Bill Bryson is one of my very favourite authors, not least because his books always make me laugh.

I’ve just finished reading ‘A Walk in the Woods’, where he attempts to hike the Appalachian Trail with his friend Stephen Katz. It’s full of interesting and sometimes obscure facts, very funny descriptions of people and places and of course merciless ribbing of his friend.

I’ve recently discovered that Bryson is Sagittarian, which immediately made sense to me. He’s a bit off the wall, interested in everything, excited by things that seem quite ordinary, until he tells us how he’s seeing them. He loves to travel, so much that he became a travel writer, among other things. He’s impulsive and not always practical in his decision making, seems kind, has a strong sense of justice and finds humour in all but the most hellish situations. And of course, he’s perceptive and intelligent.

For those who have no time for astrology, just ignore that paragraph and move on.

I’m not sure I’d like Bill Bryson if I met him, he’s a little inclined to write people off as stupid if they annoy him in any way, and I’m not sure how I’d fare in that respect.

Having said that, if, in some highly unlikely twist of fate I found myself having a coffee with him, I suspect I’d enjoy the conversation. A lively mind is a joy.

I remember when I was heavily pregnant with S, sitting in a local cafe, reading  ‘Down Under’ , which is about his travels in Australia. I laughed so hard that the man next to me moved over a few inches. I think he was worried I might go into labour and he’d have to help!

If you haven’t read anything by him, give it a try. At worst you might learn some strange and interesting new things and at best you might scare the people next to you with your loud guffaws.

Health has been restored to this fair house and there are smiles all around. Wooo!

I was woken this morning by A. asking in an urgent voice for me to “Come and be with S.” so he could go down to Z.

I walked into the bathroom to find S. sitting on the toilet, his face the colour of parchment, holding a plastic container in his hand, into which he was dry heaving. When he looked up at me, his eyes were dark and sunken, his expression pained and yet somehow resigned.

I should have known. When he was touchy and shouty and annoyed by everything yesterday, I should have known.

When he woke me in the night to go for a poo I should have known.

You’d think I’d know the signs by now but it’s been months since he was sick and I’ve been lulled into what turns out to be a false sense of security. It was his school picnic today too, poor babe.

So there’s a lot of washing to do. Towels, bedclothes, pyjamas etc…

Right, I’m off to hug him, then occupy Z, so S. doesn’t get jumped on.

Dear Local Spud-U-Like,

                                        After spending time in a busy mall at lunchtime, trying to find the things we’d come for and having forgotten to take the buggy out of the car, my two year old and I were tired and hungry.

I didn’t have a lot of time and didn’t want to stop in a cafe where I’d have to order and then wait. Neither did I want to go to MacDonalds and eat half my own weight in grease and salt. I saw your shop, selling simple baked potatoes and fillings, which you order at the counter and then take to one of your tables and decided that was the lunch for us.

There was a short line and I had opportunity to observe your dealings with other customers, most notably those with small children and the woman in front of me in her wheelchair. You were unfailingly friendly and respectful and one of you came out to carry the tray to the table when it became obvious that the woman with three kids wasn’t going to be able to do it alone.

When we got to the counter, you listened patiently while I made my order and then quickly and efficiently filled it, smiling all the time. We had a healthy and filling lunch and then walked to the other end of the mall before we discovered I’d left my son’s favourite toy on the tray. We walked back, my boy’s feet trailing slowly along.

When we got there, you were cleaning the tables and I asked you whether you’d seen the toy. A look of regret passed over your face and I thought you were going to say ‘no’ but instead, you asked us to sit down while you looked.

You came back five minutes later, having gone through the rubbish, found his toy and washed it thoroughly, before bringing it back to us, with a smile for my son as you handed it to him.

In a place where customer service is very low on the list of priorities, you shine.

Thank you.

This is the book I’m reading at the moment, written by Khaled Hosseini. Described by the Daily Telegraph as “…a painfully honest story” among other things. It’s unputdownable but tragic and it’s colouring everything in my day. I’ll be glad to get to the bit where there’s redemption and forgiveness!

The book begins in Afghanistan with a friendship between two boys, which is irrevocably marred by an incident when they’re twelve years old. The story moves to America when trouble breaks out in Afghanistan and at the moment, I’m up to the bit where the father is reduced from being a loved and respected figure in a community which recognises him as someone great, to working twelve hours a day as a petrol pump assistant in a station.

It’s really the son we’re following though, and I’m reading faster and faster in the hope that I’ll come to a part where he seeks forgiveness from his childhood friend.

Not a relaxed read but mesmerising all the same.

Oh no! I know it’s a good idea but it makes me wince. I just know it’s going to involve trips to the hardware shop, frustration, swearing and other things that will make me want to leave home!

After the last redecorating saga, I’m wary.

Oh well, he’s on a roll now, there’s no stopping him. I’m going to take Z. shopping for food, just to get away from it.

We’ve got friends coming to stay. I’m looking forward to it, they’re great and I’ll finally get to meet their kids, who look lovely in the photos. The only downside is that they arrive three days before we fly out to Australia for a month….

As far as I can see, this is going to take some fairly rigorous organisation on my part, which is a shame because it really isn’t my forte. I can just about get us ready to go, with clean clothes, books and fun stuff for the long(!) plane trip and a car and hotel at the other end. My mind boggles though at the prospect of doing this while also cleaning and tidying our house to within an inch of its life before they get here and then again after our combined lot of kids has trashed it.

By the time I get onto the plane I’ll probably be a hysterical, teeth-chattering wreck.

A. is helpful and excellent but this is a hugely expensive trip, now that Z. has to pay for a seat on the plane, so he’s working as often as he can, in order that we can leave money in the bank to pay the mortgage, bills etc.. while we’re away. He will have overestimated what we need, which is good since it leaves us a buffer to work with but practically, it means he’s not here.

I keep telling myself that everything’s happening exactly the way it’s supposed to, even if I don’t feel it all the time. And actually, one of my best friends is coming and I get to go on a month-long holiday with my beautiful family!

There, that’s got it back into perspective. Isn’t writing grand?

Last night, I was exhausted by the time it was the boys’ bedtime, aware that I still needed to tidy up the toys, stack the dishwasher, ring my Mum, do another load of washing and various other, small things, before I could sink onto the couch with my book.

I was pretty clear I thought, about the fact that once they were in bed there was to be no getting up unless some kind of major emergency occurred. Did it make any difference? No it did not!

It was an hour before they settled down and in that time, S. came down “for a last cuddle“, Z. got out of bed a hundred times and threw mega tantrums when I put him back, then he discovered that if he wet his bed with the inch of water in his night-time drink, I would have to come and fix it.

I changed the sheets and removed the water bottle but a few minutes later, there was that cry again; “Mummy, I can’t go to bed! My bed is WET!”

He’d gone to the bathroom, got a mouthful of water and spat it on the sheets!!!

I put a towel over the wet patch and told him he had to go to sleep. He was outraged. “I can’t sleep onna towel! It’s not comfy!”  Too bad. I put him in, pulled the door to and left the room. He went to sleep. Whew. 

When I rang my mother, she rolled around laughing and talked about chickens coming home to roost and that it was just the sort of stuff I’d done when I was his age. When she’d stopped laughing she gave me some good advice and soothing words and by then I was laughing too.

So today I put Z. into bed for his after-lunch nap and went up later to check on him. He was on S’s bed, reading a book.

“What are you doing?” I asked, “You’re supposed to be having a sleep.”

“I’m just reading.” he answered casually, “The sun is still here, it isn’t time for sleeping.” and then he gave me a wide, engaging grin to show me he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t in the least bit sleepy, so I brought him downstairs.

Since then he’s been an absolute delight. He’s been kissing me and then saying “Look at the kissprints Mummy. You’ve got kissprints everywhere.”

and then a bit later, looking up from his book to where I am typing at the computer; “ You’re my Mummy.”

“Yes, I am your Mummy.” smiling

“You’re my Mummy and I love you. You’re a GEENYUS!” (it’s his new word)

They drive me crazy but they’re just lovely. It’s the paradox of parenting.

Yesterday, Z. saw some cartoon kids on TV making a ‘box TV’, which is basically a box with a large, square hole cut on either side, so you can see through it. Paint it, stick a couple of cardboard knobs on with split pins and you’ve got a fully functional toy for hours (and I do mean hours) of fun.

He got really excited, switched the TV off and asked if we could make one too. I like making things and A. had taken S. to a local football game, so I said sure.

We found an empty washing detergent box, shook the last, clinging grains from it, cut holes and began to paint. It was fun, although I had to take Z’s t-shirt off in the end. New shirt, black paint, you know.

Anyway, this is what happened when I went to put the box up to dry…………

Actually, I have to admit that some of this handiwork is mine. I came back to find that he’d painted his chest and arms and I couldn’t resist taking it just that step further.

Can’t stop now, I’m up to my elbows in washing sheets and pillowcases and pants and trousers and the floor and the walls(!) and anything that got in the way when Z. was weeing and pooing all over the place today!!!

I knew there was a reason I’d put this off ’til now……

For every time he goes to the toilet, there’s another when he doesn’t!

I’ve been re-reading The Artist’s Way. It’s such a good book.

I had other things to say but the morning has somehow advanced and now I have to go and buy S. some underpants so that he doesn’t need to get around the place complaining about how his pants are too small for him..

Oh, and I got him in trouble last night, I was irritable and he told me he needed to hand a project in about Canada…….today! He was adamant it needed to be done for today but it was already 8pm and I wanted him to get into bed. I spoke to him sternly and a bit accusingly.

He did the project, pretty well actually, but it was 10pm by then.

Then, this morning, I found a note from the teacher, buried under a magazine on the kitchen table, telling me all about it, dated a week ago! I had to go and apologise to S.

Poor bloke.

Right, and now to the shops.