The Blenheim Races

Run! Daddy, Run!

I'm running, I'm running.

More run? Maybe just take my coat off. Run run run...

...and off you fall...

...maybe just take your coat off.

More run, daddy, more run... Daddy? More run?

Oy gevalt.

...and off you fall...

...maybe just sit down for a moment...

Yay! We won...

...More run? Daddy? Maybe I'll just lie down for a moment.


Can I rest the internal monologue now?


So, we went for a drive today, to Blenheim, because spring had arrived, no question, and the crocuses in our garden and the snowdrops provoked greedy thoughts of acres of bulbs and lawns and sunshine. It was heavenly, for the backdrop, which was fine, of course, but everybody knows that already, and because Milo's agency was entire: he walked through the parterres (he wasn't supposed to walk through the parterres), and played peep-o around an agéd tree, and did his own thing, and did things with us, and it wasn't our carting around a more-or-less willing baby but a boy running and exploring and unable to catch a pheasant because, well - have you ever seen Rocky? - and laughing. If this is what spring is like, I'll take some more.

You wouldn't have thought this was Kentish Town

Oh. My. God. A honking great goose.

A very sunny winter morning

We've put two chairs by a window to create an effective window seat in the style of neo-classical daybed. It permits previously unimaginable observation of the trains "hello, t-ain", "good-bye, t'ain", "good-bye, e'body". "More t'ain?", "More, big, t'ain?".

Skype has been around for sooo long, why do I still feel that we're living like the Jetsons every time we use it? Here, Milo gives a hole-punch to his grandparents.

The first snowman