Tilly Pitt and Herbie Pitt in Disneyland

As far as Tilly was concerned, Disneyland was the sole purpose of this holiday. Forget the champagne region, the historic chateau, the cave paintings, Toulouse, Perpignan and our two weeks in Mallorca. This holiday was about going to Disneyland and I would be lying if I did not admit to being slightly apprehensive as we left the Lemon Hotel And started our drive towards DISNEYLAND.

We were staying in the Davey Crockett Ranch and I checked the booking information and it said nothing about having to check in first - so we headed straight for Disneyland. Again, our information had let us down. We drove into the main entrance with Tilly screaming 'DISNEYLAND' in the back on the car., we drive up to the toll both with Tilly screaming 'MICKEY MOUSE' only for them to tell us to drive to the ranch and check in.

Fine, we get straight there - check in within 10 minutes and are beck at Disney for 8.25am. We have 1 and a half hours before those not in Disney hotels ate even allowed in. We are there!

Then creeps in my apprehension again - what if Tilly finds out that it isn't the real Disney? A boy at school had already told her that they aren't the real princesses - only for me to utter my best 'YES THEY ARE!' Fort £150 for a meal with them - they better bloody be!

We parked in the front row - no need to remember the character name - and headed in. From that point onwards my apprehension never again arose. This is no longer Eurodisney, this is non longer a poor man's version of Disney, or more accurately a French version of Disney. This is the real deal.

Everyone speaks English. Now this is not me being a typical Brit abroad. I will always try to speak French and hate those Brits that don't try at all. The traditional British person speaks in a weird slow version of English and if they don't understand you, then they repeat it only this time even louder and even slower! NO, my problem with Eurodisney of the past is that everything was French, its a small world was French, Goofy was not called Goofy and the biggest sin of them all! Mickey spoke in French! This is not an English abroad issue it is a Disney issue. Cinderella is American, Belle is American, Pinocchio is American, The Arsitcoats are American, Ariel is American, Baloo is American, Those girls from Frozen are American, Samba is American, Basil The Great Mouse Detective is American!!! Hang on, something seems a bot wrong with that lost of characters. Anyway, Pocahontas is really American and whatever Disney have done to alter books or geographical locations of their films, Mickey Mouse is most definitely NOT FRENCH.  C'est la vie!

Anyway that is my final rant of this blog entry over and done with as the rest of the day was truly great.

The Peter pan ride had a queue of 5 minutes, Dumbo ride - 5 minutes, tea cups - 5 minutes.
Mickey Mouse 1 hour 50 minutes - but Tilly was terrified of men in outfits and so we went nowhere near this queue. The boy at her school had done us a favour. As much as we would have loved a family picture with Mickey, a day without any kind of queuing in a Disneyland Park is incredible.

We crossed to the other park and met Piglet (the only character in a costume Tilly would go anywhere near) and then off to Disney Junior Live. Clare tells me that we watch too much Disney Junior but when Tilly and I were dancing and singing to Mickey Mouse Club House, Little Einsteins, Handy Manny (ok, he is allowed to speak some Spanish) and Winnie the Pooh, this really was Disney at its best.

We returned for one more go on Its a Small World (Tilly's favourite Ride) and then went back to the ranch. When I was 18 and in Florida, Its a small world would be an annoyance, an extra ride that I believed no one would want to venture into. Now, as a dad of a young girl - it is the best ride in the world. No queue, relaxing and it teaches (however stereotypically) about world cultures and differences. By the 5th time, I was still enjoying seeing Tilly's eyes light up as she saw the people of New Zealand and the mermaids in Hawaii (maybe they are really there, I don't know, I have never been).

The ranch was also excellent. Normally I would rant about the price paid for a lodge that was actually a caravan painted like wood. But this is not the point. The point is that we each got a room, the kitchen area meant we could cook as a family, open a bottle of wine and get a much needed good night's sleep after the horrors of the Lime Hotel. Already I believe a part of me is lost there forever, that like in the Shining there is a picture of me in the lobby from 1802 and that part of my soul is never going to be returned.

The other main reason for the lodge is the excellent village centre. With shops, bars, restaurants and an amazing swimming pool. This was a Disney Holiday Park!

As we checked in the people looked disappointed that we were there for only one night. I thought this was some kind of pressure to get us to book for more but being in the village made it clear that this was made for people to stay for longer. Horse rides through the woodland, tennis courts, basketball courts, a petting zoo. This was again a reminder that this was no longer Eurodisney. This was DISNEYLAND!

Tilly and Herbie we t to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows, we followed shortly after and all the apprehension of the previous night with the gypsies and Lemon Hotel Dread was replaced with real excitement for the day to come. Exactly as Disneyland should be.

Day 2 of the European Adventure

After an elongated Day 1 introduction that even managed to miss out the champagne shops in Reims and sitting outside the room in a typical motel with everyone looking at us like strange foreigners "les enfants, dormer" being the typical reply given when looks are too strange.

However, we actually managed to get to sleep. The 4 in a cheap hotel room experiment had worked, the fact that other families were returning with their screaming kids at 10 o clock at night and then spent hours trying to calm them down only helped the smug looks on our faces - even if the smug look was  covering an underlying mantra of 'please don't wake herbie, please don't wake herbie!'.

We woke the next morning with our normal alarm clock of 'mummy can I come into you bed' and we turned to our new best friend in the world - the travel kettle. In a few minutes you can have a cup of incredibly, mouth scaldingly hot coffee which may not taste the best but that gets you ready for a day of travelling the French countryside in search of glorified car boots sales or the more impressive name of Brocante Fairs. The Chipping Norton antique world dream of these fairs, hoping for a glimpse of some rusting old French stuff that can be called shabby chic and can be priced up to sell to the wealthy women of the Cotswolds.

We were up, showered in the impossibly small all plastic cubicle and ready to go by 7.30. We had a list of fairs to try and a plan of action through the corn lined roads of North France.

The first stop was an accidental Brocante - signposted to what looked like Brasilville - we drove into a tiny village where the people literally had a wall paper pasting table open outside their front door and were selling any old tat they had in their house - needless to say, Clare was in her element. Like Herbie on a bad day, I had turned my back and she was down the street, I did not even have time to put the reigns on her!

Within 2 minutes, she had bought a huge antique vase and then continued to find treasures in amongst the piles of limbless barbies and dust filled hotwheels cars. Tilly managed to secure herself a vintage Barbie - If vintage means a few years old and with mangled hair that looks heroin chic but is actually just toybox tangled. We were soon overtaken by professionals who swarmed on stalls to look for old postcards and champagne caps. Old men had their champagne cap guide books and looked intricately at the boxes of old caps hoping to find that one rare lid. It is the first time since my almost finished Jurassic Park card collection of 1993 that I have almost been tempted to start collecting. These men look transfixed as they hope to find that one year of Verve Clique lid where the lady has a small squint or where the Lanson logo was printed slightly differently. Other are just enjoying the fresh air with their old palls as they hope the previous nights hang over drifts away.

At our next Brocante, the old men had found a better way to get rid of their hang overs - more champagne! The stall in the centre of the market stalls was selling coffee, croissants and because it was 8.00 in the morning, most were enjoying plastic cups of champagne. When the coffee costs a Euro and the champagne costs 2.50 - there is only one option.

Again Clare whirled around the stalls breathlessly hunting out the antique gems. I was beckoned over to ask prices and haggle. Although we did have the rare event of us haggling up the price. One old lady was clearly fed up as the rain was cascading down and as we asked the price of two old jars and honey pots, she only asked for 50 centimes for the two - I gave her 50 centimes each as her boredom was clearly blurring her ability to think straight. Her look of confusion as I handed over too much money was already being recognised as 'stupid foreigners' after the previous nights corridor sitting.

As I write this, a French man has asked if we want to go out to the pub with him rather than sitting in the corridor. We are like mini celebrities in the high rolling world of Formula 1 hotel corridor sitting. When gay French couples, old walkers, builders and workmen for hire come together there is one point of conversation - the weird English people. I only hope the two gay men opposite who have clearly come away for a forbidden meet up are not too loud.

The 2nd Brocante was thought to be our last but when we arrived in Meaux there it was on the bridge - Like London Bridge before 1666. A bridge lined with Brocante stores. Clare's eyes lit up, we parked up and off she went again hunting out the antiques. The police have sniffer dogs that cannot find a packet of crack cocaine as quickly as Clare can find an old French door sign (dear God one of the gay men has just left his room in a towel - now this is not a gay Adonis that you would see on a podium on G.A.Y. (I would imagine) it looks like Mario on a cheeky weekend away from Princess Peaches - no wonder she keeps getting 'captured' by Bowser).

Where was I, Oh yes - Brocante number 3.

The hunt was finally ended as our stomachs rumbled. We found a little Italian (no not Mario again) and sat down. I ordered a pizza and a sandwich for the 4 of us to share, speaking my best French. Only for the lady behind the counter to forget that she had said she did not speak English as she uttered the phrase, 'I don't think so'. 'Que' I exclaimed.
'you cannot share' she replied.
'ca va' I said as I scooped up our family and we left. This was not some exclusive Italian restaurant. We were not next in a line of people queuing for a space. This was a glorified kebab shop with plastic cutlery, plastic tables and one of those amazing child seats that looks like it is made from recycled bits of old robin reliants.

We left with the pride of knowing that lady, with her feigned ignorance of the English language and her incredibly badly highlighted hair would not be enjoying the profits of the Pitt Family's hard earned cash. Instead, like in the streets of Reims, we wandered the streets of Meaux in hope if food. This was the second time we learnt the rule of France - they love food but only at the times that they think food should be served. No cooked food before 1 and no cooked food between the hours of 2 and 7! No exceptions unless you want a burger and even then they push the definition of 'fast' food to its absolute limits, even in the national chain of burger joins that is ironically called 'Quik'.

We found a bar that was still serving food - Tous la jour, it said at the door but I am pretty sure that we were the only people that had ordered food that particular jour. A few pancakes and paninis arrived but we could not eat comfortably as the lady behind the bar just sat staring at Herbie. If this had been a grabber game from the arcade, he would have been that one teddy bear sticking out with a clear liftable appendage and she looked like she had a pocket full of 20pences ready to have a try. We ate very very quickly, also due to the fact we were painfully hungry, grabbed our children very tightly and ran out.

A friendly French man then offered us some free tickets to the rides at the funfair that was accompanying the Brocante and so we no longer had to pretend to Tilly that we did not have any money. She could go on the rides- and what's more, we found out the Herbie also loves rides. Jack Osborne has nothing on our little one year old adrenaline junkie. He leapt onto the space ship, Tilly followed suite, he grabbed the controls and whooshed them up and down as the carousel also whirled quickly around. Clare was getting nauseous just looking but Herbie was loving it and thankfully, so was Tilly. The little girl that had previously made me call out to stop a ride mid programme at Lego Land Windsor was being given a new found confidence by her little best friend Herbie.

Full of quickly eaten Panini and tired from an early start to get the best offerings at the Brocantes, we returned to the car to find our hotel. The guidebook had warned of foreigners littered around the hotel when they stayed and that they were worried for their car's safety but no one believes the guides on Trip adviser, let alone the left wing over bearing motherly rants of mumsnet. However, this time Mums net actually had a point. The Lemon Hotel - I kid you not that was the name, was found at the end of a cul de sac at the outskirts of Meaux. In England outskirts can mean nice suburban living with large driveways and spacious green belt plots - In France in means scumsville with horses roaming the land not because it is a riding school but because they don't let the gypses into their town centres.

As we arrived near the hotel, there were the gypsy horses, there were the wild untamed kids running around, there were the groups of men with no women to be seen for miles. If this was a game of traveller lottery, we would just be waiting on the actual caravan itself before screaming 'House' - well sort of house, on wheels that means you don't pay council tax or any kind of tax at all.

As it turned out the caravan was the hotel itself. The place was filled with gypsy people. The lobby was full of children and one particular man that just held his mobile phone in his hand. He walked with a strange semi limp and you were unsure whether he was a dodgy character to stay away from or whether he just wanted a friendly bonjour as you walked by. I settled for a British nod, although I was worried that he may think the nod was actually me mocking the fact that he nodded as he walked. I panicked a bit wondering how he would plan his revenge when we were asleep.
Fortunately the man with the phone never left the lobby. He sat there on the serving counter like a lost man in a blue flanellette tracksuit waiting for the breakfast buffet that would never come. In the morning he was still there sat by the microwave with his phone in hand, maybe their was a text from a lost loved one that is being forever blocked by the radiation of the microwave. It had arrived years ago but he still stares blankly at the screen thinking she was the one that got away.

Thoughts like this (AND WORSE) span through my mind all night as we heard hours of gypsy kid screams, freak mother screams and tears and strange men staring at the Jeep sign on our new car. TERRIFYING!!!! If the first night was surprisingly restful this night was the opposite of that.

Clare and I tossed and turned all night in the cheap sheets of the lemon hotel. Strange African women spoke too loudly outside the room on their massive mobile phones. more kids screamed at hours well past any normal kids bedtime and the lady continued to cry. Should I help, is she even there? was the sleepless night just playing tricks on me. At some point sleep must have won over the worried reveries of my imagination as I awoke with the normal child friendly beckoning of Tilly. Clare and I both looked at the window and sighed with relief that the car was still there - we quickly dresses and rushed to the car. This was not just to get away from the hellhole that is the Lemon hotel but because it was the day we were going to DISNEYLAND!!!!!

Herbie Pitt has his first proper adventure

With Tilly having travelled to Peru, Argentina and Brazil in her first year, we always felt a tad guilty that Herbie's adventures had been limited to Rugby, Daventry and Leicester (although the John Lewis is very nice).
It is therefore with great excitement that we started out travels at 3.00 in the morning (certain people still wandering the streets drunk after leavers ball), all packed, Tilly and Herbie wrapped in their blankets, an we headed to Folkestone - this wasn't the extent of Herbie's adventure, it was just where we caught the Eurostar.

So I sit writing this blog from a slightly dodgy hotel in Poitiers, on the 4th day of our travels. We are sat on the floor outside a hotel room waiting for Tilly and Herbie to fall asleep. This has been our plan every day and it has somehow worked a treat. Herbie goes down in the travel cot, Tilly has to ignore him till he falls asleep and then she has to then get her head down. 4 nights in and 4 full nights of sleep (sort of, see the later adventures at the Lemon Hotel).

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We arrived in Folkestone not really knowing what to expect; how do you get a car on train? where is customs? do all our fluids have to go in little bags? what happens if it breaks down? (a fact that the passengers the next day actually found out - crikey I got stuck on the ghost train at Drayton Manor when I was 10 and that was bad enough). Anyway, it turns out you get your passport briefly glanced at, there is no giant car x-ray machine, and all of your toiletries are fine your bags, like normal. Clearly they don't believe in terrorists under the sea? Or maybe its because they don't have a Boots store at the Eurotunnel who are interested in you only being able to buy big toiletries from them - or maybe I am just being cynical. Sorry I am going off track.

We manage to get an early train (a very rare concept in England), there is a giant arrivals board in the waiting car park that beckons you through and then you wait to go onto the train. They call you in and then you drive to the end of the train. It is the weirdest experience (well the second weirdest after falling asleep on your hand and then waking up with wobbly stranger hand - wooo wobbly hand, aaargh pins and needles). It was like driving into the future, with shoddy 90s surroundings and display panels. But before you know it, they have started the train - no driving senselessly around a runway, no boring safety talk, no overpriced cuppa soups and pringle deals.

Within an hour (well within 6 programmes from CBEEBIES on the ipad), we have arrived in France. You drive off the train, where they carefully guide you on the right of the road, another person glances nonchalantly at your passport cover, and you are then shepherded onto the motorway that is conveniently titled, the Inglish road.

And the best part is that it is still only 8.30  in the morning. We are in France and still have a full day ahead of us. Herbie has just woken up and he has a proper adventure ahead of him that is going to be more exciting than navigating the Leicester one way system.

We continue on the Inglish Road; all the French have diverted off, strange you think until you then realise that this is a toll road. Those crafty French!

15 Euros later, we arrive at The Somme Museum of the Great War. With it being the 100th anniversary of the start of WW1, it would only be polite to visit. As you drive in, you expect rows of poppy filled fields, acres of cemeteries like at the start of Saving Private Ryan (I know that is a different War but my mind only really works in film references). Instead you get a normal road, normal houses and a market that looks like a Saturday morning in Rugby (this is not a compliment). We go around the market looking for beautiful food, French baguettes, fresh vegetables; instead there are tens of stalls selling plastic bands for children and clothes that would best be worn at a gypsy wedding or alternative chavvy engagement - the ones where the children look like they have never dressed out of tracksuits in their lives and have been forced to wear a shirt with a garish pattern on, never tucked in, with some kind of 1990s gel on their hair and trainers that could only have been found in a hidden away corner of sports direct.
Then you turn the corner and there it is - FRANCE! Not the outskirts of Paris France (although we accidentally went there as we tried to navigate around the traffic jam that is Northern Paris) but real, dreamlike, French France. The market stalls stopped selling fake Barbie Dolls and toy guns made illegal in England years ago and actually started selling real French things. Local food, local vegetables, live chickens (although we did not say what they were for), French baguettes, cooked chickens, garlic, strange stuff that we did not know what it was but it was most definitely FRENCH!  and there at the end of the street was a giant fortress that had been turned into the Museum of The Great War.

Tilly instantly thought we had found a castle and posed for multiple photos, Herbie just loved the water that surrounded it and Clare and I wandered in to see the museum. Tucked away it may be, but this is certainly worth a visit. The controversy of the war itself is left well behind and instead it just deals with adverts, maps, posters, uniforms, kits, cannons, tanks and an overall sense of the pointlessness of the war. Wilfred Owen would be proud. It is also, most importantly, a museum in honour of the war without making you feel overly depressed. Instead you are depressed for those that are dying today, that the War to End All Wars did nothing but cause many many more.

The Somme was left behind by driving through fields and field of more Frenchness. The scenery of Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan is laid out in front of you and it can only be described as beautiful.

Our end destination of Day 1 as Reims. Although I am now Head of Geography at Rugby School, my Geography was shown up by Clare who knew this was the centre of the Champagne region - I however just kept getting Rouen and Reims confused.

We arrived at the first of our budget hotels (the whole hotel spend over our 8 days cost less than one night at Disneyland Paris Hotel (and we were staying in the cheapest ones)), on the outskirts of Reims. And it actually wasn't too bad. It had a weird double bed with a bunk bed above it and just enough room for the travel cot before the strange wipe down bathroom (this was to be a feature of the budget hotels (why clean when you can jet wash it)).

We dragged out bags in (no lift, its budget!) and left to visit Reims. We stopped at the first Cathedral we saw and got out to find the shops. One huge great cathedral stood in front of us, but no shops. We walked the streets and saw nothing but dodgy looking immigrants (not that immigrants are dodgy, just that these ones were), huge piles of dog muck and still no shops or places to eat.
We returned to the car only to see a real life mafia wedding starting in the church (we had now found out that t was not the real Cathedral of Reims and just a huge impressive, massive church). The church was packed with people actually wearing those black and white spats, with hats on. I almost expected Tom Soprano to waltzdown the street and Pauly to be the best man.

We stared open mouthed at the wedding for a few minutes and found the real Reims. This one really was impressive. The Cathedral was really really huge this time and there were hundreds of impressive shops and, most importantly, food restaurants. We had been travelling since 3am and had only eaten a few scraps in the car. We sat down at a hugely overpriced burger restaurant opposite the cathedral (tourist error number 607) and ordered. This is when France comes into its own. In London you would end up at an Angus Steak House where they serve 10 day old horse meat. In France, they label their horse meat and serve it to your taste with exquisite garnish. Needless to say the food was amazing and Herbie nearly made it through without screaming (nearly).

Introducing Vero Pitt

Ok, so Herbie never got a full Pittperu welcome as I was not blogging at that point but now we have gained an extra Pitt (at the same time as losing one (Lil) - oh, she got married in case anyone thought this was a very blunt statement of death!).
Our newest Pitt is Mrs Vero Pitt, an English pointer that was rescued from Spain by Pointer Rescue. Now the last blog was not just a promo for Laura's new business but also a way for us to put another picture of Vero onto the blog.
We ventured to a random pub just outside Leicester to go and see Vero for the first time. We were told that she is called Vero, it says Vero on her doggy passport but we still have a slight belief that a non Spanish speaker just misunderstood the word pero and so we have a dog that has a weir name just because someone at border control didn't listen in school.

Anyway, the landlady of the pub had clearly fallen for Vero and was reluctant to see her go - although it clearly had not overtaken her love for large props as a life-size cut out of Dan Cole dominated the pub's main room. I would imagine that she kept a her George Schuster one in the bedroom.

So we went to look at a possible dog and left with a new member of the Pitt family.

4 months later and Vero has calmed down but it has been an up and down few months for the poor girl.

Attacked at the park by a random dog, panicky every time we leave the house and with a fascination with fecal matter that is actually unmentionable in a public forum, we have worked a minor miracle to turn her from abandoned Spanish street dog into a loveable house pet with a love for anything edible and AGAs.

When walking the streets of Rugby, we treats the walk as a giant buffet. Anything that looks even slightly worth putting in her mouth will be tested and ultimately devoured. Big Macs, Griggs Steak Bakes, deep fried chicken. Chewing gum and even dead mice have all been sucked and crunched down by the gluttonous dog. (rspca please be aware that we feed her regularly and have treated her amazingly well - she just loves food!). Yesterday saw us all spring into action as she grabbed a chocolate Easter egg off the table. Her long legs and long neck mean that no surface is unreachable as she stretches up like a brachiosaur in Jurassic Park.

However, she is brilliant with the children. The human tank that is Herbie walks around the house barging anything out of the way - including the giant dog. He crashes around the house, bashes Vero ib the head with sticks, spoons, metal Easter eggs and all she does is just walk away. They are a great team and complete our section of the Family Pitt quite nicely indeed!

Shaggy Chic Dog Grooming Cheltenham

http://www.shaggychicdogs.com/

Clare's sister Laura is moving on from her mobile dog grooming service and now has a shop in Cheltenham.

We have used her many many times for cuts, washes, nail clipping and general pooch pampering and I am honestly amazed by how good the dogs look (and I am not just saying this as she is a relative).

Please check out the website and get down to Shaggy Chic Dog Grooming Cheltenham.

http://www.shaggychicdogs.com/ 

Herbie Pitt and the Rugby Adventure

As Herbie turns 18 months, the whirlwind experience that has been our life seems to finally be calming down and Rugby Town and Rugby School has embraced us. Having been teaching at Rugby School now for nearly 2 years, Clare also teaches here as the head of fashion and textiles. Plus Tilly is doing great and is flourishing into a lovely little girl. The baby that w's being pushed around Lima is a distant memory as we chat away to our little Tilly often forgetting that she is only 4 years old. This time 4 years ago, we were in Lima, having watched the winter Olympics with random Canadians in the American bar and then collecting beer glasses in Plaza Veal in anticipation of the World Cup and here we are again, having just watched the winter Olympics and waiting for England to yet again disappoint in a world cup. Last world cup, we watched the final surrounded by foreigners in Lima and this time around it will not be too dissimilar. As much as Rugby is a breathtakingly beautiful school, walking through the town often feels similar to Miraflores. Everywhere you look people are talking in a foreign language (Polish and Romanian this time), and at the local park Herbie is stared at for his blonde hair. The echoes of our Peruvian adventure are still in our memory and we are still using those world cup glasses (no matter how much Clare tries to stop me! And use the correct glasses for the correct drink). I have also recently had the pleasure of introducing people to Cuscena. The beer of the Andes is now stocked in the local ASDA, and as much as they do not let you refill your glasses, the taste is still a treat for the pallet compared to the usual British bland lagers - although one of the boys' parents at the school own a brewery and the Iron Maiden beer that he recently supplied should be tasted by any beer lover - it comes highly recommended. So as I head into the coming months as Head of Geography at Rugby School and with Tilly starting 'big school', Clare taking the textile department of Rugby School into uncharted territory and Herbie running around like a mad man - it is a very exciting time for the Pitt family. I will be updating the blog more often (as I have finally received a new password (the heartbleed bug is good for some things - sorry mumsnet users), and chatting about the life of the Pitt family in their new settled era.

Tilly Pitt Potty Training and the Legoland adventure

After a rather stressful term of job hunting, baby worries, water polo finals and general work, we decided to spend a relaxing half term potty training and packing. Packing went well, with me doing the housework to save pregnant Clare from too much work - although this plan actually led to Clare doing far too much by being left to pack up the multitude of trinkets and antiques that have accumulated around our house. Some of these things include: An antique head that shows you where to massage, a glass bell shaped thing that I am told is expensive but have no idea what it could ever have be used for, old jars, old pots, old bottles. Things that Victorians would have put out for Ye Olde Recycling box, we have displayed proudly around the house. Emma Bridgewater pots, Emma Bridgewater plates, Emma Bridgewater jugs, Emma Bridgewater tea towels, Emma Bridgwater coffee pot, Emma Bridgewater pasta jar ......basically if its got spots on it - we've got it! And whilst all of this was being wrapped in bubble wrap, further wrapped in newspaper and then carefully shoved into a box.....Tilly was being potty trained. Last time we tried this it ended up with a 2 year old girl becoming terrified of the potty and more pairs of wet knickers than at a Daniel O Donnell concert. So we waited a half term... and tried again! First day ......... The potty no longer seemed scary...phew! but Tilly seemed to think that going for a wee and then telling us about it was the best plan. End result = lots of washing for Clare (I still don't know which buttons to press on the machine!). Second Day ........ Tilly starts weeing, then tells us and so some of the wee actually ends up in the potty. Clare and I then follow this with a rousing rendition of "pee pee on the potty" song and progress is clearly being made. Third Day ......... We finally have success. "Mummy, mummy, wee wee" is actually said before the event, this follows by a mad run over to Tilly and throwing Tilly onto the potty just in time. Cue Double rendition of "pee pee on the potty" with added dance, jig and waving of the arms. This potty thing looks easy. We even managed a trip out to see Grandma and Nanny without any incidents (although Tilly has found that disabled toilets have sinks that she can reach and so says she needs the toilet just to use the sink - rather than for any wee events). Fourth Day ......... We have the great idea of a tube trip into London. Drive to the staion ..... no accidents (although we do have to stop of the hard shoulder for a false alarm). Tube into London ..... no accidents. Then on the circle line "Mummy need a wee wee". Dilema... what do you do. Daddy takes Tilly to the end of the carriage, daddy gets out the potty by the doors to the tube and then Tilly wees away. We stop at a station half way through the wee event and the passangers on the platform give me somewhat of a wierd lookas I am sat holding a two year old girl on a potty in the centre of London. Tilly finishes and Daddy is left carrying a potty full of wee along Baker Street until we find a toilet to empty it into. Elementary My dear Tilly. We manage to have a full day in London, trip to the Olympic Site (although this does look more like a giant industrial site than anything else) and a drive home.... without any accidents at all. This deserves 3 renditions of "pee pee on the potty". So packing is well under way. Potty training is going well and Saturday is both the only non-raining day of the week but it is also Charlie's birthday (Tilly's cousin for those of you that do not know). There can only be one option..... A trip to Legoland. The child inside me gets excited just thinking about it. Legoland, the place I have dreamed of going to ever since I first put two plastic bricks together (and then lost three teeth trying to bite them apart again), the place that was once a fantasy (as it was only in Denmark), is now a reality (as it is only a 30minute drive from where we live). Legoland - Scandinavian's greatest gift to the world that is not made of MDF or bacon. Legoland - like Alton Towers without the chavs. Legoland - the only place where you go to look at a plastic skyline of London instead of looking at the horizon where that actual skyline is there in reality. We get there early and have time for a look around Lego Starwars before the main gates actually open. Just when I thought the child in me couldn't get more excited.. I see the many worlds of Starwars made out of Lego. I see the big walking things from the Empire Strikes Back made out of Lego, the ewok tree houses made of Lego, the Millenium Falcon made of Lego, the crap Jar Jar Binks army made of Lego and then a shop selling every starwars character (you guessed it) made of Lego. Fortunately for Clare (and our bank balance) the main gates had opened just as I stepped into the shop and so I only had time to buy one keyring. The wierd man behind the counter also put me off a bit as he tried to talk to me a bit too much (with me looking around the exhibition on my own, it seemed like he was trying to recruit me into some ,kind of grooming club). So with my CRB check now laminated and hung around my neck, I entered Legoland with Tilly and Clare. Lee and Emma (Charlie's parents)had their map ready, their plan of action ready and so we set off at warp speed to get around with the aim of getting as many rides into the first half hour as possible. A course had been planned after weeks of meticulous preparation and not since Ranolph Fienes first placed his foot onto the Artic Continent has a route been so well prepared. We did the roller coaster in 5 minutes and were just about to go on the runaway train when diaster struck. Now, Tilly was allowed on this ride and we were sat happily waiting to go when Tilly suddenly decided that this was not the ride for her. The train had slowly started moving, the man on the loud speaker was getting everyone psyched up for the ride, and the bar had descended to keep everyone in place. Everyone apart from Tilly - who stood up and said "Tilly want to get off!". I tried to sit her down - no luck. I tried to push her down - no luck. I tried asking her to sit down - "no! Tilly get off!". The man on the loud speaker said "will you get your child to sit down sir!" - No luck! The ride was stopped, we were escorted from the ride area and Tilly started smiling again with the knowledge that she had won. Yet again, Tilly had got her own way. Nothing could stop her - not even a theme Park! Needless to say - I was a little bit embarassed as the people on the ride stared at us, the people waiting in the queue stared at us and for a moment it seemes that even the Lego models turned their heads and stared at us. Tilly just smiled nonchalantly as all she was aware of was the fact that she had won! I was even more embarassed then when she was on the tube pointing at 2 men sat opposite us and saying- little man.... big man ..... little man .... big man...... as she pointed at the two men one after the other leaving no chance that they could misunderstand which one was big and which the smaller of the two. "I don't like that ride" was then her new favourite saying of the day. Tilly do you want to go on the mini pirate ship - "No, I don't like that ride". Tilly do you want to go on the carousel - "no, I don't like that ride!". Tilly do you want to go on the hot air balloons - "No, I don't like that ride". So we gave up on rides and headed to the Duplo Theatre and Duplo World. The 3 Little Pig show and the Duplo train ride were sure to work and like Tiger Woods at a nightclub - Tilly could just not resist!The Duplo Train was finally a ride that Tilly got onto, followed closely by the Duplo Play area, the 3 Little Pigs theatre Show and the Lego fairytale Boat Ride. The Girl that at 3 months old went on Dune Buggies and Speed boats was now the 2 year old that would go on the somewhat more subdued slow trains and paddle boats. But at least we did not have to stop any of these rides. We then watched Charlie get his Lego driving licence and ride the wave rider before seeing the Lego Miniworld, riding the rapids and then returning home. We began the week wanting to relax, not put too much strain on Clare and make sure that we went back top work refreshed, relaxed and ready to go. Instead we had chased Tilly with a potty, done the hellrider, packed 7 billion antiques (rounded up) into hundreds of boxes and walked 50,000 miles around Legoland (when adjusted to the scale of Lego miniworld). We wre definitely ready to go back to work - if only to get some rest. So here it goes - The final 4 weeks at HABS!

HABS WATER POLO NATIONAL CHAMPIONS

On a day that began badly (Mr Stiff had forgotten the Bon Jovi CD), Little were we to know that it would end with HABS being crowned National Champions. Having a bus driver that used to work in the rock music industry as a roadie made up a little for the lack of 90s Rock music on the journey and as the boys departed the coach, his good luck endorsements put a smile onto our faces that Manchester would soon wipe off. Our side qualified for the national finals with ease, it is the best Under 14s side I have ever coached and the only reason why we were not confident going into the national finals was that we did not know how good the opposition were. We had heard rumours of a giant Bolton side that had destroyed the famous Manchester Grammar School. Manchester had won this trophy the last 6 years and so news that a side had beaten them quickly reverberates around the water polo world (it is bigger than you think). So we were ready – the boys ha d a clear bounce to their steps, they had faith, they were not livin on a prayer, they were ready to go. And as we had found out the previous week, Manchester were our first opponents. All the training, all the time spent working on man ups and man downs, all the set ups meant nothing when we missed several clear cut chances and Manchester went 4 nil up. Yes, that is 4 nil up. But, unlike with the senior side, when this lot went 4 goals down, I did not lose hope and , most importantly, neither did they!. These boys do not know how to lose (they have not lost all year) and I knew that they were not going to lose today. Luka needed to look for the shot from 5 more, Hamish needed to get the ball in the pit, Jonny needed to threaten in attack, Teddy needed to show just what a good player he could be, Steinert needed to drop and help Cammy more and Karan needed to get his passes more accurate from goal. And this is what they did. They did keep the faith, they may have been livin on a prayer but with as many Religious assemblies as HABS have every week, that prayer was soon answered (and I think even the Jain God was on our side!), Luka scored first (shooting from 5), Hamish was next (getting the ball in the pit) and soon it was clear that Hamish actually remembered just how good he is. Luka started to cover the whole pool and recover from a bit of lethargy in the fisrt 2 minutes and pretty soon the score was 4 -3. Manchester scored again but still the New Jersey tones of John echoed around the boys’ heads. They kept pushing and with 30 seconds to go the score was 6 all. What a comeback, what a fight, what a game! Myself and Mr Stiff had each had 5 years knocked off our life expectancy (note the key Geographical term) but then Manchester called a time out. The referees signaled the time out and the game was stopped. Hang on, the coaches had agreed no time outs, all the coaches had met at the start and a consensus had been stated that there would not be timeouts in the Under 14 competition. I thought that I better let them know and so I shouted and shouted and then shouted a bit more. A timeout would have allowed Manchester to restart on the half way with their arc already set up and no time knocked off the 30 seconds left. This was an argument I was not willing to lose. So, I kept on shouted. For the first time in my coaching career – I did not receive my token yellow card, instead I got an apology, HABS gained possession for an incorrect call and we had the ball on half way with no time gone. We failed to use this chance but the sheer excitement of the game meant the boys celebrated as if they had won the whole competition. The boys knew that a loss would give them a more difficult semi-final against the aforementioned Bolton and we only wanted to play them in the final. Like Karate Kid, you do not want to fight the baddie until the very end. So we had kept our unbeaten record, we just now had to beat Trinity School Croydon by more goals than Manchester beat them. We had one games rest and then we were back in the pool. On the way down Nashy fell down the stairs (slippery when wet) but soon in the pool, HABS were to prove that we were equally slippery and our defence was a wall that teams would have to work hard to break down (apart from the first 2 minutes against Manchester but I am happy to forget this and know that unlike, period 8 on a Friday, they had actually learnt something from this lesson). Trinity were not going to be an easy team to beat – teams from this school have previously won the Under 18 national competition- and they are always well drilled. Our defence meant that we did not have to worry. With Teddy and Steinert dropping and with Cammy as a true rock in the wall, we were never going to concede in that game (I know its early in the blog to mention this but Cammy was my player of the tournament – for his faultless defence and for the key goals he scored in the semi-final and the final ((sorry for that spoiler)). In the Trinity game with our defence sorted, we needed to think about goals. 3 penalties in the first half should have helped us but with the talents of Southgate, Pearce and Sweinsteiger combined all of them were missed. The Trinity goalkeeper was like a goalkeeping Jedi – using the force to deflect away shots whilst changing the numbers over on his mobile phones at the same time. Finally we scored and at half time it was 2 nil to us- this was not looking good for the goal difference, if we played Bolton on the semi this would never be made into a film- the mighty ducks do not play the best team before the final, the big fight in Rocky is at the end, we must play better! And that we did. Luka was taken out when we thought that we had not done enough. However, this only helped to reinforce just how strong the bench was ((not just because it could support the weight of myself and Mr Stiff at the same time)) but in terms of the strength of our players. Josh Silverbeck showed how unlucky he was to not make the starting 7, Gilby showed that his droping and tracking back is equal to anybody else in the team, Nashy, Lockwood and Lawrence (the younger, more talented and better looking versions of their older brothers) showed a clear determination in attack (Lockwood was also in the pool for the first match for only about 10 seconds without complaining at all). This is also to the benches’ credit – never did any of the boys complain, They got much less match time than we would have hoped but they never even grumbled for a second. This group of boys made up for the damage certain HABS senior boys made to the schools’ reputation two weeks ago. Never did this side complain about a refs decision, never did they splash the water and moan when they missed a shot, they always just got on with it, tracked back and realized that hard work is what creates glory for the team. We were the only team to not have our goals scored by just two people (although Luka and Hamish would have been joint top scorers in the competition if they had not had the Jedi Goalkeeper in goal), the goals came from everywhere. Every member of our starting outfield players scored goals and this is what meant that our 2 nil half time lead against Trinity finished at 7 nil to HABS. We showed that we were not just a full side of 7, we were a full squad of 13. What’s more, there were boys left at home that would have walked into many other school starting 7s. We had an embarrassment of riches and it was now time to use that to embarrass the opposition. Who that opposition were, depended on how many Manchester could score against Trinity (Bolton were easily winning their group in the other half of the draw- they had 2 players that looked unbeatable but they had yet to meet the human wall of Cammy Baker). Manchester went 2 nil up, 3 nil up (time to worry) but then Trinity scored and they scored again. Manchester had a good attack but where our defence was made of bricks and mortar, theirs was made of rich tea biscuits and only occasionally did their biscuit based defence get even close to a hob nob level of turgidity, these boys were not slippery when wet, they were just soggy, floppy and with a tendency to collapse to the bottom of a tea cup or swimming pool. The game finished with a goal difference of only 4 and the stage was set for HABS to play Ripley school in the semifinal. Ripley had better be prepared because these HABS boys had written a date into their calendar with destiny and as Ripley well knows – in the swimming pool, no one can hear you scream (and as Dr Craig knows, nobody messes with a HABS calendar date!). Ripley school were made up of Lancaster Team players and they had 2 coaches that shouted more than me! They were not a team to take lightly and their defence was better than we thought it would be. As the game progressed, we realized that this was going to be a fight. This was like Ripley in Alien 2 and it seemed that they had turned up already wearing that strange yellow crane robot. Ripley were stubborn, they had a huge amount of self-belief and they had two very strong players – we however had 7 very strong players and our extra talent soon stood out. The first half was far too close with HABS yet again starting badly but in the second half Jonny remembered that he is allowed to shoot and from that point onwards the game was under our control. It also helped that our talismanic captain Baker started to take control of the man up situations and also take his shots. We eventually won 5 goals to 2 and the show down with Bolton was set. Before our final there were playoffs with a memorable penalty shoot-out win for Alleyns in the 5th 6th play off – they somehow managed to score past the Trinity Jedi keeper who must have used up all of his force allowance for one day. Congratulations Alleyns (and particularly to their coach who stayed behind to cheer us on in the final). 3rd place play-off saw Ripley beat The Great Manchester as their first 5 minutes of stand out play against us was just about all the standing out they did (on this occasion ((write Manchester off at your peril)). Well done Ripley. The introductions were made with even Trevor managing to get all the names correct (a rare first) but there was a clear difference between the two teams; Bolton were bigger but they were also relaxed (a bit too relaxed). Just before the introductions, I overheard 4 of their players singing Champeones Champeones. Their coach also said to me that this would be the first time Bolton have won this cup for 8 years. They actually thought that their names were already written on the silverwear, they were sure that they would win and it was now just up to HABS to spoil the party. We had a game plan, we knew that our standard pit play would not work and so movement was needed, Teddy shifted to right wing, Jonny was reminded to shoot and the blueprint was in place. Mr Stiff and myself had studied the tapes, we had sent scouts out to check on progress and fitness and we were sure that we could not be more prepared for this final. The boys had a focus in their eyes, they wanted this, they had forgotten all about the tiredness after the Ripley game and they were ready to go. As the Great Rafiki once said ´it is time!´. The players lined up and just as I said ´this Bolton swimmer has not lost a swim off all day´ Luka swam in to beat him. We passed back to half way…. Luka continued his swim…. Cammy fed the ball over the top…. Luka drove in on goal …… he fumbled….. regained possession and shot the ball hard into the back of the net. ONE NIL HABS. They attacked, we defended perfectly with a full drop, by the time the crowd realized we had turned the ball we had broken away and all they could do was concede a major (sin binning for one of their players). We set up for a slow man up attack, Jonny went out wide left and shot – TWO NIL HABS! ´You told him not to shoot like that´ Said Gilbey helpfully as Jonny did his trademark loop into the opposite side of the goal. I was just happy that Jonny had again remembered to shoot and especially after we had picked out Bolton’s weaknesses on the wings. A second man up – a second slow set up. Just as the seniors had done last year, HABS saved all their training for the final and actually played as they have been trained to do. A good call from Teddy on the left, a good clean dry pass to Cammy on the top of the arc and a shot from 4m. 3 NIL HABS!!!! We wasted several chances, we looked unbeatable. We went 4 nil up with an amazing scooped shot from Hamish. Morgan Hirsch used to score these when I coached at KES and after this game 2 of the coaches asked why I coach that shot but I must say that this was all Hamish. From the first time I coached Hamish at Bedford 14 months ago – I cannot believe the mature (and slim) boy that has grown over that time. Hamish made a big statement in this tournament and should be really proud of what he has done this year. His maturity in moving around the pit in the final is something that even Tom Dean finds it hard to adapt to. Plus I have since received an email from the Head coach of Manchester saying that Hamish’s goal was good enough to win any final of any age group. Hugh praise indeed Hamish! But this final was all about Luka – he had played well in the tournament but this final (the first half anyway) showed just how good he can be. We swam and swam and swam – it looked as though every time he swam forward, he found space and there was a goal scoring chance. We should have been 4 goals ahead but 4-1 at half time was better than we could have hoped before the game. The second half saw us get a bit lazy in defence (many boys were understandably shattered) but we kept on ticking over the score sheet and a final score of 8-5 was well deserved. Every player can be proud of how they performed in that final. When Jonny got a bit tired Josh Silverbeck got in and he continued the dominance out wide. Without the pit play, Bolton were lost and we knew how to exploit it. The final minute saw the entrance of Ben Shucker (Shucker would be first choice pit defence for any of the other sides but we need him as replacement for Cammy and I must thank him for his patience yesterday) he got in to replace Cammy and if there had been a large enough crowd, Mr Baker would have received a standing ovation for his play but also his control of the team. This control was also massively down to Karan in goal. Never have I heard a goalkeeper shout louder to control his defence and make sure they had the correct arm up. This maturity again was way beyond the expectations of a normal Under 14s championship.

Before the final, people were asked to fulfill duties and they all did this perfectly. Teddy threatened more, Josh Steinert dropped as asked but also managed to pop up in attack on many occasions. This just shows how this team is already playing the kind of water polo needed at Under 16s and Under 18s level. Anyway I digress. The point is that we won!!! HABS are national champions and from a selfish point of view, this is my first Under 14s title (to go with the 2 Under 18s and 1 and a half Under 16s) and I have never been more proud of a team for winning. Plus from a HABS points of view, this completes the set of trophies for the School. Under 18s championships (1999), Under 16s (2011) and now, the Under 16s 2012 Champions. This is an Olympic year and this was a performance of which any Olympian would be proud. Well done boys and hopefully you got your Bon Jovi CD for on the way home. A rule for life is to always ‘Keep The Faith’. HABS NATIONAL CHAMPIONS!!!!

HABS water polo success

With the year fast approaching and an imminent move to Rugby School on the horizon, I still wanted to make sure the HABS water polo team made a successful end to the year; and so far so good! The Under 18 side finished second in the Under 18 competition on Sunday (those darned Mancunians won yet another title ((it doesn't matter if these Mancunians wear blue or red)) and The Under 14s are through to the National Finals as top seeds from the South and yesterday they won the Under 14s School's League. Not a bad set of results for one week's work. The new HEAD OF AQUATICS - Mister P D Stiff, has had a pretty successful start to his reign after taking over from The Big Dog. Stiffy's mighty water polo teams are now played 16 won 15 and the only loss is in the national final (although arguably this is the only one that we urgently wanted to win). The competition on Sunday was pretty fierce, we may have been seeded second (after a 9-1 pummeling of City of London in the semi-finals) but finishing in the top two was by no means assured. Our first game was against Bolton School (second seeds from Up North) and we knew this would not be easy. Bolton are always well drilled and eager to cause an upset (they also have a grander reputation in the water polo world than this little School from Elstree) and they were in no mood to lie down. However, we went about this match in a most un-HABS manner by actually starting well. We went 4 goals up very quickly and Mr Baker and Mr Dean soon realised that the Bolton Goalkeeper was still to wake up from what must have been one Big Saturday night out on the town. Our set-ups were good, our defense was very strong and our arguing with the referee was also unfortunately strong. Even with a man sent out to the side we had The Colenut to sure us up in defense and the tireless effort of Nashy in both attack and dropping to help J. Lawrence in pit defence. Hugo made some excellent swims at the start of the first half and it was his attacking play on the overlap that lead to a lot of the space that Tom and Jared enjoyed. The second half was a differnt story. The Bolton keeper had clearly taken a couple of Alka Seltzer over the break and he finally saved a shot. Hugo was - to use a technical term- knackered, and we forgot the hard work that we had put in to achieve the goals in the first half. The end result was a nervy last 2 minutes and us eventually winning 11 goals to 8. Special mention must go to Jacko, JJ and Westy for their efforts off the bench as the fitness of the team came under question (unfortunatley not the only time that this occurred that afternoon). Mission One accomplished. Match 2 was a different story - Torquay were a known quantity from the Southern Qualifying and they had one particularly good player that we would need to keep a close eye on (as Bolton failed to realise in their loss to this side). This match also saw us without Mr Kohler after his little chat with the referee in the first match. Up stepped The Colenut again to put in a strong game alongside James in defence. This match saw James make up for his lack of attendance in training as he almost single handedly prevented the Torquay attack from functioning. End result - HABS 7, Torquay 3 - HABD WIN GROUP 2. Onwards to the semi-finals! The semi-final saw us meet our local nemesis - City of London School. Their Ozzie coach knows our team very well and although we have beaten them Home and Away, The Neighbours rivalry would finally mean something in this all important of games. Our last game against them finished in a draw that somehow meant that we lost the School's league on points (Maths never was Big Dog's strength ) and so this was a grudge match that we were not prepared to lose. City's defence is unfortunately as well drilled as ours (those Ozzies do know tactical sport well it seems) and we needed to Foster a different appraoch that our XXXX expletives seen in Game One. With 25 seconds to go in the first half, a time out was called, a change in set up for the arc occurred and that man Nashy popped up to drive in from the far post. Westy's quote of 'he'll never score from there' again showed his immense knowledge of the game. The second half built from this point and Kohler made amends for his Exclusion with some strong link play, excellent drives and tracking back. City's weakness on the right was again exploited and we won the semi 4 goals to 1. On to the Final - Manchester the Goliath of water polo v HABS. We set up with a half press with an aim of stopping the counter attack that had killed off every other team they had played against. This worked for the first half and we were one goal to nil down at half time. We needed to keep it tight, keep playing as we were and stop the counter attack. I repeat stop the counter attack. Unfortunately our fitness let us down, our tracking back failed us and we did not STOP THE COUNTER ATTACK. The highlight of the final was great pit defence again from James, excellent driving and gambiling from Nashy, a valliant pit attack from Tom (even with 4 men on him at times) and tireless work from Jared at the top of the arc. Jared's excellent shooting that won us the match against City was unfrotunately hitting the bar in the final (games are decided by centimetres). The final highlight and the final mention in this blog edition must go to Westy. Westy had been promised a meal if he scored the winner and this was probably to be his final game for HABS. He got in, swam with determination and force, got the ball...... and shot from half way. He then got the ball again ..... and shot from half way. Finally, he got the ball..... there were seconds to go ........ and he shot from half way. Westy's moto of YOLO was being chanted by the crowd. The HABS parents were holding up YOLIO banners and the claxons and horns were wailing (the claxons and horns really there) ... and again he shot from half way. Needless to say, none of the shots went but after his 7 years at the school and attendance at every training session since he was 12, Westy deserved his shot at glory and one shot was an absolute screamer that hit the post. Overall - well done to the team on finishing as runners up. Many thanks to Tom and Westy for all their work and effort this year. The Under 14s yesterday clearly benefitted from the help you have offered in training. And, good luck at University. For the Under 17s - Winning is the only option next year. Just realised - I have not mentioned Ryo. Despite his water polo training consisting of playing violin, he somehow never fails to impress. Yet again the best goalkeeper on show and a huge credit to the school. Onward to the Under 14s final next weekend. YOLO boys, YOLO!

Back online and ready to blog

With the launch of a couple of Habs Geographical blog pages ( www.juniorhabsgeographical.blogspot.com ) I am also resuming this blog. I have been absent for a while, as the hectic and unplanned return from Peru meant a break from the blogs and getting life sorted and restarted down in the South (of course it is somewhat North of Lima!!!) has meant that life has veered away from forthnightly updates.
Since the last bolg we have obviously returned to the UK, both got new jobs (after a time of unemployment) and have enjoyed our life bringing up Tilly oser to our families again (although probably not as close as they would like).
Anywho - off to teach now. Posts will start again very soon.

Tilly Pitts Nasca Nightmare.

So after the news that 3 British tourists had died in a crash at the nasca Lines, the fact that we were travelling there one week later was never going to be great news for family back home.
Although it is strange that 3 British people dieing makes front page news in the UK but the 3 Peruvians that died in the same flight only made page 32 of the Sunday newspaper here.
So we got down to Ica where we were staying (see the previous blog) and we had an amazing day relaxing in the sun by the pool and then heading back to the beautiful oasis of Huacachina for drinks and food. After the Peruvian Police's attempts to turn this trip into another nightmare, the 30 degree temperature, sun, pool and desert oasis soon put all that behind us. Add to that the amazingly friendly staff at the Belle Sands Hotel and everything was back on track and we truely felt like we were on a summer holiday. We went to bed early, read for a while and then went to sleep for an early start to head down to the aforementioned Lines.
We had a quick breakfast and then headed back to the danger zone of the Peruvian roads. The journey down had been a chore due to PC Plod but this one was a different level of disaster thanks to the single carriageway, mountainous route and nowhere to bloody overtake lorries going at 30 miles per hour. It therefore took us 3 and a half hours to do a journey that should take about 2. Add to that the fact that we could not find the airport in Nasca (nothing is signposted in this country - not even speed bumps in the middle of major highways - yes you read that right speed bumps on roads that are an equivalent of the M1)and there was one very annoyed Mr Pitt sat in the front of the car.
We finally found the airport after Clare got out of the car to ask the poorest man in the world for directions. Not that these directions helped at all! Straight on and left was his answer to Clares much improved Spanish. We went straight and left and found ..........nothing. Clare then asked the second poorest person in the world the way - straight on and left he said. By this point we were not sure whether this was the answer to every question a tourist asks or whether they spoke a native Peruvian language and these were the only 2 words they knew in Spanish. Eventually straight on and RIGHT got us there. Well I say got us there- it got us to a place that was signposted airport, the fact that it looked like a field in the middle of a desert surrounded by a cobbled together wall would be a more accurate signpost. We looked at each other and it was clear that this is not a place that any kind of responsible parent would let their daughter go to. This is not the kind of place that any responsible adult would allow themselves to go to.
Imagine Heathrow airport built by people with no thumbs, no eyes, no co-ordination, no clue and no raw materials and you are still nowhere near what this place looks like. Needless to say - we turned around to go home again and stop off at the viewpoint in order to see the Worldfamous Lines from the safety of solid ground. But first we were all desperate for the toilet (well obviously Tilly wasnt but it was clear that she was desperate for a change by the smell that was now swirling around the hot and muggy car).
We looked for a place that would look clean enough to have an acceptable toilet and we kept looking and we kept looking; we passed 5 restaurants, 10 more restaurants, 53 more restauarnts and still each one looked like 4 sheets of cardboard held together by a plastic sheet thrown over the top. The food would have led to Peruivan Belly case number 6 for me and the toilets would not even be worth imagining. Finally we found a decent enough looking toilet at an Internationally recognised petrol station (safe enough surely).
On entrance to the toliet the smell was tangible, the number of flies made the room look dark even in the middle of the day and the walls, although brown in appearance had clearly once been painted white. The urinal was just about descernable at the back of the room as I clawed through the fly entrance curtain. I was desperate and there was no turning back now. As I was completing my much needed bodily function, I peered to the right and had I not already started my necessary deed, I would have run away as fast as I could.
In Peru, in the poorer areas, you are not meant to put toilet paper into the toilet but rather into the bin at the side of the toilet bowl. This bin is then emptied daily or hourly in the more up-market toiletries. However, This particular W.C. did not seem to think that daily emptying was needed, it also did not think that weekly empties were needed but rather a yearly waste collection would suffice. This had been the most sanitary appearing washroom in the whole of Nasca and now I was looking into a cubicle that resembled what Andy Dufrain has to crawl through at the end of Shawshank Redemption (apologies not for the graphic comments ((as I could never be graphic enough to re-produce this scene))but for the spoiler!). In England this place would have been shut down years ago, it would have had toxic health warnings - In Peru, it is the best of a bad bunch! After this unpleasant stop-off, what else could we do but go next door for chips!
Tilly was again centre of attention in the road side diner and yet another waitress went to pick up Tilly without asking. We could not really stop her as Tilly was alofted into the air before our eyes and the only saving grace was that she did ask before handing Tilly around the rest of the staff. The male manager seemed particularly taken by our smiling daughter as the waitresses took pictures of him holder this strange smiling giggling white baby.
Then came our trip to the viewpoint. I will have to stop calling it a viewpoint from this moment onwards as their is no VIEW and honestly no POINT to walking up the hill. You cannot see anything, you cannot make out what the lines are meant to be, you cannot see a monkey or humming bird or anything else the guidebook claims would be visble. You simply see a couple of big lines in what looks like the same desert you have been seeing for the last 6 hours of driving. The Nasca Lines may look spectacular from the air but you have to enter the airport of death first and other that this, the town is dirty, packed and poorly signposted and there is nowhere to eat or go to the loo.
Our journey home was the highlight of the Nasca trip as Ron's Rock VI blared out of the radio and 'We Built This City' could be heard echoing for miles around the baron desert wastelands of Peru.

The Pitts, policeman, pelicans and paracas

We finally made it to the end of the 10 week term and have been rewarded with 6 days off school. We kindly had a car lent to us by some friends from school and so headed off down south to search for sun.

The damp grey of Lima had soaked through to the marrow and we knew it would take a serious dose of sunning to get our bodies back to normal functioning speed.

We firstly however had to deal with my first experience of driving in this mad city. Lima, where the only rules of the road are that there are no rules. You can cut anybody up as long as you stick your hand out of the window, it seems that if you are female you are not allowed to drive without a phone attached to your ear, you are not allowed to check your wing mirrors - just go – and never ever think about checking your blind spot. On top of that, never use your indicators and in stead use your horn to let people know that you are about to veer into their lane, don’t worry about MOTs or emissions – as long as your car can go forward (however slowly) it is ok to drive and do not worry about how many men you have hanging out of the top of your lorry or out of the side of your bus – remember you can always fit more in there!

So with the rules of the road fully memorised we headed off. We started out at 5.30 in the morning to try and make the journey out of the city easier but the thing we forgot is that starting that early just makes you more obvious (especially with two very white people driving a car packed to the brim with Tilly’s stuff!). So we made it to an hour outside of Lima when the police called us over.

The police had set up a road block just outside the coastal resort of Asia and as far as we could tell – all they were there for was to make money! They pulled us over, saw we were tourists and then went through everything that they could possibly fine us for. We had our passports colour scanned, we had our driving licences, we had all the relevant car documents (thanks Jason), I had only had one beer the night before, we were driving well under the speed limit and so surely there was nothing they could fine us for – WRONG! Firstly they tried telling us that we only had a permit to drive in the city and we were outside of city limits (I pleaded ignorance and just spoke really quickly at him in English), he realised that this was a silly excuse and so rather than going for a more sensible way to fine us he said that we were to be fined for driving in the left hand land of a dual carriageway! I tried hard not to laugh, now knowing the police could make up any old excuse at all to fine you and so asked how much the fine was. Clare was conscious of me now communicating in Spanish when we were trying to plead ignorance and so gave me a quick poke in the ribs and the ignorance game continued. He pointed at a random fine in the booklet (400 dollars!!!!) even though the offence next to the fine did not match what he was saying we were now very clear that this was not an English type of pull over. We were not in control, there was no innocent until proven guilty and no ticket that we could then pay at the local police station. This man was like a Peruvian Judge Dredd – He was the law! I asked where we could pay the fine (knowing that tourists do not have to pay roadside offences as there is no way of tracking them down) he was well aware of this and said we had to pay now.
Whilst he was saying this, I snuck my wallet to Clare for her to remove as much money from it as possible (I think that is also what many husbands will say as their wives depart on yet another shopping trip!). But as we looked in, the smallest bill we had was a 100 soles (just over 30 dollars for those reading in England) and so this was going to have to be our bribe.
As I said, this was no English pull over and so bribery is always an option. I therefore slipped him the 100 under my licence. He looked at it, slipped it into his pocket and he handed back all of our documents. We were free to go.
The ignorance had not worked, Clare pleading “senor – bebita” had not worked, the fact that we had not done anything wrong had not worked and so money was the final option.
He then repeated my name another couple of times as if to scare me but actually I was just impressed the man could say Jonathan and then with a final reminder that we had to drive on the right hand side – we were off – free from the law and the seriously corrupt police that we had just passed. The only thing that made us feel better was that they were doing exactly the same to every car and I would imagine were earning more money than there pay packet gives them in a year.
Now I do not have a problem with people earning an honest living. There are millions of people in this country living in poverty, there are beggars, shoe shiners, sweet sellers, combi drivers, illegal DVD sellers, car parking men, watchy men, bodega owners, street performers, bag packers……. The list goes on and on. They are poor, poorer than an English person can even imagine (most ex-pats here just don’t think about it and just carry on enjoying their blissful, sheltered existence) but they all have one thing in common; THEY WORK HARD! This country thinks it is based on the rich people that live in their botoxed, bubble but it is actually supported by the poor people that work tirelessly and always with a smile on their faces and not due to plastic surgery gone wrong!. They are the real Peru, they are the foundations of what may eventually make this country powerful again but it could all be ruined by PC Pedro and his merry gang of thieves. The fact that tourists can get stopped and exploited will not exactly help the economy of this place. The tourist attractions I will rave about in this blog will not be enhanced by this behaviour and it will merely put people off coming here. It will make people think twice before they click on that Peruvian flight when they can go to the Niagra Falls, Uluru, Phuket for the same price and in the knowledge that they will not be exploited by crooked policemen.

Sorry- I feel that I have now ranted enough and am ready to continue with the Paracas tale (see the above blog)

Tilly Pitt and the Pizza Party

Just to keep people up to date with the adventures of Tilly Pitt in Peru - she is now gurgling mumbled nonsense regularly, putting anything and everything that she can grad straight into her mouth, grabbing random people's faces anytime they get too close and she is starting to eat food and what an eater she is! The All Great and Powerful Gina Ford warned that starting food could be a difficult job and finally she has been proven wrong. Tilly has taken to eating like her dad takes to ... well eating! She loves avacado, she loves peas, she loves carrots, she loves banana, she loves cabbage, she loves cauliflour- if it fits onto her incredibly colourful sppon then she is sure to open wide and let it in (Grandparents dont worry, although the blog is titled Tilly Pitt and the Pizza Party, it is just because of the photo - Not because we have started her on Pizza yet!)
Her swimming is also coming along nicely. She swam for 5 seconds yesterday. Well, when I say swam - Clare held her under teh water for 5 seconds. This ritual drowning then seems to be contragulated by the big 'gay'Peruvian swimming instructor. Now when I say gay - I mean big jovial and bubbly and in very much the old fashioned sense of the term. Even after a couple of months I have never seen this man stop singing, stop smiling or stop humming his version of childrens songs. He is the incredible smiling man and I am sure that he must get home and keep on singing to himself all day long.
This week also saw us venture to Bon Jovi but the excitement of that day will have to be saved for the next Blog!

Jonathan Pitt and the Incredibly Long Term

Phew! What a long and tiring term. 3 parents evenings in the last 3 weeks, a ten week term, 3 options evenings and multiple after school meetings on top all go to make me one officially knackered out teacher. The good news is that I still think that Tilly recognises me after I have hardly seen her over the past few weeks but then again I cant really tell as she just smiles at anyone and everyone anyway.
On their walk to the supermarket Tilly and Clare seem to have accumulated a group of random friends. The watchman on the corner is a regular (and he has to say hello as we pay him) but the others are a wonderful rag-tag group.
There is the old man at the bulding site who shouts at anyone making lude comments towards Clare, there is the lady with no teeth who takes a break from begging to shout out how 'Linda' (cute) Tilly is looking, there is the security guard from the fish restaurant that always stops to smile and talk to Tilly, there is the sweet store lady who runs over to say how smily Tilly is, there is the illegal DVD seller, the car parking man with the hunch back, the man who dresses like a woman and the Peruvian man that slurs his English as he asks us around for drinks becuase he has heard "English people love their beer". All these people get the same greeting - Tilly pulls off a huge smile and wiggles her legs incesantly. They love it and it all adds to the increasing group of people that stop Clare and Tilly on their travels around Lima.
The delay in writing the blog comes from the 3 month period without Internet and also the amount of work I am having to do in the Geography department. This week should see a turn around in the work (after I have finished my reports and coursework marking) and we finally have Internet thanks to the big dongle that we now have.
So chiao for now and hopefully the blogs will be back to becoming more regular again!

Tilly The Swimmer and Tilly the Traveller Part 2

Another long gap between posts but again, I think, a rather valid excuse. This time it has been lack of Internet (still!!!!) and organising past papers and 3 fieldtrips at work. Time has just slipped away but hopefully I still have all the memories of Rio imprinted firmly in my brain to include in the blog.
First however, I must mention the exciting news of Tilly's first swimming session. We went on a mission to find a pool that she could swim in and heard on the Peruvian grapevine (about as reliable as the Peruvian wine in produces) that there was one near school. We therefore headed straight over to look for the swimming pool. It was nowehere to be seen, there was no smell of chlorine nearby - a smell to which I am well atuned from my lifetime spent in or next to a pool - and there was no building with slides jutting out of the side or any sort of pebble dash or corrugated iron effect (as sported by many a British council pool). We were just about to give up when a securitry guard on a segway scooted past (I think that is the correct term for what you do on a segway) and I asked him where the pool was (of course not forgetting to add the International sign language movement for swimming as I spoke to him in my Spanglish). He seemed to understand and he told us where to go. Minutes later when we still had not found a building that looked anything like a pool, said segwayman came scooting back and took us straight to it. We stood outside and yet still we did not believe it was a pool.
It seems a theme in Peru that the more extravagant the building and the more posh the facilities, the more boring it should look from outside. On the way to school, when people pop out of their securitry fences to get the paper or the bread delivery you can see into their little gated world and witness the wonders of within. The more dull the outside, the more their wonderous world tends to impress. And so this gave us some hope for the pool. The outside looked like 2 up, 2 down house and Clare, I looked at each other wondering how a pool would fit into a terraced house (I am sure some tax dodging British person has tried to put one in their living room though).
We walked in and soon found that the place was like Doctor Who's tardis, it expanded backwards and became huge as you wlaked in. Not only was there a pool, there was 2! and for the first time in 4 months, there was actually a warm room in Lima. This boded well for the pool being warm too and one finger strategically placed in the water told us that it was soon to be swim time for Tilly.
We bathing suited her up, bought a rediculously expensive swimming cap (it was the opposite of British bars "If you dont have a cap, you're not getting in!") for her and then Clare and Tilly got in. Tilly loved it, Clare loved it and the camp Peruivan instructor seemed to love evrything in the whole world. I have never seen a 40 year old man sing and smile as much as this man. He is a human baby song hummer and he can sing a Spanish nuresery rhyme more camply than any other man alive! Stil, Tilly likes him, she smiles and because of that we are able to get her head under the water and build her confidence. There was another baby boy in the pool with Tilly who was swimming under the water and doing great and Clare had to hold back my competitive streak from trying to compete with him. "He's 11 months old!" Clare had to tell me, as I was wanting to beat him and show what Tilly could do. So I think it may have been for the best that Tilly's first session was with her mum and that steady progress was trhe order of the day rather than the dunking session I would have possible dealt out (it may have stopped the camp singing though).

Now back to Rio for the second Part of Tilly The Traveller:
Day two started well. We went down to the buffet breakfast with mouths watering at the prospect of bacon, waffles, eggs, cheeses galore and a selection of meat that would make dewhursts proud. But then as we went to walk into the restaurant one of the Sheraton Nazi Clone workers asked us which room number we were. 1009, I replied. “I am sorry Sir, you are not on the list!” You could see a smile emerge on her face as she was also thinking – if you are not on the list, you are not coming in!. Clare and I looked at each other and knew there was a mistake “I know I have paid for the breakfast” I said. She paused. How can he be this confident if he is not wearing a suit? You could see she was thinking. “are you with Taca airlines the lady asked”. “Yes we are!” was Clare’s swift response and before you could say Eggs Benedict we were sat in a table eating the Breakfast of The Gods.
On returning to our room, we soon saw that our reservation did not include breakfast (an oversight on my behalf after the Despegar debacle of two weeks previous). So we were no longer set to enjoy the breakfast of the Gods, we were back to normal riff-raff but without breakfast. We were below riff-raff, we were outcasts from breakfast time, forced to wonder the streets in search of food and coffee. However I will take this opportunity to thank Taca airlines for inadvertently covering the cost of our 50 dollar breakfast and I hope that nobody from the airline reads my blog and realizes the mistake!
We did however have our day mapped out. We were going to go to the statue of Christ and we were then going to return and use the pool and relax in the sun reading our hugely educational books (Lee Child and Michael Connolly).
We went to the desk to ask how much the trip to Jesus was. $100 dollars plus the cost of the tram (another $80). On that news, we went to the in hotel travel agent to see how much their trip was – another 200 dollar trip. OK then we decided to break Roughguide Rule number one again and take the bus (5 dollars for all 3 of us). This time we made sure we travelled in Tilly’s awake time and allowed the Little Miss Tilly to actually get some sleep in the daytime. This therefore meant a hugely delayed start but no more screaming and no looks of condemnation from the locals or Jesus! We got to the base of Jesus’s mound at about 3.00 after much bus delay and the walk to Copacabana beach. Great, we will have time to get up, get back and then go and sit by the pool.
But then a coach arrived full of tourists, then another and then another. Each coach emptied its loads of suit wearing business men from every nation of the world. It looked as though the United Nations was having a convention on top of Jesus’s mound. From the experience at the Sheraton, we knew the situation was hopeless. People in suits are Kings in Rio and us wearing our tatty clothes (following the rough guides rules of not looking rich) therefore had no chance! We looked like poor people and were duely treated as such when we were told that there would be a 2 hour wait for a tram up to Jesus. We had again been trumped by the men in suits and a 2 hour wait was our only hope. How would we kill 2 hours. By breaking Roughguide rule number 3 is how – go for a walk! We walked around the streets of Concovado fitting in with our tatty clothes and with Tilly there to keep us safe. Again we were looked at by dubious looking youths but mainly just to see our baby in a babycar and for them to comment on how cute (Lindo) she looks.
Not knowing where we were heading, we saw a little café that sold beers for 3 reals (a dollar) and headed straight for it. 2 beers please! Then another 2 and then another 2 please. I was not sure what Clare was going to have, but I was sorted. I am sure Jesus would approve when we see him later! We also found that this place was a hidden gem of a restaurant and they made the best Fillet Mignon sandwiches ever known to man! So rather than being mugged and robbed by breaking rule 3, we were fed, beered up and all ready to meet Christ.
Now if you have seen the statue on TV, been her in person or even just seen our photos on Fickr, it is clear that this is a sight worth seeing. The statue is impressive in itself as it soars mejestically above the vast city below but the views of the city itself are what make this trip exceptional. Trip to Rio (a lot of dollars), tram ride to the top (40 dollars), view from the top at sunset - priceless.
The sheer number of tourist could not spoil the view and the experience, the half hour wait for a tram back down could not spoil it and even Tilly crying like an air raid siren on our way back down on the tram could even not spoil the day.

I would recommend the experience to anyone and it meant that day 2 ended with excitement, looking forward to the trip to Sugar Loaf mountain the next day.

Oh, one final point - on the bus ride home Clare turned to me and said "was that a dead person?". Not being used to being asked this kind of question I just looked at her a bit confused and tried to see what she had witnessed out of the window but could not see anything. "I think it was," she said, "It was a body lying on the road with a sheet over it and with only the legs sticking out" she then continued by saying. The experience was at the same time as the camera exchange men were sat in front of us and gave us a very clear idea of the realities that lie very close to the surface in this city. The gunshots from the shanty town near our hotel then added to the enlightenment and gave us a nice chorus to which we fell softly to sleep ...... and then bolted upright and awake again at the next gun shot!

adios