A Good Start To The Day....

Very first thing Tuesday morning, I was treated to the most spectacular aerial view of London on the first flight of the morning back to Copenhagen. It was a beautiful clear morning, and as London sprawled out beneath us, I was able to follow Old Father Thames winding his way through the city I love best.


I could have kicked myself for not having my camera to hand, but I was pleased with this picture of my 90 year old Grandfather, together with his newest Great-Grandaughter Isla. At less than 40 hours old at the time this picture was taken, they were the oldest and youngest people in the room! My Grandparents were actually the reason I had gone home for the weekend, in order to celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary with a big family party. Sixty five years is quite an achievement I think you will agree! Around a hundred of us shared a great afternoon, some of us meeting for the first time, most of us reminiscing, and all of us amused by the drunken antics of the vicar's husband (who had let us say, slightly over-indulged in the wine department!)!

I also managed to catch up with some good friends, and spent some quality time with lots of my family, which made the trip all the more worthwhile. For a few days it was really nice to relax and forget about the stresses of the forthcoming move.

So with everything going swimmingly, what with the successful trip and the easiest flight in the world, the pessimist in me half expected something to go wrong. It was right...

I arrived home exhausted after my early start, so my other half very kindly offered to take the children to an appointment with him so I could have a rest. Less than two minutes later, they were back. A screaming small boy stood panicking that one of his imaginary friend's, Bulgus or Dinty, had shoved a piece of gravel up his nose, and it wouldn't come out. There was nothing for it, A&E beckoned. All the staff seemed to think his predicament highly amusing, but as he couldn't see anything, and just in case the stone was stuck much further up, the Doctor was worried enough to immediately send us to an ENT Doctor at a hospital much further north. After a 45 minute drive, we were met by a Nurse who asked us to take a seat in a waiting room with walls covered in objects recovered from peoples various orifice's, including marbles, pins, toothbrushes minus heads, shells, beads and of course stones! The doctor was a lovely chap who persuaded the Small Boy to let him investigate with an endoscope. All was going well, and I sat trying not to laugh at yet another situation caused by the our resident "friends". Then the Doctor mentioned he may well need to further investigate by putting Small Boy under a full anaesthetic. They certainly don't mess around here, and suddenly it didn't seem quite so amusing anymore! Luckily, it was decided that instead of that (rather drastic) measure, we were to keep an eye on any runny nose that he may have over the next couple of weeks. If it appears that he has any infection, it's likely there is something still stuck up there and we are to go back. I will keep you updated, but in the meantime, I am hoping that when we leave, "Bulgus and Dinty" might decide that they can't bear to part with Denmark!...

Close Encounters of the Dirt Kind...

Our children have always welcomed a plethora of imaginary friends into our home, starting off with my daughter's partners in crime, Dolla and Dilla, who arrived when she was around 15 months old. They lived with us for around two and a half years before taking themselves off "on holiday" never to be seen again. Recently I asked her whether she had heard from them, to be told rather matter of factly that they are now dead. She didn't seem too bothered by this, but I did feel a pang of sadness that this part of her childhood is now over. My son also has a couple of imaginary friends currently in existence, who are also (rather conveniently) his hands. "Bulgus" and "Dinty" are "brothers" who have lived with us for around two years now, and are to blame whenever something has "happened". It wasn't me, it was my naughty hand, is quite often heard in this house (imaginary friends do come in useful from time to time though, especially when having to tidy away things, or serving them food that they are not so keen on, "it wasn't mummy it was so and so", calls their bluff a little sometimes!)...

You can perhaps appreciate then at being told by my four year old that there was a man in a top hat in the garden, I just muttered "oh really, that's nice" without really bothering to look. Then I discovered that there was actually a real man in a top hat in the garden, and thus we met our first Danish Chimney Sweep in full traditional regalia. When he worked out I wasn't Danish, he wanted to know if I had ever heard of Hans Christian Andersen, pointing to his outfit (which initially made me quite worried that he wasn't actually there to do any chimney sweeping, he just liked dressing up), but no, he was actually "a dentist for fireplaces" after all. After the winter we have had, I imagined our fireplace would probably need a few fillings after trying to get through that pile of wood we had ordered. So I let him in (although I hadn't booked an appointment, this is the time of year he normally comes apparently!), and seized the opportunity to ask whether I could take his picture. He seemed a bit surprised that I should want a picture of him in his elaborate gear though, "don't chimney sweeps in the UK wear this?" he asked, and then went on to tell me how it took him 8 years alone to be allowed to wear his top hat. When I told him that chimney sweeps in the UK usually just wear overalls and carry vacuum cleaners, he looked crestfallen and said he felt very sorry for them.

Imagination...

I noticed that S had pen all over his arm this morning. I then looked closer and noticed that it was obviously an attempt at something rather than a scribble. Anyone care to guess what time it was?