If the 'Shoo' fits

Dylan has always been fond of animals—it’s something we’ve encouraged since he was born. A few weeks ago, we were walking home from the railway path and we saw a dog with its owner. I take Dylan over to say ‘hello’ but, instead, he says ‘Shoo!’ This is what I hear. ‘Shoo dog!’ Over the next few days and weeks this same message is shared with the cats and birds that visit our garden, the fish at the aquarium and the horses at Horseworld. We blame his grandmother.

 
I’ve finished my diploma. Towards the end the workload was intense and I even spent a few days gaining work experience with the lovely guys at efex Ltd creative design agency near Basingstoke. The results are due early in the New Year but I must say a big thank you to Holly’s mum for her support with Dylan in the run up to the exam—I don’t know how I would have coped otherwise.
 
In the week before my exam, I made roasted pheasant with apples and cider (Nigel Slater’s Tender vol. II), served it with a creamy fennel bake (Jamie’s Great Britain); and honey glazed partridge with bashed neeps and cabbage (Gordon Ramsey’s Healthy Appetite). I also made walnut and apricot slices (Green & Black’s Ultimate Chocolate recipes – the new collection), which everyone seemed to like more than me.  Last week we had roasted Spatchcock Poussin, which was beautiful, and I’ve made several bottles of Irish Whisky Cream, which probably won’t last until Christmas.
 
Since the diploma, I’ve tidied up the garden; given blood for the first time; helped out with Christmas in Downend; replaced all the light fittings in the hall, stairs and landing; and I’m currently decorating the master bedroom. This weekend I shall be representing the Friends of Page Park as an elf in the Christmas on the Hill parade.
 
I didn’t win the InkTears flash fiction competition but I haven’t given up. Not long ago I was interviewed about my writing and you can read the interview here. And I’m finally ready for another trip to the recording studio—I shall be recording more of my songs in January 2013.

Dylan’s doing really well at the moment. He’s eating and sleeping better than he normally does, and, thanks to his weekly visits to Tumble Tots, he’s always climbing and jumping. Before he goes to bed, he helps me to read ‘Maisy’s Bath Time and Maisy’s Bus’ – he recognises words like ‘hooray’, ‘brmm-brmm’, ‘ding-dong,’ ‘splash splash’, and all the numbers. Potty training has been mostly successful although he’s lost interest a little and now says ‘no’ every time we ask him if he needs the toilet (Holly gives him a choice: ‘toilet or potty?’ which works quite well). Last week he had an accident while sitting in his high chair—it ran off the chair an into the canvas basket where we keep Dylan’s thirty or so bibs. These days the washing machine is always on.
 
Between rain showers, I take Dylan on a rare trip to the park. He plays on the swings and chases the other children, splashing through puddles in his Wellingtons. He’s always been a sociable little boy. He climbs up the steps of the climbing frame and a young girl, slightly older than Dylan, is blocking his path. ‘Move over and let the boy past,’ says her father but there’s no need, Dylan has it covered.

‘Shoo!’ he says, waving his hands at the girl. ‘Shoo!’ He’s such a charmer.

Little Accidents

We’ve been in Norfolk for a week, staying at my family’s bungalow on the coast. The plan was to potty train Dylan while we were here because he’s been so good at home recently. For the first couple of days there were a lot of accidents and Holly’s washing around four pairs of trousers a day, but he’s getting the hang of it. On Wednesday, Holly takes Dylan into Stalham so I can do some studying. She takes a change of clothes, just in case, but Dylan knows the routine and he uses the café toilet. Holly’s feeling pretty happy until she comes home and sees my trousers hanging out to dry in the late afternoon sun. They’re sodden.

She came home from hospital on the Thursday night, after four days of treatment. It was a challenging time for all of us but especially Dylan. He’d spent the weekend with his aunt while we were at the wedding; went to nursery on the Monday when Holly was admitted; went straight from nursery to his grandma’s for a couple of nights and visited his mum in a strange place full of scary people. When he eventually returned home, his daddy disappeared at bath and bedtimes because they clashed with visiting hours. He wasn’t reunited with Holly until Thursday night and this was when he finally went to pieces. He lost his appetite, refused to clean his teeth and didn't want to go to bed. He started coming into our room, in tears, about every hour during the night, worried that his mum might have left him again. Holly was signed off for a week and it took Dylan the same length of time to recover.

 

My diploma isn't going well. I need to provide three pieces of evidence to demonstrate each of eighteen competencies and I don’t think I can do it. My problem is that the diploma is aimed at people working in internal communication roles but I’m unemployed and I’ve never worked in an internal communications role. Life would be simpler if I had my old work laptop but I don’t and, without it, I’m in trouble. I need more examples, which means one thing: work experience. I’ve emailed the local councils and The Evening Post but it turns out that their communications departments are too busy and understaffed to reply to emails from people offering to work for free. It looks like it’s not going to be a question of passing or failing the diploma—at the moment, I can’t complete enough of the evidence file to stand a chance.

The Wednesday before we go to Norfolk was a good day for Dylan. His granddad and nanny took him to Bristol Zoo and, while the animals failed to capture his imagination, the dinosaur display was his idea of heaven. They bought him a box set of dinosaurs and it’s all he would talk about. I’ve added palaeontologist to his list of prospective careers.

The Friday before we go away was a good day for me. The upstairs windows were replaced, I learned that I'd been shortlisted for the InkTears Flash Fiction competition and one of my friends from the Bath Company of Writers, who happens to be an editor (as well as a prize-winning poet), has kindly agreed to arrange some work experience for me. It may or may not be enough, but I have hope again, which is a great way to start a holiday.

While Bristol sinks once more beneath the rain, Norfolk is a bucket full of sunshine. The Wednesday Holly takes Dylan into Stalham, I stay behind to work on my Diploma. Once I've finished for the day, I head over to the seafront for a ten minute stroll. To the north is Happisburgh, with its iconic, candy-striped lighthouse. To the south is Sea Palling. The tide is in and the waves are bigger towards Happisburgh, so this is the way I walk. About a minute later, I'm standing on the top step of the sea defences when a large wave hits the rocks in front of me, soaking me from head to foot. I would like to say that it was an accident but, rather than heading home, I remain in place through two more, huge waves. I'm drenched. This, for me, has always been what the seaside is all about.

We have a wonderful holiday. It doesn’t matter that I have to study while we’re here because I’m with my family and, together, we fly kites, build sandcastles and watch the seals on Horsey beach. Norfolk holidays have always been about enjoying good food and drink and, while we're there, I roast a shoulder of lamb from Stalham's excellent butchers, bake fresh sea trout from the fish kiosk in Happisburgh and we pick the last of the season’s blackberries in Hickling Nature Reserve. On previous visits to Hickling, I’ve seen swallowtail butterflies and marsh harriers, but the main attractions on this visit are the diggers and tractors. Dylan couldn't be happier. He sleeps well, eats plenty and opens the last of his birthday presents, which we held over for the holiday. Most of all, and like his daddy, he loves the sea. Every opportunity he gets he charges towards the retreating waves, then turns around and runs screaming up the beach as a new wave comes in. I'm pretty sure he's having a good time. And his favourite word while we're away?

"Again."

 

 

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