A Positive Approach to Cold Sores
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: November 11, 2009
Reading through a few of my recent posts, you must all think I’m a right old Victor Meldrew, who grizzles and groans about anything and everything. I suppose it’s because it’s always easy to criticise things in a negative way. It’s really not the case because I’m actually quite proud of being very positive in my approach to life, work and people.
When I talk to others about the importance of positive attitudes I always think back to my last job in a previous career, where a negative approach simply wasn’t on the agenda. Sometimes, even in the face of adversity, the simple belief that things were possible was enough to ensure they got done. I regularly say to Matthew, my youngest, when he uses the word ‘can’t’ a little too frequently that I think he actually means ‘won’t’. “Don’t say ‘can’t’ unless you’ve exhausted every option available, and even then, don’t shout it from the rooftops” is my frequent response. There might always be that last hidden option there somewhere.
I often think back to when I was a nipper and used to spend a lot of time with my grandparents. I know it’s hard to relate their approach then at that time to the way I remember it now, but I always admired the way they soldiered on regardless of the circumstances. My Grandfather used to have a very philosophical approach too life’s trials. Very little appeared to rattle him. To me, at least, he had an air of calm and control that I recognised, learned from and admire to this day. I have worked with many colleagues who have impressed me so much with their resolve and self-belief that I really have to thank them for the way they have influenced my own attitudes.
Do kids these days approach life in the same way we used to? I remember my own father telling me the merits of being positive and believing in myself and my abilities. Our own kids have all done really well academically and seem to be very self-driven in such disciplines, but I sometimes wonder about their approach to some of the more practical day-to-day challenges that live throws at them. Does perseverance still rank highly in their thoughts I wonder?
Going back to Grandparents again, I smile about it now, but many years ago I held a certain resentment at the fact that at a very early stage in my life, my aforementioned Grandmother quite unintentionally and very lovingly gave me a gift for life when giving me a goodbye Granny Kiss. Something that I would remember her for and something I would keep for ever. I hasten to add that I’m not alone in having received this gift from someone near and dear to them. In fact many reliable sources indicate that over 90% of the population carry it with them, but this isn’t a true representation. Realistically, around 40% of the white Caucasian population of the world at some time or other suffer from a good old-fashioned cold-sore on their lip. Caused by the Herpes Simplex virus, it is a recurrent condition which, once contracted cannot be cured and which rears its ugly head whenever it gets the chance: usually when the immune system is compromised by another factor such as fatigue, illness, dehydration, too much sun.. amongst others. Take my word for it. For those who have never suffered their wrath they are totally unpleasant, at times very painful and cosmetically downright ugly!
For many years I battled with creams, antiseptics, after-shave lotions, old wives’ remedies until the advent of a cream containing a substance called Acyclovir, which at last started to have some real effect on the condition. If applied early enough it actually stops the sore from forming and clears the symptoms really quickly. It was my travelling companion of choice for many years and I am still full of praise for its effectiveness.
Earlier this year though, by pure chance, I was introduced to a product that claimed to be the latest development in the battle against the Cold Sore.
Looking rather like a lipstick, it’s called the Herpotherm, and works by simply heating up the area in order to stop the virus developing. There is a very good description of the way it works on their website. So I gave it a go…. and haven’t looked back since! It’s brilliant. Four or five seconds of application at the right moment really does nip things in the bud. Nothing happens! No sore, no suffering, no Mr Ugly. Just a great feeling knowing that it has been averted again. Over the last year I have been aware on several occasions that something was brewing. A hasty application of the Herpotherm made sure that it was just that! It has been successful on so many occasions that I can’t recommend it highly enough. It has been a complete revolution in the way I approach the condition and it has dramatically improved the way I live with the condition.
For those of you who perhaps still suffer in silence, give it a go. You’ll never be the same again!
Those Pet Hates
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: October 25, 2009
It’s a while since I had a good rant about anything. Anyone who really knows me will vouch for the fact that I’m generally quite a tolerant person, and it takes a lot to rattle my cage. However, that doesn’t mean to say that certain things don’t stir up my grumble bugs from time to time. There’s a sign on our living room door which says something to the effect of “A lovely lady and a grumpy old man live here”. Am I grumpy? I suppose I have my moments, but there are other times when I’m decidedly anti-grump and will try to get others to see the lighter side of things.
As they often say on ITV, the following are the results of my pet hates vote and they are – in no particular order …
1. Long addresses: In our business there’s a fair amount of dealing with addresses, whether they’re traditional geographic addresses or the newer and supposedly far more simple electronic ones. The event that brought this to light was a few days ago when we were doing a little contact-management maintenance work. Why, when an email address is supposed to be concise, simple, quick and all the other things electronic communications are meant to be do a large percentage of the employees of Public-Relations companies have email addresses that would challenge North-Walian mainline railway stations for waffle factor. Why don’t PR companies do just a little bit more research when it comes to choosing internet domains? I know that many of the shorter domain names have been gobbled up by the resellers, but it doesn’t take too much looking around to find a short-ish domain name that is appropriate to their company name?
Having typed probably fifty or more contact addresses into our own records recently I found myself becoming irate at the number of so ridiculously protracted email addresses out there in the PR industry. Why would someone realistically choose (and this one’s fictitious) jennifer_wright-harrington@alongnameprandcommunicationscompany.uk.com not choose jen@company.co.uk instead? Admittedly, it’s not always the individual who’s at fault here. Any IT professional worth his or her salt would realise that the longer an email address is, the greater the margin for error at the remote end.
This brings me on to those street addresses…
I’ve been reliably informed by a couple of sources at the Royal Mail (you know… those ones whose work force is doing its best to destroy whatever is left of that wonderful and historic institution) that all you need to ensure a successful delivery is a house or building number – or name – and an accurate UK postcode. Our registered office is at 89, CF158RE. That would get anything to us there. It’s easy, leaves little room for error and saves paper and ink. What about some of those I’ve whinged at lately? (This one’s fictitious too..) Daffodil Cottage, Buttercup Close, Daisy Road, Flowerbed, Gardenville, West Horticultshire, England, United Kingdom, FB12 4BC. Even those plebs who can’t find their way to the bathroom in the morning without a sat-nav would be able to find “Daffodil, FB12 4BC” by simply typing it into their little battery-powered brains. So why labour over such an unfeasibly large work of literature for an address? Beats me!
2. Tailgaters: You know the ones… those who seem to want to try to intimidate by driving so close to your rear bumper that they must be choking on your exhaust fumes. Just down the hill from ‘Chateau C’ is a T-junction that at certain times of the day requires a small helping of either bravado or cheek to get out of if you don’t want to end up waiting for half an hour while the rush hour finishes. A right turn manoeuvre at this junction is an art-form and I like to think I’ve pretty much perfected it now. All that’s required is a bold statement of intent when a large enough gap appears. It’s the only possible way of getting out of there. Waiting for a clear road is simply not an option. So there was I a few weeks ago, doing my usual, and sneaking through the small, but useable, gap that became available. At the very worst it necessitated one vehicle slowing for a couple of seconds to keep a safe distance after I’d pulled out. Oh no, not for Mr Angry with his aggressive chip-on-shoulder mentality and his “My wife abuses me at home so I’ll take it out on everyone while I’m suitably anonymous behind this gas-guzzling roo-barred road-hog machine” attitude! Anyone would think I’d stolen his best copy of Trainspotters Monthly. The stream of traffic was moving along at around 25 mph, which my own car, though by no means a high-performance specimen, achieves in just a few seconds. So why did he then have to drive up to around ten inches from my rear bumper, leaning on his horn and gesticulating some sort of orchestral conductor’s movement in close proximity to his own windshield. That sort of thing starts to wind me up too. However, at the same time, it gives me great pleasure in a situation like that to follow the advice of all the advanced driving manuals and to slow down until a safe distance exists behind. If I’d have sped up, he’d still have been there with his testosterone-fuelled alter-ego frothing at the mouth, only inches behind. How lovely it was to see him suffer as a result of his own stupid actions. It even happened to me very recently in some leafy village somewhere in the Midlands while we were returning from our narrow boat adventure. Only on that occasion it was a woman, not a man. I reckon she’d messed up her HRT dosage that morning! How sad!
3. Cold Lattes… If you’re paying a premium price for a ‘good’ cup of coffee, the very least you’d expect is for it to be hot. Mrs C and I are frequent patrons of the various coffee establishments scattered around town and we generally have lots of good things to say about them. Yes, we are self-confessed coffee-snobs and take great pride in our own abilities when it comes to producing that irresistible ‘proper’ coffee. None of your Nescafé mediocrity for us. Fresh beans into the grinder and milked steamed, not microwaved! On the rare occasion we happen across a den of coffee apathy (mentioning no names – Warminster services on the A36!) we have a really good mutual whinge and even though it doesn’t make the coffee taste any better, it makes us just happy enough for us to make it to the next refreshment post.
My goodness, this is getting ridiculous. Running out of time and only 3 done! I must be an old grump after all. Don’t you just hate those who labour a point or three?
N.
Messing About on Narrow Boats
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: October 10, 2009
Given a choice of activities for a wet October weekend, how many of you would choose a sedate cruise through the canals of Staffordshire and Shropshire on a Countrywide Cruisers Narrowboat? Not many, I bet! Mind you if we hadn’t done something similar ourselves a couple of years previously, then we wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic either. It was cool, there was rain forecast and Friday morning had been particularly hectic work-wise, so what we needed was a good old chill-out over the weekend to recharge the batteries.
Narrow boats are not difficult to sail/drive/pilot, or whatever it is you describe it as. Everything happens very slowly and the canals are so blissfully quiet that you can take your time, relax and go at a pace a snail wouldn’t even find challenging. Mrs C still can’t get to grips with the fact that the tiller has to be pushed to the left for the boat to go right though. I put it down to the well-accepted inadequacies of the female right-brain. I have a simpler way of getting her to remember which way by imagine that she is pulling the stern (back – for the nautically uninitiated) to one side or the other. I personally prefer the tranquil and far more relaxing option of doing it myself.
By far the most appealing and actually quite beautiful aspect of narrowboating is that you can very easily find total peace and quiet. Yes there are visitor moorings in most of the towns and villages along the canals, offering very convenient fly-ridden bins and Elsan** disposal units, but there’s always the alternative option of finding the remotest spot and just tying up as far away from the hustle and bustle of so-called civilisation as possible. As long as there’s sufficient TV signal to receive the latest offering from the good old X-Factor, everything’s fine and dandy.
On the subject of the X-Factor, if that Lucie talks about those sheep one more time I’m going to start shouting at the TV screen again. You may recall in one of my previous posts my outbursts at those nitwits on The Apprentice earlier in the year. Apparently it is perfectly normal for certain things to trigger outbursts of opinion in men. For some it’s the footie, for others it might be neighbours behaving badly, although I put my hand up and openly admit that I suffer from neither of those afflictions. For me it’s TV producers trying to make Joe Public believe that there’s a wonderful story for every person who enters a “Reality TV” series. Come on Mr ITV for crying out loud! I know that it’s a fact that Wales has a relatively high sheep population, but in Powys and the rural areas of Carmarthenshire. Not in the suburbs of Cardiff! Perhaps Lucie’s hallucinating and seeing the flocks of hooded youths outside Pentyrch Spar as some sort of ovine gathering. Perhaps someone should enlighten her.
We’re no-doubt going to watch it again this weekend though and I’ll be quite honest about looking forward to the fact that they’re now going to at last start some performances that will last more than 25 seconds a piece! I’m well prepared. The beer’s on ice, the pizza’s in the oven and all projectiles in the vicinity of my armchair have been secured out of reach just in case Pentyrch’s sheep population gets another mention.
Off to London tomorrow for the annual BPA show in ExCel. Tell you about it soon.
** Chemical Toilets
N
Michael McIntyre in Cardiff
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: September 26, 2009
We’re occasional visitors to our local comedy club, The Glee Club, where we have seen a few good acts and had a chuckle along with a few drinks to let our hair down.
Last Thursday we decided to do things on a slightly larger scale and went to see Michael McIntyre at the Cardiff International Arena. It must be quite a daunting prospect for a comedian to do a single-handed show in front of four and a half thousand people, let alone when suffering from a nasty tummy bug. So I can’t help but be filled with admiration for his professionalism and showmanship.
I don’t know what it is, but after only a minute on stage, the entire audience was roaring with laughter. It’s because it’s almost all observational and it makes you relate to your own experiences.
Michael McIntyre
You are frequently pondering the “I thought it was just me!” stuff. One particular scene relating to men’s changing rooms was particularly funny, as was an accidental excursion into the womens loos, and the dawning realisation thereafter. I can particularly remember an occasion myself, after disembarking a long-haul flight at Heathrow, when I found myself wondering why the cubicle had a little bin and some disposal bags in it. Then the female voices spelled it out. Of course you finish the business of the day, but have to then work out a strategy that will minimise any embarrassment on departure. At the time I simply told the surprised fellow attendees that the male establishment had just been temporarily closed for cleaning and that I simply had to go. No-one batted an eyelid really!
I read an article in The Telegraph last week that there is a distinct north-south divide in British comedy; that northerners are more self-effacing and southerners are more the ‘flash Harry’ types whose humour is at the expense of others. There was no evidence of the latter on this occasion. Even on the one and only incidence of heckling, where someone felt aggrieved that the repertoire hadn’t included a proper take-off of the Cardiff accent, he politely and promptly acknowledged with a brilliant rendition. We’ve seen some heated exchanges between comedians and hecklers in the past, but this was brilliantly handled.
What’s next, I wonder? We’re going to be meeting up with an old friend from north of the border in a couple of weeks time when we have a bit of a get-together. Now that can be comedy! There’s no repertoire, but we end up laughing our heads off for hours on end. We still reminisce about the time with the fart-machine during breakfast in a hotel in Manchester several years ago. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to losing control of my bladder during my entire adult lifetime.
N.
Round the Roomba
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: September 18, 2009
In my last post I started enthusing about technology and its many benefits. Not only can I fit my life story, with illustrations, into a chip the size of my little fingernail but there’s more.
I was once told by an old friend about a time when his work commitments didn’t allow him time to be home to let tradesmen get on with jobs at home while he was at work. At the time, he was having some extensive renovation work done and he was becoming quite stressed about it all. In the end he jokingly said that he’d get a gynaecologist to do the job. Why? Because he’d be able to get it all done through the letterbox!
Jokes aside, I have recently developed a slightly greater than normal interest in vacuuming the floors in Chateau C. No, it’s not some latent perversion that’s just beginning to surface. I’m not a closet butler or anything silly like that. We’ve just got a new pet called Roomba.
Roomba’s a clever little so-and-so. He’s so obedient too! He never moans or groans about having to do his job. He just gets on with it. Wouldn’t it be great if our own offspring were like that! Some hope… Anyway, where were we? Our house has never looked so clean! Back in the old days, when Mr Dyson was dragged, kicking and screaming around the house, he used to do a fantastic job of the areas his cumbersome upright frame would allow him into. This combined with a cussing, cursing, kicking, unwilling volunteer holding the reins was a recipe for a mediocre job at best, so there were certain areas, for example under our sofa or tv cabinet where carbon dating was necessary to estimate when the lower layers of sediment were deposited. The bits he covered were left spotless, but everything else was left to go to seed.
Mr Roomba’s diminutive frame lets him reach the parts that other vacuum cleaners cannot reach. And whatsmore, he does it all voluntarily, thoroughly, willingly and effectively…. without needing a human to push him here and there all the time. Vacuuming the entire downstairs of chez nous now comprises leaning over and pushing the little green button. Roomba 530 then plays a little tune, sits back on his haunches and then sets to it. When he’s had enough, he simply turns around, walks back to his house and starts charging himself. Amazing!
I made a point of reading his iRobot instruction manual in great detail because I was fascinated. I haven’t been as interested in a new bit of kit since my parents got their first colour telly. Remember that? I sat there and watched all sorts of complete crap purely because it was in colour, and I’d never seen colour television before. You name it: news documentaries, cartoons, low-budget dramas, second-rate game shows; I watched them all until my eyes went square, just because I was fascinated by the novelty. Now here I am, over 30 years later, spellbound by a bloody hoover! Would you credit it! Mrs C has been noticably quiet about my new obsession. She’s obviously never seen the house look so clean either!
Will the novelty wear off, I wonder? Probably! I’ve recently discovered that there is a certain amount of groundwork involved in Roomba’s routine, and as he doesn’t have any arms or legs, he can’t empty his tummy or wipe his own bottom, so that is one of his imperfections. Also, in common with his feline cousins, he is rather prone to hairballs. I discovered this only last night when I was cleaning his teeth.
Now give me a choice between wrestling with Mr Dyson or tending to Mr Roomba, I’d gladly settle for the latter. Being rechargable, and quite independent, he could even provide an alternative source of entertainment to Saturday night television in the event of a power cut. (I continue to live in hope!)
Have a look here and tell me you don’t believe me now.
Happy Hoovering!
N.
Lucie Jones Has The X Factor
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: September 6, 2009
Sad as it may be, I LOVE The X Factor and watch it without fail every Saturday. This week our household was slightly more excited than usual about the prospect of watching it as one of the girls from Maddie’s class all the way through school was going to be in it! We’d already heard on the school and friends’ grapevine that she was already through to the ‘judges’ houses stage’of the competition but had no idea until last night that she was going to be quite so good.
We knew she could sing but Lucie Jones’ audition last night was probably one of the best in the series so far. Although it’s got be said that Danyl, the teacher, had the audience in the palm of his hand when he auditioned too a couple of weeks back.
Lucie has the ‘look’ and the talent so she might well go through to the Live Shows stage and if so I wish her all the luck in the world. Wales’ last big hope the incredibly-talented Rhydian fell at the final hurdle as his Scottish rival possibly had a few more teenage girls’ magazine covers behind him as well as the entire population of Scotland.
And that brings me to this ‘tiny village’ that Lucie comes from. Talk about making a story out of a non-story. The X Factor went to town last night about Lucie ‘coming all the way to Cardiff from her tiny village’. I actually live about a mile from Lucie’s ‘tiny’ village and we all live about 5 or 6 miles from Cardiff and it’s extremely cosmopolitan city centre! To say that her ‘entire village’ was with her at the audition was stretching the truth a bit too. One of my other daughters Helena was watching The X Factor last night with her boyfriend Nick who just so happens to come from this ‘tiny village’ called Pentyrch. He wasn’t there at the audition. Neither were his mates or his parents for that matter.
Yes Pentyrch is semi-rural but it’s most certainly not the back of beyond and none of us watching it last night have ever seen sheep there although I have it on good authority that there are some.
Do the marketing bods at the X Factor think that every singer has to have a ’story’? When the man came on last week with his dead brother’s son, I could almost see the programme’s producers cynically tugging at their audience’s heartstrings. It was the same last year with the middle-aged crooner whose wife had died leaving him with a cute baby and the all-important ‘Aww’ factor. We all heard Lucie sing and she’s an undoubtedly talented girl. She doesn’t need a ’story’ with a voice like that.
So good luck Lucie Jones and thank you X Factor for guaranteeing an hour or so of ‘good telly’ from now till Christmas!
KC
Sportage revisited
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: September 4, 2009
Last post saw ‘er indoors singing the merits to the Mum of the Kia Sportage. Most of what she says I have to agree with, but for those who either know a little about it or want to know a little about it, here are my thoughts:
I had the pleasure of driving the Sportage both last year and the year before. It doesn’t pretend to be a ’special’ car, and its price certainly keeps it well below that of many of its competitors. What theSportage really does offer though, is value. It’s a hell of a car for the price!
This year’s drive was the 2-litre diesel automatic, the 2-wheel drive version. It’s built for a long motorway trek, I swear. Why motorway? I hear you ask… it’s not a particularly fast car. No it isn’t, but those who have driven some of Britains motorways recently must surely agree that opportunities to even threaten to exceed the national speed limit are few and far between, and who needs to exceed them anyway? If you can purr along at seventy, in a quiet environment, cruise control on, music serenading you and your passengers, then why would you want supercar performance?
After our run down to the busiest tourist destination in the UK on the busiest weekend of the year, we sere still able to arrive relaxed, refreshed and non-the-worse for our five hours on the road. Even the guaranteed Launceston bottleneck didn’t spoil the day. Being perched just that little bit higher than you would be in a traditional saloon, it’s much easier to see what’s happening up ahead and therefore things don’t seem so bad. I have to say though, that an automatic gearbox is an absolute Godsend on a day like that.
If I was put on the spot and asked what I particularly liked about the Sportage, I think I’d be a little stuck for words. However, and this must reflect exceptionally well on Kia, if I was asked what I disliked about it, I would be equally speechless. What it does it does really smoothly, inconspicuously, economically and comfortably. It doesn’t turn heads in the car park, but surely that’s good!
N.
Kia Sportage
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: August 31, 2009
TheBabyWebsite has been trying out a Kia Sportage this week and I was asked for my comments.
Last year Nigel wrote about the Sportage but try as I might I find it difficult to think of more than about 2 sentences I can say about any car.
Basically a car gets me from A to B and I don’t really think about the car once I’m in it or to be honest before I get in it either.
Yes I notice funky-looking cute cars and so The VW Beetle always ticks the right boxes for me. I used to have a bright yellow Ford Ka and it’s my favourite out of all the cars I’ve ever owned. Mr. C used to have an Audi A6 which granted was dead smart, very sleek and well comfy. To Mr. C’s chagrin, we had to sell the Audi to start the company though and so now have an extremely economical Skoda Fabia which ‘does the job’ as well as any and better than most!
Back to the Kia Sportage anyway. The one we have parked outside right now is a bronzey-colour and looks just fine to me. (How cliched is that – a woman commenting on a car and referring to the colour first!) It’s a nice, comfy biggish car with plenty of room for gangly teenagers in the back and a pushchair/luggage or whatever in the boot. I’ve been reliably informed that it was lovely to drive (again this is not something I ever notice) but I can honestly say that it’s a great car to be a passenger in. Neither I nor the kids felt sick once on our drive to Cornwall which is a plus-point when it comes to any car.
It’s definitely a car I’d consider buying although I’d feel a tad environmentally-unfriendly just driving about in it on my own. As a family car though it’s versatile, comfortable and not a bad price either!
Kathryn Crawford 2009
Premier Inn – Our First Choice at Gatwick
Posted by: thebabywebsite on: August 14, 2009
That lovely time of the year, when we set off for our annual summer holiday, is one of the most exciting times in our calendar. I don’t subscribe to the view that holidays are stressful. After many months in TheBabyWebsite offices I can switch off from the moment we close our front door.
However, when you’ve got an early flight to catch, it can be a bit nerve-racking doing battle with the UK’s motorways, knowing that one hold-up can jeopardise your chance of getting the flight, so the obvious answer is the ‘overnighter’!
We’ve done them loads of times; get to the airport the evening before, get the car safely stowed for its fortnight of rest and corrosion, unwind over a beer or two, and generally get as well into the holiday spirit as you can before actually flying to wherever you’re going. We’ve done expensive, where the G&T costs as much as a three course meal just down the road, and we’ve done cheap, where you get hot and cold running water….. (down the walls!). Both served a purpose, but on a couple of occasions now, we’ve used Premier Inn’s facilities at Gatwick.
It’s an absolute breeze! Drive into their car park, check in, put hanging ticket inside car window and that’s it! Nothing more. The car park was actually at the hotel, so there was no need to move it once we had arrived. They’ve a really nice bar area for the aforementioned refreshment, a restaurant, where we were served a most hearty!!! portion of Steak Pie and an air conditioning unit that brought icicles to the end of my eyelashes. Our waiter was most accommodating though, and he kindly turned the Arctic chill off for a while. Once Mrs C had regained her ‘boiling’ mode again we retired for the obligatory night-cap. Our room was perfect: roomy, air conditioned, comfortable, quiet. Everything you’d want and expect from a good hotel, but the prices are absolutely amazing! We have nothing but praise for the staff who were all, without exception, pleasant, helpful and friendly. Each room can accommodate Mum, Dad and two kids, but they also have interconnecting rooms available for even larger tribes.
Everything is so convenient. You can either walk the short distance across to the North Terminal or you can take one of the frequent shuttle buses to either terminal. The following morning saw us into the South Terminal, doing battle with the holiday hordes in ample time to rest and relax again in departures. Mrs Duty Free advised us that we’d won a mega-sized family pack of Chocolate Eclairs when we handed in one of those “You Have Won” bits of paper we found. What a pain, we had to stuff a few of these down to ensure we weren’t contravening the cabin baggage allowances. Mind you, looking at the size of the cases that some other passengers were dragging around, I think they were taking additional family members in luggage instead of on seats, so we had nothing to worry about!
We do this ‘enjoying ourselves’ big-style when we go on holiday and can’t understand what causes all the fights, ill feeling, divorce, assault, murder that we read about in the popular press. Even when we arrived back tired, weary and ready to sleep, we popped back over to the hotel to pick up the car, and even then, it was a breath of fresh air. No wonder Lenny goes there! Everything was so well organised and the staff were so pleasant that we were reluctant to leave. However, duty had to be done and we set off ready to prepare for next year.
N.
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