they had riders on their backs and not novice holiday makers. We galloped up stony tracks where Fletch would have winced in pain, his feet a lot more delicate, we jig-jogged through the villages, she spooked at an umbrella and even bucked when we picked up speed. We were all having a thoroughly good time despite being so wet I could wring my knickers out.

And once up the top of the hill, E's pony started to buckle, her legs started to collapse and we all screamed to E to jump off, while the pony had a roll - in the mud - in the rain. The mud and grass stuck comically out of her bridle and saddle as she shook herself off and E remounted. I thought I was going to be sick I was laughing so hard.

"I'm so sorry," said the escort rider "they are never usually this naughty!"

I'm so glad that they were, whenever I feel down I will think of that ride in the Cornish storms and giggle - giggle hard.

Shooting

"God made this part here," - he indicated to just below my shoulder blade - "for a gun to be held!"

Well I'll be darned, I had no idea and smiled an inwards smile, I do like a passionate person.

"Be the gun," the instructor continued, showing me how to put my cheek on the stock of the gun and stare down its long barrel.

It was heavy holding the gun for the first time. I shivered with nerves and the biting wind of a Cornish February. The instructor calmly reassured my fears as I told him I was a bit scared and that I had never shot a gun before. It was a gun for goodness sake, I mean, I could turn around and hurt someone with it. I could miss and blow my foot off, I could accidentally hit an animal - I could potentially kill a person. That is a huge amount of power and I didn't feel very powerful at all.

"When you're ready, shout PULL and follow the clay  - pull the trigger when you line up the clay and the bead at the end of the barrel." Everyone was watching. I felt a tiny bit sick.

"Pull!" I squeaked.

I fired the gun and it shot out of my shoulder and ricocheted into my bicep, missing the clay completely and stunning me with its force.

I obviously wasn't being the gun or maybe God had forgotten to make the space in my body for one - either way it hurt and I had to do it 29 more times.

But once I smashed one clay into tiny smithereens I was hooked - a shooting Mama - no clay was safe in my path.

Poor me

If dry January wasn't bad enough (I'm not doing that again), I have now been prescribed two lots of antibiotics for an infected wisdom tooth. So that's no booze for another five days, and over a weekend too. An x-ray of the tooth showed decay, I could have told the dentist that but I kept quiet willing the hole to close up, which means I have to go to hospital to have it taken out. Shite, pants, bollocks - I've never been to hospital, other than to have a couple of kids, or had a general anaesthetic. It's just the kind of news to cheer you up in the worst month of all. Oh February you beast of a month you.

So here is a list of 10 things I am looking forward to this month now I have the moaning out of the way:

1.  Taking Fletch, the ginger ninja, to an indoor cross country event tomorrow
2.  A's 9th birthday
3.  Starting a new antenatal course - I love meeting new parents-to-be
4.  Seeing my Mum the week after next in Somerset
5.  Flying to Cornwall to a friends 50th party. Decadence.
6.  Trying clay pigeon shooting for the first time
7.  Treating my sister to a lovely birthday weekend
8.  Some real snow
9.  The riding club AGM
10. Being with my children over half term

Happy February everyone!

Snow

The excitement could not be contained past 8 o'clock. Mummy, Daddy I have something very important to tell you, it's snowing! They drew back the curtains to prove themselves and we all stared in magical wonder at the silence descending on the Sussex soil. Great flakes, whirling, turning, spinning to the ground, layering the earth with just a dusting. Just enough of the whiteness to get the sledges out, holler and woop, to stare at the sky and demand hot chocolate and marshmallows to warm the noses and toes-es.

Before it disappeared as quickly as it came.

Here we go...

The fine rain made seeing difficult, it was easier to look down and let the water drop off the peak of my hat as he trotted purposefully up a hill. My new coat, tight at the wrists, refused to let any rain trickle down my arm  - bought for this weather in mind. His chestnut coat steamed after a ride around the lanes, no more cantering through fields as they turn to sludge, not to be seen again until next spring.

The yard started swimming as the horses stood patiently with their heads over their doors, seemingly unbothered by the drips falling off the end of their noses - waiting for their hay. I lug soaked hay nets to each stable, re fill their water, muck out, getting sweatier and smellier - and change their huge heavy rugs. Winter with horses is hard, the weather relentless and even after only two days of rain the summer seems but a dream.

The girls have changed to winter uniform, grey tights and buttoned up shirts, stuffy but necessary. We have sorted out the scarves and hats and odd gloves, giving them a good wash before the chill sets in. The garden looks bedraggled, neglected since the Leylandii fell, the vegetable beds awash with weeds and the odd pumpkin that no one wants to eat. The cats litter tray has moved indoors, they refuse to go outside from now until about May, they sit waiting hopeful by the fire that someone might light it, wondering what all the fuss is about.

My friend has the right idea. Take off for a big trip around the world chasing the colours of the rainbow with her two boys. Follow her adventure here.