Family

Ellie’s operation

Ellie gave us a bit of a scare earlier this year.  What started off as just a niggling pain in the chest turned out to be gall stones, which was at times crippling and meant she had to avoid anything even remotely fatty for several months.  She found that change of diet difficult, what with not being able to eat cheese or chocolate.  Still, the operation went very smoothly and she was back on her feet and eating naughty things soon afterwards.  My biggest confession here is that I’m still ever so slightly jealous at how quickly she healed after her operation, compared to me and my hernia (which is mostly fine now, incidentally).

Peter leaving home

This year my littlest brother flew the nest, finding a lovely little church in Uffeculme to go and be a trainee youth worker at.  I went to his induction service, which was a great way to support him as he began his new ministry, and an opportunity to meet (albeit in passing) others like him and also the vicar he’s working with, who seems very nice.  Unfortunately, despite booking a date in with him, we didn’t get to actually visit Peter on-site this year (more on that later), so hopefully we’ll reschedule that for early 2012.  It does leave Mum and Dad’s house somewhat empty though; apparently their food bill has roughly halved now that Peter’s moved out…

Read Peter’s blog.

France holiday

Apart from a weekend in Weymouth, we as a family have never had a holiday until this year.  Ellie and I have been married for 4 years, and that was all we had managed.  This year we took advantage of Ellie’s Dad’s holiday home in France, and had a lovely week with them.  We had a fantastic day on the beach, generally enjoyed chilling and not doing too much, and although it was short it was much appreciated.  The travel was an adventure – driving on the wrong side of the road isn’t actually too hard at all, although the weather on our return journey made the ferry crossing quite uncomfortable (not that Samuel seemed at all bothered by that).

Samuel’s visit to hospital

Not to be left out, Samuel also necessitated a trip to the hospital, following a very high temperature that caused him to have a brief seizure.  That was a huge worry for us at the time, but thankfully it wasn’t anything to worry about in the end.  Apparently these things happen with young children, because their bodies aren’t able to deal with the heat as well.  No lasting damage, I’m pleased to say.

Grandma’s funeral

Ellie’s Grandma sadly passed away this year.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected, as she was very old and increasingly unwell, but it was still something unpleasant we all had to go through.  She had been growing increasingly senile, making conversation difficult, and although we’d managed to persuade her to move out of her bungalow and into a flat where she’d have people to help, she actually only lived there for a matter of weeks due to prolonged visits to various hospitals.  It was one thing after another, what with falls, blood pressure, infections, and so on.  In the end she had a fall while in hospital that led to a bleed on the brain which, in addition to everything else she was going through, was just too much.  Thankfully we happened to be visiting Ellie’s Mum at the time, so we were on hand to support her through it.  A useful bit of planning on God’s part, methinks.

Cars

Tow bar fitted to the Zafira

We have a trailer tent sitting in the garage.  We were given it by Ellie’s Dad, but we have yet to actually take it anywhere.  We drove it back from Gloucester, attached to our Ford Escort, but since then it’s just sat there.  So to ensure that we would be able to take it out when the opportunity finally presented itself, we got a tow bar fitted to our Zafira with 2 power points just in case.  It may not usually be recommended, but I reckon with judicious driving and selection of gears it should be easily possible to tow a trailer tent with a 1.6 litre engine!

Ellie’s driving test

I’m very pleased to report that Ellie is now on the road, having passed her test in November.  It was only her second attempt, and she had to take the test in our car because her instructor had double-booked himself, and it was in Dorchester rather than where she had been learning, so all things considered I think that’s pretty good going!  It’s already proved to be very useful, with Ellie frequently dropping me off at work and having the car during the day so she can do shopping, take Samuel into town, etc.  And of course long journeys can now be shared out between us, which was very much appreciated at Christmas time!

Zafira written off

Unfortunately, exactly a month after passing her test, Ellie had a bit of an accident.  Nothing major, which was a relief, especially given the sort of accidents new drivers tend to have, but sadly it was enough to make the Zafira a complete loss.  It was just a collision with a parked car, but it took out the steering rack.  Our insurance company was very good though, and helped us through the process very well.

Our new Focus Estate

So having lost the Zafira, we went looking for a new car.  We hired a little Corsa for a weekend (which was surprisingly affordable, courtesy of Enterprise) and went touring the local area for potential cars.  I was originally aiming for a Ford Focus hatchback, which would be a lot smaller than the Zafira but about the same as our Escort, so should be manageable.  Not ideal, but it would do.  The first Focus we saw turned out not even to have a valid MOT, so I refused to take it out for a test drive.  It would have needed a lot of work doing on it anyway.  The second, while in much better condition, still didn’t feel right.  In the end though we found a Focus Estate that was just right, and it’s really proved its worth over Christmas.  It’s got a slightly bigger engine at 1.8 litres, making it a bit more powerful, and the gearing is taller too making it much more comfortable on the motorway.  And it came with a tow bar, so we’ll still be able to take the trailer tent out when that opportunity comes round…

Church

Creating the Facebook page

For those who don’t know, I’m on the PCC at church.  That’s basically the committee that makes the decisions regarding the running of the church, working on behalf of the whole congregation and beyond.  Those who know me will know that I’m not a sit-quietly-and-wait-for-someone-else-to-do-it person.  I saw a need for us to be on Facebook, so I proposed it, explained a few times what Facebook was, and was finally given the go-ahead to set it up.  It’s now live, and although it’s not a hive of activity, at least it’s there and being used, which is a step in the right direction!

Visit the Facebook page for St Peter & St Paul’s.

Designing a new church logo

I’m also on the Outreach Focus Group, which is like a sub-committee of the PCC in charge of outreach.  While I was thinking about outreach and how we communicate with the outside world I got to thinking about creating a logo for the church to use.  So I created a potential design, got very positive feedback, presented it to the PCC, got even more positive feedback, and was then told to put it on hold until the new vicar arrived.  Which was frustrating.  I can see where they’re coming from though, and hopefully this year we’ll be able to move forward on it.

Our new vicar

When we first moved to this area and started going to St Peter & St Paul’s there were 2 full-time clergy and a curate, plus a whole load of retired clergy itching to get involved.  Now, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with us, but not long after that we lost Dave to another church, and a bit later Liz took early retirement, leaving just the curate, who should have been busy training really and not running a church.  Despite being promised lots of support from the diocese, and the promise of being fast-tracked through the process, we still had to wait a good 18 months before David started.  It was a tough time for the church, and a lot of people had to work a lot harder to fill in the gaps and keep things running, but clearly God was saving us for just the right person.  I’m pleased to say that I like David a lot, and I think he’s just what our church needs.  He has already made a big impact, already challenged people’s expectations, already begun giving us focus and direction.  And we’ve already ensured he’s got the right impression of us – since he’s arrived we’ve had 5 fancy dress outings, the first of which was on his first Sunday and I dressed up as Cruella Deville…

Youth Praise talk

I was asked to do the talk at the December Youth Praise service.  I’ve done them before, but this turned out to be the talk that made me most nervous.  There were a number of factors at play: it was the first sermon our new vicar would hear me preach, and my parents were visiting that weekend so they’d be there too.  Oh, and I ripped a page out of my Bible.  Now, before you write me off as a heretic, I ought to explain the context (and back myself up by stating that I’d checked with the vicar that he was okay with it).  The running theme of the talk was that of “one continuous story”, bringing in the fact that although Jesus was born of Mary he actually existed long before then, and was present at creation.  And although the words stop being printed at the end of the book of Revelation the story itself continues and includes all of us today.  So to make the point, and to reinforce the idea that the Old Testament and the New Testament are not two separate stories, I ripped out the divider page between Malachi and Matthew, making it literally one continuous story.  Now, obviously I don’t condone people ripping pages out of Bibles as a general rule, but it got the point across, and I had some very positive feedback afterwards, which was encouraging.  There was more to the talk than just that, but that was the bit that required the most thought and prayer!!

Fancy dress

Pyjamas

To raise money for Children in Need this year our Youth Praise service at church decided to come in pyjamas.  I have to admit I’ve never worn pyjamas in church before.  It would have been cold had it not been for the addition of a dressing gown and slippers.

No pictures I’m afraid.

Cruella Deville

We don’t tend to actively encourage Halloween in church circles.  I personally find it a tough concept, mainly because the whole event trivialises something that is very real and dangerous, which can be a very risky thing to do.  But nor do we like to appear to be sticks in the mud, so we arranged for a Halloween-alternative party for our young people to come to, and it had been decided it would be fancy dress.  After much work (mainly by Ellie), I turned up to the party as Cruella Deville from 101 Dalmations, accompanied by Ellie as a dalmation, and I was decidedly the most scary person at the party.  I wore a long black dress, black bra (with socks for padding), tights, knee-high boots, a black and white wig, black gloves, plus makeup and accessories.  And, I have to confess, it was surprisingly good fun!

Butler

A little more conventional this time; Ellie and I appeared as a maid and a butler (respectively) at the church youth group’s Christmas meal.  We waited on them the whole evening, staying in character the whole time, which I think unnerved a couple of people!  It was tiring work, especially on the feet…

Root of Jesse

At the December Youth Praise service we were encouraged to come in fancy dress again, this time as something from the Old Testament.  I was doing the talk, so I didn’t want to be wearing anything too distracting, so I just brought a carrot.  It’s a root vegetable.  Root of Jesse.  Geddit?

No picture available for this costume I’m afraid.

Wolverine

I’ve been Wolverine before, at Anne-Marie’s birthday party a few years ago, but I brought it back out again this year (something I prefer not to do, I don’t like to repeat myself) for a special occasion.  The work Christmas party this year was themed as “A Night at the Oscars”, and we were all encouraged to come as a film character or actor.  A lot of people opted for the easy option, which was to come in a fancy ball gown as if they were walking down the red carpet, but thankfully there were also plenty in fancy dress.  I was Wolverine from X-Men, in a tux.  My claws were made from cardboard, coloured with a silver pen, held in place by untwisted paperclips taped to the back of my hand and hidden by fingerless gloves.  It worked very well, and I got a few comments from people at the party.  The muttonchops also went down a treat.  The most surprising comment though wasn’t about any of that – “is that your real hair?”  Yes, it was my own hair, just gelled.  I’m still not sure whether to take it as a compliment or not.

A photo does exist, but it’s not mine and it’s on Facebook.

Christmas Elf

Another Christmas party, this time for the younger children of the church.  In absence of Father Christmas himself, I manned the grotto as an elf, wearing bright red trousers, green t-shirt, red waistcoat, green hat, and proper elf ears.  And yes, I was in character too, making sure I was smiling and jolly the whole time, which was incredibly hard work.  I gave presents to all the children, did a little dance (for which I still need to exact my revenge on Wendi…), and afterwards tried to convince the kids that it wasn’t me and that it must have been a real elf.  I don’t think they believed me.

Again, no pictures that I’m aware of.

White Rabbit

This was my second-favourite costume this year, for our New Year’s party.  It was a group of friends from church, all of us with children, so we started at 5pm, had some dinner, played some games, and then bundled all the kids upstairs and told them to go to sleep while the rest of us stayed up.  That plan sort of worked, eventually.  Anyway, it was fancy dress but with no particular theme, so we decided to go as characters from Alice in Wonderland, which is a theme we’ve somehow not covered before.  Ellie went as the Mad Hatter, I went as the White Rabbit, and Samuel was the Dormouse.  Ellie made the most enormous hat, and Samuel looked very cute with his mouse ears and teapot.  My triumph was the teeth I made from a plastic pot cut to shape, which simply slotted between my gums and upper lip and, with a little effort, still allowed me to speak!  Obviously I still had to take them out to eat and drink, but it was good fun nonetheless.

Music

Rediscovering the cello

Earlier this year I had a free evening, and Ellie was out, so I decided to dig my cello out.  It had been buried in the corner of our hall since we’d moved in, and hadn’t been played in years.  I hadn’t even checked that it had survived the house move.  So it was with some apprehension that I opened the case, but found to my surprise and delight that not only was it all still in one piece and in working order but that it was still perfectly in tune!  Not only that but I could still remember how to play the thing.  Admittedly not to the same level as when I was on top form, back in my final year at school, but I was still able to play The Swan without any difficulty, which is somewhere in the grade 6-7 range I think.

Album update

Unfortunately this year has seen little in the way of progress on my album.  I did some more editing, and regrettably decided that one of the tracks that had been causing me difficulty was actually too fast and needed to be re-recorded at a slightly slower tempo.  I also did some minor tweaks to some of the levels, and re-recorded a couple of the guitar bits to make use of the effects pedal I got for Christmas last year.  But there is still a fair amount of work yet to do, what with re-recording bits and adding more depth in a few places.

Worship at camp

Camp was by far the biggest musical input of this year, as I was leading the music and worship for the whole week, which is quite normal for camp but still a lot of effort in a condensed period of time.  I found it quite hard work this year though, partly because I wasn’t quite in the right place, spiritually, to lead as effectively as in previous years (in my opinion).  It was also harder because I didn’t have my core group of musicians that I had got used to – Sarah had double booked herself so couldn’t make it, and Greg was needed on another camp and the dates clashed.  The musicians I actually worked with were brilliant, but it was just a lot harder work having a different group of people each evening and not having an opportunity to gel as a band.  Still, it was good fun overall and I’m looking forward to next year!

That’s a quick summary of 2011.  Well, not “quick”, but summarised nonetheless.  Bring on 2012!

At the bottom of the garden

Amber was the sort of person who truly believed there was a perfectly sensible answer to anything that appeared in the least bit supernatural.  She didn’t believe in monsters, or elves, or ghosts, or any of the fairytales she had been told when she was growing up.  She instructed her parents to stop telling her bedtime stories, informing them in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice that she was “too old for silliness”.

In truth, she rejected the tales because she was afraid one day one of them might be true.

And now it was her birthday, her coming-of-age.  And she hadn’t slept a wink all night.

*****

The day before had been fraught with tension, mainly her mother’s fault, fussing around making preparations for the party.  She was trying to be organised, but to everyone else it just looked like panic.

“You’re not sweeping the floor properly, Amber,” she called from the other side of the room, “I can see streaks in the woodwork where you’ve missed bits.”

“Well then,” Amber replied, almost to herself, “maybe you should get someone to sweep the floor who actually cares if it’s clean or not.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, my girl,” her mother retorted, waving her duster menacingly in a nondescript direction, “this floor needs to be spotless for the party, and you’re old enough to know how to sweep properly.”

“I never even said I wanted a party,” Amber complained.

“That’s not the point, dear,” her mother replied, pulling a dining room chair into the sitting room to be able to reach the corners of the ceiling, “you’ve reached an important age and everyone wants to celebrate with you.  They’re expecting a party.  And that means we have to give one.  And that means you have to be here, so people can wish you well.”

“But what if I don’t want to be here?  What if I just want some time to myself?”

“Don’t start that again, child,” mother said sternly, “you’re old enough now that you should respect other people’s wishes before your own.”

“Then maybe I’m old enough to go out and have my own fun, to be where I want to be, to see what’s at the other end of the garden…”

“You are NOT permitted to go to the end of the garden,” snapped her mother from on top of the chair, “you know full well your father and I have declared that to be off-limits.

“Fine,” Amber harrumphed, “I’ll just go to my room then.”

And off she stomped.  Her mother called after her, shouting about Amber’s responsibilities and her own old age and frailty and how if she fell off the chair doing the dusting it would be all her fault.  Mother wasn’t frail at all, as Amber knew all too well, but she had used that excuse for as long as Amber could remember.

From the semi-solitude of her own room, with the muffled thumping of her mother reverberating through the floorboards, Amber silently screamed at everyone who had ever told her what to do.  All her life she had lived behind the bars of someone else’s concerns, living by rules that someone else had thought up, constrained by invisible chains that someone else had crafted.  She was so close, now, to her first taste of freedom, just one day away from being able to make some decisions for herself, and that just made it seem even further away.

Amber looked longingly out of the window.  The end of the garden had always been a mystery.  She knew there must be something beyond the hedge, and had often asked about it, but her father had always forbidden any talk of it, let alone entertained the idea of letting her go there.  She was certain there was a secret he refused to tell.  Yet, somehow, it was more than that.  There were times when Amber thought for a moment that his face contained a fleeting trace of fear at the thought of her venturing beyond the ‘safe’ part of the garden.  “When you’re older”, they had said.  Well, tomorrow she would be older.  And she knew exactly what she’d be doing.

It was then that the thought crossed her mind.  If it’s only tomorrow, what’s to stop me going today and not telling anyone until tomorrow?  No one would know.  And, after all, what difference does a day make anyway?  Why should she be forbidden today but allowed tomorrow?

Her mind made up, she climbed out of the window (which wasn’t easy, and she’d only managed it once before, and ended up with all sorts of bruises as a consequence), brushed herself down, and set off across the garden.  She could still hear her mother, just about, complaining to herself as she tidied the kitchen, occasionally shouting some snide remark in the direction of Amber’s now empty bedroom.

She passed the rose bush where last spring she had ripped a brand new dress while she’d been playing.  She rounded the pond where she used to talk to the frogs.  She paused briefly under the sycamore tree where she and her best friend Willow had agreed to reveal to each other who they fancied and realised that they were both in love with the same person (they were only mere infants at the time, and their mutual hatred eventually lapsed after a few days).

Finally, she reached it.  The point beyond which she was not allowed.  Her heart thumped in anticipation and, she realised, fear.  That the end of the garden was forbidden was something that had always been part of her life, like a defining landmark.  It had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember.  And now she was about to break that rule, to deliberately rebel against a kingpin in her upbringing.  She loved her parents, she was sure of that, and the thought of disobeying them so blatantly made her stomach churn slightly.  But, her mind had been made up.  She wouldn’t forgive herself if she backed out now.  Not when she’d come this far.

The hedge was thick and grey, and cast a cold dark shadow across the garden.  She waited by it for a moment, collecting herself.  Something was behind it, she could sense it, she knew it.  There was nothing to be afraid of, no monsters, no terrible beasts from folklore.  Amber closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the woody smell of the hedge.  And then she calmly peered around the hedge.

There was a wall.  A tall wall reaching far into the sky.  She wondered how she had never seen it before.  Set in it were several enormous windows, each reflecting vast tracts of mottled sky.  And in front of her, staring back at her with an almost identical look of surprise, was a human.

“A fairy!” cried the gargantuan creature, in a voice as loud as thunder.  It stood up to its full height and pointed an enormous finger at Amber, a look on its face an amalgamation of surprise and excitement bordering on psychotic.

Amber’s heart might as well have stopped dead.  The world around her turned icy cold, black and indistinct, save for the impossible fairytale creature that loomed before her, burning its effigy into her tiny fairy eyes.

The monster lunged forward, oversized and plumpish hand opened wide, ready to grab, to catch, to kill.  Only at the last possible moment did Amber’s reflexes finally come to her aid, and with a deft and well-practiced flutter of wings she managed to slip just out of reach before the fat fingers closed around where she had been.  The girl-giant noticed her error, fixed her lustful eyes on the fairy once more and, with blood-red tongue clamped determinedly between her lips, she made another attempt.

This time Amber saw it coming and despite a head full of impossible thoughts and almost overwhelmed with fear she mumbled a hasty disappearing spell and vanished from sight.  It would only last a matter of moments, but long enough for her to flit back behind the hedge and head back into her garden.  The monster raged behind her, shouting words that Amber didn’t even stop to listen to, feet pounding heavily on the grass as it followed.

*****

“Before everyone arrives, we’ve got… well, it’s not a present, exactly,” her father said, “although it is a gift, of sorts.”

It was the morning of her birthday.  Her mother had been up all night making the final preparations, baking, cleaning, hanging decorations.  And she’d done it alone, because Amber had refused to help; for reasons her mother resigned herself never to understand, Amber didn’t even join them for dinner that evening, and stayed in her room.  Only this morning had she appeared, pale and quiet and clearly having not had much sleep.  Her mother put it down to the excitement and anticipation of the party.

Amber still felt cold, but didn’t shiver.  Her head felt fluffy inside.

“Now that you’re old enough,” her father continued, “well, your mother and I have talked it over, and we think it’s time we shared a truth with you.  We know you’ve always been interested in what’s at the other end of the garden, and we’ve deliberately kept it from you.”

Amber’s right hand felt numb.

“The thing is,” her mother chimed in, “some of the stories we told you when you were younger… well, they were actually based in truth, some of them.”

“We never told you everything before,” her father picked up, “because we didn’t want to scare you.  We just knew we had to keep you away from the end of the garden, for your own safety.  And we want you to know that we did that because we love you, and always have, and always will.”

Amber felt a strange sensation in her big toes, somewhere between frostbite and pins and needles.  And her wings tingled too.

“You see,” her father fumbled with his jacket as he tried to find the right words in the right order, “what we’re trying to say is that… well, humans do actually exist.”

There was a pause.  Amber’s expression didn’t change.

“You remember the stories about the humans, don’t you dear?” asked her mother.

“There is actually substantial evidence,” her father said, “that there are humans living at the end of the garden.  We’ve never seen them, I might add, but all the signs are there.  Which is why we always told you never to go there.”

Amber’s blinked a few times.  Her vision was blurring.

“And,” said her mother, quietly, “we all know what happens to fairies if a human looks at you.”

“Only takes a few hours, they say,” mused her father, “a day at most.  Not a nice way to die.  But you mustn’t be afraid, my dear, just as long as you stay away from the end of the garden.”

Amber would have cried, or said something, or done anything at all.  But she couldn’t.  A moment later her legs gave way.

And the little girl never saw her fairy again.

By Matthew Dawkins
Copyright (C) Matthew Dawkins 2011 

Today was my first proper day out with Samuel.  Without Ellie.  Yes, I was let loose with our 15 month old son, equipped with little more than a changing bag and a packed lunch.  And it was lots of fun!

We first had to call in at Matalan in Yeovil to exchange a shirt that I’d bought on Saturday for one that wasn’t 2 sizes too big (my bad).  Samuel slept in the car on the way there, and pointed out imaginary cows most of the way back.  But finally we arrived at our exciting destination – the East Somerset Steam Railway!  Despite being just outside Shepton Mallet, we’ve never actually been there before, but now Samuel is old enough to appreciate it I decided it would be a good use of a bank holiday.

This weekend happened to be a Thomas the Tank Engine special, so the place was packed.  They had three small steam engines fired up, each with a different face on the front, and one of them was even painted to look like Thomas – and unlike some other attempts I’ve seen, this particular model of engine did actually roughly resemble the Thomas of the books!  This was Samuel’s first encounter with steam engines, so I deliberately took it nice and gently.  He wasn’t too keen on being in the carriage to begin with, but he soon settled in and started pointing at things out of the window.  We shared our compartment with an old couple, who seemed to love having Samuel’s attention.

The track is actually only 2.5 miles long, so the journey there and back only took about half an hour.  But that was ideal for Samuel.  We were sat in the rearmost carriage on the way out, but that meant we were at the front going back, so we could hear all the chuffs and whooshes.  And of course it smelt heavenly.  It was wonderful.  I think Samuel may have enjoyed it too, although I was perfectly happy being excited for both of us.

After the train ride we popped back to the car to pick up our lunch, then went back to the station, saw off the next train (Samuel was by now getting the hang of saying “choo-choo”, which was very cute), and found a picnic bench.  We timed it well, because the train came back into the station just as we finished our lunch, so we waved at it again.  Then we wandered round to the engine shed, where there were various engines and wagons in varying states of repair.  There was also a little tank engine on a short bit of track that members of the public could drive – advertised as a “Driver for a Fiver” experience.  Sadly, having Samuel with me meant I couldn’t take up that offer, although to be honest it was such a small stretch of track it would hardly have been worth it anyway.

And after all that, Samuel was exhausted, so we came home.  As it happens, I’m shattered too.  But it’s been a fun day out, full of new experiences for Samuel, meeting shiny old steam engines.

Flying brings with it an array of emotions, provided you don’t do it so often that it loses its thrill.  First comes the fear.  Will I get to the airport in time?  Will I be able to check in?  Will they take my luggage?  Will they accept my passport?  Have I booked the ticket for the right day?  Have I remembered my ticket?  Have I remembered my passport?  Will they let me through the scanner things?  Will I be strip-searched?  Will they unpack my bags?  Will they find anything that shouldn’t be there?  Have I got my passport?  Will I look innocent enough for the security people to let me through?  Have I got enough money in the correct currency?  Am I at the right terminal?  How long until boarding?  Where is my flight boarding and how far away is it?  Have I got time to get there?  Have I got time to get a cup of tea first?  Have I still got my passport?  Will they announce my flight?  What happens if they announce my flight while I’m in the toilets?  Will they let me on the plane?  Have I still got my passport?

But having got past all of that, having negotiated the airport security, having found the right place and boarded the right plane, with all luggage intact, still in possession of my passport, sitting in my seat, I can finally relax.  This is my seat.  Right by the window, in fact.

Next comes anticipation.  It being a business trip, and with my boss sat next to me, I tried my best to remain professional, calm, blase about the whole thing.  But inside I was still a child, bouncing up and down in my seat.  There’s the inevitable wait as people take their seats and get comfortable, stowing their hand luggage in far-too-small overhead compartments.  There’s the unimpressive and predictable safety announcement, given via audio recording and a thoroughly unenthusiastic stewardess.  But then, sending a new surge of excitement into the atmosphere, the plane begins to move.  Slowly at first, but the engines are quietly roaring into life.  We taxi around the airport, and all the while I’m looking out of the window, trying in vain to see where we might be going, trying to see how far away the runway is, waiting for the main event to start.  Maybe we stop and start a few times as we wait for traffic.  The air conditioning comes on.  I can feel the cats-eyes as we drive over them.

And then, out of the window on the other side of the plane, I see it.  A runway lit with thousands of bright lights, beckoning and enticing like a funfair.  The plane lines itself up.  The excitement builds as we come to a stop, the pilot waiting for clearance from the tower.  I know it’s coming, I know it is.  The anticipation is killing me, and despite my efforts to remain calm I can feel my pulse racing, my breathing quickening, and I’m smiling as I watch out of the window.  And then it happens.  The engines are set to full with a satisfyingly surprising jolt, and I’m pushed back into my seat, the plane accelerating to impossible speeds in a matter of seconds.  Scenery blurs as it speeds by, ever faster, and I wonder for a moment if we’re going to run out of runway.  But then the nose begins to rise, signalling the ascent is imminent.  As the plane lifts its nose I catch myself briefly panicking that the tail will start scraping along the runway, but no, at the last moment the back wheels break free of the ground too, and we’re rising, rising into the air.  The world falls away impossibly, enormous aeroplanes and buildings shrinking as if the view is being zoomed out, cars and people seeming like tiny models, and all too soon the details are lost, and the world below seems more and more like a distant memory.

And then there are the clouds, which defy everything by looking even more beautiful from above.  Carpets of white hang in the air, as if they should be suspended on wires or held up by poles.   But no, they just sit there, seeming so solid, and yet so fragile.  The sun shines off the glistening tops, highlighting hills and valleys, bubbles and silky plains, all made of cloud.  God’s creation, as seen from above.  And it’s glorious.

Oh, and the business trip was good too.  Just not as good as flying.

And it got me to thinking – what titles might I have suggested if I had been in the publishing company’s board meeting when they were deciding to extend the range?  Here are a few possibilities, very few of which would have made it to print.

• That’s not my telephone bill.
• That’s not my tax return form.
• That’s not my computer.
• That’s not my underwear.
• That’s not my cup of tea.
• That’s not my potato.
• That’s not my cardboard cut-out of David Tennant.
• That’s not my religion.
• That’s not my offspring.
• That’s not my fingerprint.
• That’s not my P45.
• That’s not my wife.
• That’s not my English upright Rosewood piano with brass candle-holders.
• That’s not my reflection.
• That’s not my opinion.
• That’s not my hastily drawn sketch of a woman of indeterminate nationality riding bare-back on an Indian elephant over the Himalayan mountains in June.
• That’s not my alphabet.

I could go on.  But I won’t.  What would you add to the list?

So this weekend we made the journey to Essex, the car packed with all sorts of bits and pieces, mostly for the baby, to stay a couple of nights with some dear friends of ours who are still in Colchester.  Saturday was indeed the highlight for me.  We saw Phil and Jenny in the morning, we spent the afternoon in Wivenhoe with Phill and Phil and Anne-Marie and Sarah, and watched Doctor Who in the evening.  That in itself would ordinarily be enough, but in honour of this being our first visit to East Anglia with our baby, and having not seen people in yonks, Anne-Marie decided to make the barbecue one to remember for all time.

The fire was lit about 2pm or so, and once we had all arrived and the fire had settled in Mr Phill started the first round of cooking.  As each round was completed, another load of food was put on the heat.  There were sausages, burgers, buns for aforementioned items, skewers (meaty and veggie), chicken pieces, potato wedges, salad, salmon, Pringles, an assortment of drinks, and more.  A veritable feast.  About half way through I started to feel full and thought I’d probably have to stop eating.  So I had another sausage in a bun.  Then I thought “actually there was quite a lot of bread in that bun, maybe I’ve overdone it”.  So I had another potato wedge or two and polished off my glass of wine.  Then there was a mad dash for the last cheesy garlic mushroom, which Phil and I shared.  By now I had eaten far more than my fill of everything, but my stomach had stopped complaining.  I guessed it had somehow found more space somewhere, like the stomach equivalent of an overflow car park.  So when the bananas with melted chocolate and marshmallows were ready I gladly ate one of those too.

Then we headed off to Phill and Phil’s house to watch Doctor Who.  And eat pudding.  Naturally.  So I had a nice big slice of chocolate brownie, a fairy cake, and a generous slice of chocolate torte.  Once Doctor Who was finished, and feeling rather replete, I decided to get an early night and went off to bed.

The following morning I had breakfast.  I normally have a bowl of cereal and a small glass of orange juice.  And indeed that’s what I had that morning.  Plus a cup of tea.  And a slice of toast.  It wasn’t until I was driving to church that my stomach started complaining.  Never mind, I thought, I’ll just grin and bear it.  So I grinned and bore it.  At lunchtime we went to a pub in Wivenhoe and I ordered a Sunday Roast.  A couple of mouthfuls in, and it all got a little too much for my poor stomach to cope with.  I hardly ate much of that meal at all in the end.

We went back to the girls’ house afterwards to relax a bit before heading home to Somerset, and I had a quick snooze on the sofa.  When I got up to leave, my stomach really wasn’t feeling right.  I thought then that the best, safest option would actually be to impose on our friends just a little longer and stay another night, to get plenty of rest and head back on Monday instead.  Yes, definitely the best option.  So we piled into the car and headed back to Somerset.

Halfway round the M25 we stopped at some services.  I was feeling really tired, so Ellie took Samuel inside to feed him while I slept in the car for a bit.  About an hour later I resurfaced and met Ellie inside.  The greeting was short-lived though, as my wandering in the direction of the toilets turned into a run.  Yes, dear listeners (and feel free to stop reading at this point if you’re so inclined), I was sick.  And, as is often the case, I actually felt better for it.  As Shrek so eloquently described it, “better out than in, I always say”.

The rest of the journey back was long and tiring.  It was undoubtedly God’s strength keeping me going, because I wasn’t really in any fit state to be driving.  I guess my determination was a combination of male pride and family pride.  As a man, I didn’t want to let my ailments beat me.  As a husband and father, I felt it my duty and responsibility to get my family home.  The result was an exhausting drive and a chronically aching back.  I slept well that night, thanks to some painkillers, but I’m still a little weak, I’m not really able to eat much, and my back is still in some discomfort.

The cause of the illness, as far as we can work out, was an excessive intake of meat, which my stomach apparently didn’t know what to do with.  Ah well, that’ll teach me.

As it happens, my Dad did a similar now-and-then comparison on his vintage bus blog, showing a photo of him as a lad in the driver’s seat of an old bus, and a more recent photo of him in the same position in a similar bus.  Actually, his blog is worth a read, in a geeky sort of way.  If you like old buses.  Or reading about my Dad.

One of the great things about being married is that you also gain a whole new family, and whereas traditionally the in-laws are meant to be evil incarnate I’m pleased to say that I love my additional parents very much.  My father-in-law is one of those sort of people who has everything.  If you need a particular garden tool, he’ll have three.  If you need to rig up some lighting for an amateur drama stage, he’ll have more than enough cabling just lying around waiting to be used.  If it’s raining and you didn’t bring an umbrella, he has nine spares.  It does of course mean that going to visit is a battle of wills – if you even hint at not having something, it’ll have been smuggled into your boot before you’ve left.

And then he offered us a trailer tent.

Now, Ellie and I have both had a fair amount of experience camping, in one form or another, and we would both quite happily go on a camping holiday.  I used to go on plenty of family camping holidays when I was growing up, and Ellie has done even more extreme camping in North Wales and Peru.  But with a child on the way, camping was pretty much relegated as something we might go back to in a few years’ time.  But then we were offered a trailer tent, and it was a temptation we just couldn’t pass up.

The first step was getting the car ready.  I spent many hours researching tow bars, weighing up the options and trying to find places nearby that could help.  In the end we went with a company called TopFit, which is based in Gloucester but which mainly operates out of the back of a fleet of vans – rather than you driving your car to their garage, they bring their van to you and work on the car at your home instead.  It was a good price, and the work was done quickly and competently, and our Ford Escort is now equipped with a tow bar with twin electrics.

Then on Saturday we drove up to Gloucester to visit family and pick up the trailer tent.  I had been looking forward to this for some time, actually, rehearsing the entire journey in my head time after time.  First of all we had to get the trailer tent out of Dad’s garage and put it back on its wheels – it has a nifty set of caster wheels that slot onto the side so you can tip it up and store it more efficiently.  Then we had to check that everything was inside that needed to be.  This is where we had to vet everything that Dad picked up, in case he tried to palm off various bits and pieces that we didn’t need but he wanted to get rid of.  We successfully managed to avoid taking ownership of two tables and a wok, but I’m sure once we put it all up we’ll find all sorts of stuff that had been sneaked in without us knowing.

As for the number plate, we sort of bodged that one on this occasion.  The previous number plate had been done with sticky letters, rather than a ‘real’ number plate, so we took those off (with some acid chemical type thing that just happened to be in the garage) and created new letters and numbers with some electrical tape.  It wasn’t too bad actually – a lot better than some number plates you see on the road sometimes.  We’ll get it done properly eventually, but for the sake of the journey home I figured we could get away with it, even it wasn’t using the ‘official’ number plate font.

So then we hooked it up to the car, tested the lights, gave everything one more check, and pulled away.  I was expecting the weight to be a big issue, given that an Escort isn’t a particular big car, but the 1.8 litre engine seemed to cope with it just fine, even pulling away on a slight incline.  In fact, the drive home was mostly uneventful, as if the trailer tent wasn’t there at all.  I did drive more slowly than usual, taking corners carefully and leaving more than the usual amount of stopping space in front.  But the little Escort coped with it all just fine, helped no doubt by the fact that the trailer is actually braked (pressure on the towing bar of the trailer activates its own brakes, which is very clever and seemed to work very well).  I did notice the extra weight going up some of the steeper hills through Somerset, but otherwise it all went swimmingly.

I even set myself a little challenge when we pulled in at a service station on the M5 between Gloucester and Bristol, by pulling into a space that required me to reverse back out.  I did leave enough space at the front so that I could pull out forwards if it all went horribly wrong (the car park was mostly empty), but in the end it was all fine.  I was very pleased that I very naturally got my head around which way to turn to get the trailer to go where I wanted it, and although I would still need plenty of practice to have complete control of it, it was incredibly satisfying to know that I had already mastered the basic principle of it.  Unlike James May.

The biggest challenge was actually when we got back home.  It was dark and raining when we arrived, which made it a bit more miserable, and with Ellie being ‘great with child’ she wasn’t able to lend a hand manually manoeuvring the trailer into the garage.  The bit of drive outside the garage is also on a slight slope, so I had to be careful that the trailer didn’t drift off uncontrollably.  Thankfully there is a handbrake on the front, so I kept hold of that so that I could stop it if it did get out of control.  Then it was just a case of swinging it round and pushing it into the garage.  I say “just” – in actual fact it was a bit of a nightmare.  I pushed and pulled and strained, with my trainers struggling for grip on the wet tarmac, using all my strength and energy trying to get the trailer to move.  And then I realised – the brakes were still slightly on.  Oops.  Once I had released the brake handle fully it was fine, and was into the garage in moments, but I was already exhausted.  A lesson learnt.

So now we have a trailer tent in the garage.  It’ll be spring or summer before we’ll actually get to play with it, but it’ll certainly make holidaying much cheaper.  So thank you, father-in-law, for offloading something onto us that we can make use of.

I also ought to just clarify the title of this post, in case any of you are still confused, as Ellie was.  The coat refers to the fact that it was raining.  The pulling was of the trailer tent, by the car, and later by me.  There is no ‘other woman’.  Promise.

Anyway, back the point.  My car is complete.  It took a bit of doing, and a bit of redoing of what I’d already done, but the end result is pretty satisfactory.  If you remember from my previous post, the front suspension was already sagging under the weight of the car, so rather than trying to reduce the weight I opted to increase the strength of the suspension to compensate.  That meant doubling up the springs, using the ones I’d been using for the rear axle and transplanting them into the front subframe.  Of course, that was easier said than done, and I had to make a few modifications to make room for two springs.  But I got there in the end, and the result is a front suspension setup that is twice as strong as it was – still with plenty of movement, but it feels like it’s actually capable of supporting the car now!

It’s not without its downfalls, however.  With the increased weight there is more pressure on the parts, and a couple of times now the custom suspension arms I made have fallen apart under the strain.  If that persists I may have to further strengthen those too.  But for just driving around it seems to be fine.

I also found it useful to make myself a temporary jig for working on the car.  It’s so heavy now that just picking it up or laying it on its side to work on it was becoming more difficult, so I chocked up the rear wheels and propped the front of the car up with a large bit of Lego scenery, and that did the job nicely.  It was like I was working on a real car.  But then, that’s been the experience all along, taking inspiration from real mechanical setups to create a Lego Technic car that functions and looks like a full scale road-going vehicle.  It’s been quite a learning experience, and one that will no doubt be helpful in shaping future projects.

Then of course there’s the rear bodywork, which I started and finished in one evening.  It’s not brilliant, on account of not having nearly enough bricks to do it justice, but I think I’ve got the basics there to give enough shape to the car as a whole.  It doesn’t have a boot, and there is little in the way of interior design, and the doors are merely hinted at.  Still, it looks like a car.  It’s got rear lights in the right place (even if they don’t light up).  It’s even got fake exhaust pipes.

The end result is a Lego model that looks like a car.  It works like a car, in that it has a V6 engine connected to the rear wheels, it has working steering that connects the front wheels to the steering wheel (and the additional steering wheel on the roof), it has independent suspension on the front and live axle suspension at the rear, it has front headlights that work, and it has a bodywork in matching colours that makes it look at least a little like an American muscle car.  Sure, it’s not as complete as I’d like it to be, and the doors don’t open, and the interior steering wheel doesn’t quite line up with the driver’s seat, and the wheels don’t quite match the style of the car.  But hey, I’ve not got as much Lego as some other, more obsessed people out there.  I’m pleased with it.

I mentioned in passing about future projects.  Since the Lego is out on the floor, I figured I’d make a space ship as well while I was at it.  That’s still in progress, not a lot to show at the moment.  It’s got a flight deck with a captain sitting at a range of controls, and a communication/research room behind it with another little man looking at more controls.  Behind that will be the cargo bay, holding an exploration vehicle of some sort.  It’ll be a research craft rather than anything with firepower, and will hopefully have an array of tools for exploring different places, working landing gear, and possibly bunk beds.  Who knows.  I’ll probably post details of that up here too eventually.

With the basic chassis pretty much sorted I started work on the body, taking some inspiration from a Ford Mustang but generally doing what I could with the pieces I have to make something vaguely resembling a muscle car.  First came the front bumper, which incorporated some cool headlights.  Photos don’t do justice to just how cool they look, especially in the dark.  I’m going for a red body, with a white stripe down the middle.  Making convincing curves with Lego has always been a challenge, and the result is usually a somewhat angular version of the intended curves.  Basically, use your imagination and you’ll see a pretty car underneath.

With the front bumper and wheel arches sculpted, I became aware that the front of the car was fast becoming quite heavy, and the suspension was taking a lot more weight than I’d anticipated.  I should have learnt that lesson from when I made my Batman Tumbler, when I had a similar problem with the front suspension (though in all fairness that was a complicated setup, more so than this one).  I don’t think it helped that I moved the engine so that it was directly over the wheels, effectively pushing a lot more of the weight to the front of the car.  The front bumper is also quite dense, and loathe as I am to strip it back I’m beginning to think I might have to.  It’s either that or have the front wheels scraping the top of the wheel arches the whole time and losing all the action in the suspension, which would be a shame.

I also made a start on the rest of the body, tweaking the rear suspension mounts and making the rear subframe more rigid thanks to a sort of roll bar I’ve installed in a bright yellow.  It’s far from being cosmetic though, with the diagonals really stiffening up the rear of the car.  It also meant I had something to attach the roof to.  Creating the front windscreen was a nice challenge too, creating a flexible series of struts that eventually connected together to give a more realistic shape to the top of the car.  While I was at it I also routed the steering both to an interior steering wheel (just in case I inexplicably shrink in size so I can sit inside the car) and to an alternative steering wheel mounted conveniently on the roof so I can actually steer it.

The main problem I foresee for tomorrow is finding enough red pieces.  I’m fast running out of them and I still have a lot of sculpting to do on the rear end.  I think it’s going to end up being somewhat minimal at the back, unless I can justify working in some other colours.  Reducing the weight of the front of the car might help though, freeing up some more red pieces that can be reused elsewhere.  Even so, I doubt I’ll have enough left over to put in working doors, and with the weight issue already surfacing it’s unlikely I’ll be able to do much with the interior either.  Still, I’m really pleased with the progress today – it’s finally looking like a car!