Happy 2013 everyone, sorry I have taken a while to get out my typing fingers. We’ve just about settled back into Canadian life after a wonderful trip home which included, in no particular order, lovely friends and family, Waitrose, a panto, a trip on a steam strain, M&S, a meeting with Santa, matching onesies, wine, vast quantities of cheese, glow in the dark oats for Rudolph, over excited children, amazing presents, a few lie ins (yay), an Olympic legend (Mo Farrah – double yey), a million calories and a partridge in a pear tree (well, perhaps not that last one). We had a really magical Christmas and just wish we could have spent more time catching up with everybody. The only disappointment of the whole trip was the underwhelming Downton Abbey Christmas special, we broke with years of tradition to watch it and therefore missed out on two hours of valuable charade playing/cheese eating/dodgy Christmas booze drinking time, shame on you Mr Fellowes.
Since I’ve been back I’ve managed to sneak in a bit of skiing and whilst it was difficult to wrench myself away from home again I had a real “wow I actually live here” moment when I was whizzing (kind of) down the beautiful Cypress Mountain. This was perhaps only slightly tarnished by then returning home to a blocked sink and a load of washing, not quite the hot tub and Vin Chaud Apres Ski of a trip to the alps.
The other day I had a rare twenty minutes to myself. With Casper at pre-school and Theo snoozing in the pushchair I whiled away the time perusing the perfume department of the local pharmacy. Feeling I ought to try something a bit Canadian I plumped for a liberal spritz of Eau de Celine Dion, surely a big seller in these parts. What a mistake, it was musty, old fashioned and gave me an instant headache (I suppose I should have predicted that). I tried to rectify the situation with a big squirt of ‘Intimately Beckham’ (well who wouldn’t?) but unfortunately they didn’t exactly compliment one another and I left smelling as though I’d had a fight in Katie Price’s boudoir, and I tell you what, that Celine Dion is a right lingerer.
Whilst not quite managing to smell like an all Canadian mum I managed to look like one for the briefest of moments when I took the boys ice skating. My friend Miles gallantly helped Casper shuffle round the ice like Bambi with a child-sized Zimmer frame whilst I strapped on my skates and pushed Theo, still sitting in his pushchair, round a few laps of the rink. Casper improved on last year’s jelly-legged attempt and was urging poor Miles to go faster, I was gliding round feeling like Jayne Torvill and all was going well. Unfortunately though the illusion of the Vancouver-mum who gets their children skiing, skating and generally doing all things healthy and cold as soon as they are able to walk was shattered when Casper declared in an accent that would make a Radio 4 announcer proud that the ice was ‘just too slippy’ and decided he preferred the rubber matting near the vending machine. Oh well better luck next time.
Titchy Jo 