Mirth and crumbly cheese

Done good with the colourful little rainbow today. But I've saved the mush for my Facebook page, I refuse to soften my corners here too! She got Paw Patrol. In Turkish, but the effect is the same, ergo a less pissed off toddler than full blown angry potential. We've been to a private beach today. Well, it is Icmeler beach, though no locals are dumb enough to frequent with an absence of woolley hat (I've got a Freudian predictive text), duffel coat and hiking boots, let alone Small in just a dress and bare feet. Having said that we had a full on sweat on, it's been positively hot. I'd say it got to 16c, that's my ginger soul fucked, essentially. I was practically a kofta by the time we were dipping our cankles beyond the shillies.  This was preceded by a lovely mystery bus tour through the middle of nowhere - I.e. the main town- looking for our Dutch friend, hospitable as always and fascinating to chat with, then visiting a really wanky biker cafe...

Distinct lack of Insta-twats today, apart from their little paddy this evening, slamming doors and shouting profanities whilst walking away. Not sure what it reminds me of most, the Toddler in the midst of rage or the Teabag that was. Only difference is one pisses herself when she gets angry that she can’t understand (and the other.... we'll just leave that there). We’ve had a really awesome day. And I’ve got that warm fuzzy feeling that oxytocin, reconnecting with my Small piece, and having too much gin to put in the case home- brings. So this will either be short and sweet, or ridiculously boring. Either way I’m sure the blog will be falling by the wayside, as far less shits are given when things go better than expected. And let’s just say here, the bar was definitely set with the demonstrable shitstorm that the past 4 days have been, so in advance for our lack of catastrophe, I apologise. I managed to buy not one but two pairs of shoes today, mentally resolving to not g...

What other day can you justify spending the whole day in pyjamas? We've gone full on British with it today, cue odd looks from a hotel full of conference attendees (a conference, on Christmas Day?!) in the restaurant, which is getting far more luxurious looking by the day. There’s a distinct increase in the food which cannot be named, but I’m uncertain if its for the benefit of the Tits-and-Teeth and Suits clicking and murmuring in disgust at Small as she's quite vocally rejecting anything to eat. My new game, meet the shameful stares of the ‘my-child-would-never-do-thats’ with the same unabashed defiance of the toddler that so disturbs the enjoyment of their carefully portioned continentals, so as not to stain their perfect pearly whites or set them off-balance from their skyscraper Carvellas. It’s rather effective, may try this back at home. The electric piano is adorned with executive looking flyers (still disconnected) and we pile through the hoards of First-class sc...

The creepy pool music is back. It's enough to send the hairs on the back of my neck to the moon. But instead of fighting the fear that I'm about to die like one of my teen heroines in a bad Goosebumps book, I'm taking in the gastric scenery. I'm in the basement (it does get better, I promise) but there's this entire restaurant down here I'd not seen. I thought I was dining with the plastics all week, and other humans! I'm spoiled! Maybe there will be some excitement this week. I'm really fucking done with excitement today, and going off the current state of Little Bit I'd  say she's had her quota for the day too. Shes flat out, across a chair bed missing all these new environments, can't say I blame her, she's got a cold nutella waffle to wake up to. You know the kind, as essential a bodily need as respiration to a mini dictator, until the minute it's in front of them and it's like I just invited her to snuggle an atomic bom...

I thought my luck was in.... there being a distinct geographical anomaly of the GPS Reg-tracker of the Facebook to TripAdvisor continuum. Enough to have thought the stars may be shining on me and that he could have another bar 2 streets away. Wishful thinking but spurred on by the thought of a strong wifi connection AND baked beans for Small, I set off. He did reply to my message, and Facebook post, and friend's email. I shall put le grand opening in my diary, for 83 days' time. Good old Reg. But all was not lost! Hark! English people in the hotel! I lurked over the neighbouring table like a vulture circling over it’s next dying meal, spotting a gap I put my big girl pants on- ‘are you English?’ They are. And are visiting a relative for Christmas and eating in the restaurant for the night and about as sympathetic as. Bet they’re Brexiteers. But Christmas songs are playing, there’s the fancy table clothes laid out, maybe they’re ramping it up for the Big Day, and I’ve ju...

I’ll have a BMI of 13 by the time I get home. Ten. Thousand. Steps. Half of what my college tutor did for fun daily, and at least 5x more than it takes to facilitate the mid-semester pentagram of procrastination, amidst deadline-gate. Not bad for a big bird. I found humans. Real humans. Just a few more miles’ walk than I’d anticipated to have to find some. A few more playgrounds, more than one ninja beached-boat photo (No we are not taking it into the sea, mate) and an awkward hour walking round shops with like a croquet hoop due to a less than desirable sleeping sling Small position, and I’m sat down. My god I’ve actually become one of those people that groan as they sit down, idyllic marina-side scatter cushions giving way to an oncoming onslaught of butt. Or maybe I’ve actually aged 60 years in 3 days, I’m unsure which. More of the People, in bits this time. Like some Bladerunner-esque cut scene. Is this some tourist aesthetic I’m oblivious to? Had I done ‘leisure s...

I've literally booked to stay in a ghost town. As my dear not-wife has just proffered, it looks like a clickbait article for what a grand place looks like after an apocalyptic abandonment. It's darn creepy, I'll try upload the video of said pool with eerie Christmas hymns playing in the background. And yes, we've learned something here. Heed Mummy's advice, as even at 30 it's still quite possible to bollocks it all up. Royally. My waking thought was 'Fuck, how is Christmas dinner going to go? Will there be one?' I feel silly now for snubbing the M&S dinner that was the alternative, thinking if I wasn't going to cook my own I may as well go abroad. They'll make a fuss of it won't they? At least some part of the day there'll be a sit down meal, I'm over the fact there'll be no pigs in blankets, was hardly expecting Yorkshires, but being half board if breakfast is as catastrophic as the last 2 days, Small will be loading ...

Do toddlers get jetlag? From just 3 hours’ time difference? Surely not! I'm repeating mindfulness bollocks under my gin-stained breath desperately willing myself to stay awake beyond those first 3 sips. UK time is coming up to 8.40pm, which, despite having been at this bedtime lark since the UK equivalent of 6pm, means I’m totally fucked. The toddler who has never once succumbed to routine, across every parenting approach going, sticking to her local time bedtime? Though she does have this life skill at her Nanny's. In the same light as she'll happy eat gourmet variety at nursery, where I’ll struggle to get toast down her. I’m not a wank mum. I bought fucking  cheese triangles and ‘circle meat' as backup and everything. Guess she can tell they’re not from the same herd. Or something. Did say I’d not do more than one entry a day. But I need to stay awake beyond this hellish bedtime fray; my war...

Beige. The walk of shame. Every single colour under the sun, that kid’s plate was like a rainbow. Textures, aromas, the lot. It was like tapas without the tequila and quartet. Nada, niente, zero. Still, I think, there are another 2 meals today left, all is not lost. My salad (yes, salad!) goes untouched in favour of disentangling the tiny tornado from another pickle of wills. My god, Paw Patrol stopped working on the kindle, in fact all the videos did. I’m usually rather au fait with this kind of stuff (excusing the deconstructed Dell and a rather abused boombox of yore) but I give up. Apps it is. Though the time this took to admit defeat and plan to do something for the morning ran well into the hour and by the time I was strapping on the bumbag (yes, I’ll get to that later) Small was yomping away on the yayas and my window of opportunity had passed. But at least it was quiet. I decide against a G&T thinking I’ll save myself for dinner- famous last words. Post nap, an...

Peeling my own eyes out. Sauteeing with seasonal spices and serving them up on a platter of hate. Would’ve been the more preferable activity for the day. “I travelled the world with you as a single mum” she said, “it’s really not that difficult, you’ll be fine” she said. All was not fine. In fact, it was like trying to lasso  a drunk angry sweaty octopus and navigate through a teeny tiny aisle. My own dimensions aside, this was fucking fun. Sat next to a crystal healing, spiritualist psychic, Dutch and fellow queer from Sheffield. What are the chances?! We discussed the part of Holland I used to live in, shared tips on where to buy Oude Kaas (best Dutch cheese ever!) and shared stories of the gay scene as we remembered it, before ‘the kids took over’. 40 years my senior, we'll skim over the irony of that minor detail. Back to the spawn. She LOVED passport control. So much so that she felt it necessary to alert every person in the airport of her sheer delight. Picture this:...