Nearly One

Phew, arggghh. Back from England, again*. More travelling. I am getting a bit sick of planes, planes, planes. The schlepping of luggage and babyernalia. Hanging Around. The unforgiving, fluorescent airport lighting. The ceaseless eating of junk food to numb the pain. And why, please, are airports the most un-babyfriendly places on earth? All I want is a microwave (a sympathetic person with a hob will do) and a bit of cleanish floor for Emma to scrabble around on. I appreciate market forces, and that most of the available space has to be taken up by the Tie Rack, Accessorize and other shabby outfits I never mean to visit but somehow end up in, staring like a loony. Have a heart Mr Airport Executive, do your bit for the emerging generation and give me what I ask. Throw in some toys, even, it won't kill you.

The Golden Haired Snow Elf will be 1 year old on thursday. We nearly collapsed under the weight of presents in our way home, but we are being disciplined and haven't opened a single one.

*lots to say about above visit, but too early for post-match analysis