Regensburg here we come

Max's 4th Christmas

2011-01-02T13:12:00.019Z

This year, for the first time, we felt that Max was old enough for us to introduce some of the Christmas traditions that Marion and I had enjoyed as a child. Unfortunately, Marion seemed rather vague on the details of her childhood Christmas magic, so I kind of made that bit up but, having suddenly become aware that children really only do believe in Santa for a couple of years, I definitely wanted to introduce the magical old man in his red suit to Max as soon as possible.

Before Christmas even began, we had Saint Nikolaus' Day on 5th/6th December. Max had already met Nikolaus (aka the vicar from the church where his playgroup took place) and was already much in awe. Last year he got to hold Nikolaus' staff and talked about it for months afterwards. Anyway, we discovered that, in Germany, churches and youth groups actually organise for 'Saint Nikolaus' (with or without the nasty Knecht Ruprecht/Krampus i.e. Farmhand or Servant Rupert, Saint Nikolaus' assistant who allegedly gives naughty children rubbish gifts like coal and is generally very scary) can actually visit you and your child/ren at home! How exciting is that! Max was quite overwhelmed by the whole experience and at one point, when Nikolaus was reading, all-knowingly from his book about the good and bad things Max had done, I did almost think he was going to burst into tears but I think it was actually pure awe. Next year we'll definitely get him to learn a poem to recite. He loved his dinosaur present and, more than anything, was over the moon about the huge chocolate Nikolaus!

Then, only a couple of weeks after the excitement and present-showering of Max's birthday...

...came Christmas Eve! In Germany, this is usually when the present-giving takes place. The Christkind or Christ Child (we translated it as Christmas angel as it's rarely anything like a small Christ and is always a girl) brings the presents (often when the children are at church) and puts them under the tree which, originally, wasn't actually put up and decorated until that moment. In our house, the tree goes up a little earlier to get the most of it but, to preserve some magic, this year I sent Max and Marion upstairs with a DVD whilst I sprinkled glitter everywhere, put the main lights off and the Christmas lights on and piled some of Max's many presents under the tree. Max then used his Bob the Builder construction hat with torch to light his way down the stairs after the bell had rung telling him the Christmas Angel had been. It was very sweet and very peaceful. Max opened and played with a couple of presents and was very happy with his lot.

That evening, we hung out Max's beautifully hand-made, personalised Santa sack and put out a biscuit, cup of milk and, of course, a carrot for Rudolph. Max is too young to be overwhelmed by the excitement of anticipation yet but he was certainly intrigued by the whole process. Then, the next morning...Father Christmas had been!!! The reindeer left a lot of mess (straw from the chicken run) which Max was actually very bothered clearing up ('naughty reindeer') before tackling his presents, slowly and one and a time, playing for ages with each before moving on to the next. It really was lovely to see his excited little face.

Enjoying tickle time with Opa Norbert

Oh, and in between, the adults enjoyed some delicious meals (including a fantastic veal goulash pie, a very successful home-made Stollen and lovely presents too!!!

Pummelvision

2010-12-27T14:44:00.003Z

This is slightly crazy and intense but a lot of fun...watch Max grow up and the seasons change at high speed over the last couple of years..

Things to do on a snowy day...

2010-12-18T16:26:00.015Z

It has been snowing on and off here for about a month now and I've been out in it every day with my bike, on the bus, with the sledge or just on foot. Today, however, Max has a cold, Marion didn't get in from her office Christmas party until 1 am, and it's bloody freezing outside (around minus 5 during the day and now a couple of degrees less), none of which are conducive to getting me outside the front (or back) door.

So, what do we do when we really don't want to go outside? Well, today we built, baked and broomed (well, swept really but that's no good for the alliteration effect). We're now spotlessly clean and have boxes and boxes of Christmas biscuits to eat and give away.

And Max is STILL in his pyjamas!

Family Holiday in Croatia

2010-10-16T13:11:00.012+01:00

It took me long enough to post this entry given that we went to Croatia in September. Problem is that Facebook often rather takes the place of the blog these days and sometimes I wonder how to differentiate one from another. Anyway, a friend told me the other day that her blog is her 'happy place' which is a very refreshing and positive way of looking at things. My blog isn't always a happy place. I often ponder here and offload my worries. But it IS a record of Max's life, my life, our life, and my thoughts about what is happening.

This entry is, however, definitely a happy one. In the last two weeks of September, we spent two wonderful weeks on the island of Korcula in southern Croatia (a ferry ride from Split). We travelled, for the first time, with what the Americans call an RV or recreational vehicle i.e. a great big bus thing which was our home for the fortnight. It was a fabulous experience. We all loved sleeping in the RV (Max slept well as he was happy to be close to us and we were happy to be close to him without having his feet in our face). We stayed in a wonderful spacious campsite shaded by pines with lots of space for Max and his bike and within spitting distance of the beach and sea. We were able to cycle almost everywhere or we caught little taxi boats around or off the island which thrilled Max no end. Max also had a growth spurt whilst we were there making restaurant experiences so much more relaxing and enjoyable as he was starving and keen to try lots of new things. All-in-all an experience I would recommend to any small family.

Event of the Autumn - Max starts Pre-School/Kindergarten!

2010-10-16T13:10:00.006+01:00

Max's last day at nursery...

...and first day at Kindergarten

I will freely admit that this was a prospect I was rather worried about. I think I thought I knew it was time for him to move from nursery to pre-school but still wasn't entirely sure he was ready. It was highly likely that I would still have these feelings of unreadiness 3 years hence which does beg the question as to who exactly wasn't ready - me or him. Yet, he was still crying when we left him at nursery - admittedly only briefly but nonetheless heart-breakingly. He had sort of started to play a little with the other children but still wasn't overly sociable. Would he cope with all the bashy, bruisy big kids? He was used to being a big fish in a small sea and suddenly the tables were going to turn...

Well, I really needn't have worried. I could not have hoped for a better transition. The first couple of days I think he was just in shock. He was certainly excited about Kindergarten as a concept but I think hadn't quite twigged we were going to leave him with a room full of complete strangers! He did cry on being left - for the first two days. He then confidently informed us that he wasn't going to cry at Kindergarten never ever ever and has been true to his word ever since...

Here we are 3 months later and I can safely say he is settled and happy. I am not entirely sure what he does whilst I am gone as he and his teachers are both equally unforthcoming but I suppose no news is good news. One things I am certain of - he plays with the other children - quite a lot of rough and tumble and his language is developing in all sorts of directions and is full of colloquialisms both cute and less cute!

Long may his development and independence advance...as long as he doesn't forget about his Mummy!!

It seemed like a good idea at the time...

2010-07-28T12:01:00.003+01:00

...but what on earth possessed me to do it?

I am living in a country where the bakers are great, the bread is great, there are great kebab places, you can get yummy fish sandwiches from the fishmongers, freshly grilled sausage sandwiches from the bakers and yet, and yet - I still decided to go to SUBWAY for lunch? And not only did I buy a sandwich from there but I ATE IN too!!

Surely I should have been put off from the very outset by all the daft questions they wanted to ask me about my sandwich - so, I want Teriyaki chicken on what sort of bread with what sort of (tasteless) cheese and do I want it toasted or not and what bits of (production line) salad and what sort of (gloopy MSG) sauce (to go with your chicken marinaded in gloopy MSG sauce). I chose the most German bread they had with seeds and rye (so why didn't I go the bakers?) and just kind of said yes to everything and picked out the first in the list of all the other options. It was cheaper to get a 'meal' apparently. So I got a 'meal'. That's 30cm of bread and gunk, a huge paper cup of coke and a packet of crisps. Sitting down to eat at the smeary formica tables scented with eau de dirty dishcloth accompanied by piped supermarket music and surrounded by lovely close-up pictures of tomatoes didn't cost me a cent extra! Wow! Glad I stayed!

The problem with Subway (for me) is that it's neither junk food nor is it healthy so basically it presses no buttons whatsoever and as I was slurping my way through the wet, tasteless sandwich filling I occupied myself by mentally writing this blog of regret. I knew it would come the moment I spilled the first drop of sweet onion gloop onto my trousers. Please, please remind me that I don't like Subway and although I am full, I would really like a proper lunch now please.

The joys of fertility treatment with a toddler in tow

2010-07-08T16:29:00.006+01:00

So, to add to the difficulties of somewhat disturbed nights, we have decided to start trying for a brother or sister for little Maximilian.

I have to say that I never remember it being quite this traumatic. The main memories I have of the four and a half years we tried to get pregnant was failure upon failure. From quite early on, you feel as though need to mourn each failed attempt. That's an awful lot of grief. And then, of course, there was the overwhelming joy of it finally working and the resulting rollercoaster of motherhood so far.

This time, however, we haven't been so desperate for a positive result. Hopeful, of course. But not desperate. So, not being so focused on the result has meant that I have really felt the ups and downs of the procedure.

Firstly, there was the logistics of what to do with Max. We didn't want him to spend too much time away from his Mama or his Mummy so he kind of got juggled between the two of us and between England and Germany which he didn't really like too much. And neither did I. Of course we both liked spending time with family and friends but generally Max felt a bit unsettled and now, having spent 10 days away from me, I think we have all had enough! It's definitely time to go home! The one thing Max did enjoy though is trips on the train to our London clinic - he found the whole experience quite exciting and loved the picnics and Regents Park playground visits I treated him to afterwards. Of course he had a couple of lovely daytrips with his beloved Grandma too and since he has gone back to Germany, I have consistently had 8 top quality uninterrupted hours of sleep so it hasn't all been bad!

Secondly, there were all those horrid hormones - not only are they extortionately expensive, making me gulp every time I need to hand over the credit card for another vial of the stuff but my hormone swings made regular PMT seem like a walk in the park. We virtually had to hide the knives and provide anyone who comes into contact with me with a bullet-proof vest!

Finally, there was the worry of some severe abdominal pain after egg collection which had me in tears and got my Mum rushing me to the on-call docs at the hospital for a check-up. It turned out to be enlarged ovaries and some fluid and follicles that really shouldn't have been there given that my eggs had already been collected. The clinic doctor said it was a possible indicator of Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS) which is when the smelly hormones don't stop working even once you've stopped taking them (at least I got my money's worth!) This can be dangerous though so, for a while, they considered not transferring the embryos and scuppering the whole attempt. All the money, effort and upheaval for nothing.

However, the good news was that they did transfer two embryos in the end, and now it's just a case of 'watch this space' for the next two weeks!

Sleep is definitely NOT overrrated!

2010-07-08T16:28:00.006+01:00

I guess it's no coincidence that this blog hasn't been updated since April - Max hasn't been sleeing too well. Since April. Just a phase we said....3 months ago. This is the longest phase of disrupted sleeping we have had since he was born and I think we have more or less decided it isn't going to solve itself quickly. So what's happening and what can we do about it?

The Scenario
Max's main aim appears to be to get into the maternal bed but the main problem is a) what happens before he gets there and b) what happens when he gets there. Entry to our room is, for some reason, frequently preceeded by small, medium or whopping great tantrums which appear to spring from nowhere and, ironically, involve, amidst the screaming and shouting, him telling us to "go away / geh weg!" Of course other kids often want to be in bed with their parents too and this is probably a normal phase but the tantrums are beyond the pale. The only thing we appear to be able to do when Max has these little 'fits' is instruct him to tell us when he needs a cuddle i.e. when he has finished. No point in touching him because you just get beaten about the head.

Then, what happens when Max is actually in the bed with us? Sometimes he sleeps peacefully which is fine but often enough there is a period or two of tossing and turning and feet in the face and diagonal positions and needing the blanket on and the blanket off and the blanket the other way round which leads to a generally disturbed night for everyone.

The Options

We have tried various half-hearted solutions - returning him when he is asleep, taking him back when he is tossing and turning - but nothing very consistent or insistent. Just to make sure things he doesn't make anything too easy for us, Max has also decided he doesn't want to wear a nappy at night and, even if he does have one on, he still wakes to tell us he needs a wee so we are in the process of doing away with nighttime nappies too...too much at once? Probably. End of our teathers? Definitely.

We need to get tough. The soft option of either letting him carry on until he grows out of it or returning him to bed when he falls asleep (which we sometimes do and it usually leads to him returning a couple more times in the night) is, as time goes on, not looking so attractive anymore.

So, it's either quick return (a la Tanya Byron) or a stairgate on his bedroom door. Big question is what happens in between - controlled crying, cold turkey, crying it out? Given that I am in the UK (well rested) and Marion is back in Germany looking after Max and his nighttime escapades alone, we haven't quite developed a plan of action yet. We think we'll try and return him every time he comes but what about the tantrums? And what if he genuinely needs a wee? And what if it doesn't work? And what if one of us has a nervous breakdown first??

As usual, answers on a postcard...

Confessions of a Mum...

2010-04-01T19:21:00.005+01:00

I hope and pretty much suspect that I am not the only one who feels like this. But sometimes I really do want to trade my son in for another model.

I do love him with all my heart, more than I have ever loved anyone or anything ever. But sometimes (now) he drives me nuts. On the one hand, he is (generally) handsome and bright and talkative and sensitive and funny and cute and thoughtful. On the other hand, he is (right now) grumpy and over-sensitive and pathetic and clingy and whingeing and fussy. Am glad to see that the positive adjectives outweigh the negative here. That gives me hope. Unfortunately, the negative side is just so draining that I feel as though I could flop into a big jelly-like pile after ten minutes with him at the moment.

OK, I understand he has just been poorly. But, as far as I can see he is now better. And I know he is probably teething and his mouth is a little sore. But I think he is milking that too.

I am a bad nurse. I have very limited patience. I have a vicious temper. How on earth did I become a Mum? Worst possible characteristics for that particular role.

But, did I mention that I love him with all my heart, more than anyone or anything ever? I guess that is, or at least will have to be, enough.

Sunshine on a rainy day...

2010-03-30T14:30:00.003+01:00

When Max is feeling a bit grotty or things are a bit tough (right now we have a nice herpes-like virus all over his tongue which makes it very painful for him to eat), I like to remember the nice, cute, funny things my little boy says or does. It makes the whining more bearable. The other day we were talking about the weekend my Mum came to stay. "MY Grandma", said Max (possessively) "Yes, YOUR Grandma", I responded. "No!" retorted Max "I Grandma NOT. I Max!" That one certainly made me laugh out loud! And yesterday, when he pointed at a picture of a pineapple in his book and said "porcupine!" This age can be very tough but there is compensation aplenty with the cuteness of these little people, don't you think?

Switch your brain on before you fly!

2010-03-25T14:33:00.006Z

At the risk of completely embarrassing my beloved mother and brother, here is a little story.

The pair of them were due to arrive for a weekend visit (my brother's first) on Friday morning. At 6:30 am, I receive a call from my brother. "Is your flight delayed?' I ask. "Kind of" he responds. What transpires is that he had arrived at the airport minus his passport. Not clever. But, not yet an insurmountable problem. He could get on the next flight (for a small donation to Easyjet) and my Mum would still be able to fly to us on the morning flight, right? Sure, in theory. Unfortunately, on checking in, it became clear that my nice but dim mother had booked for them both to fly on 19th February (exactly one month earlier). Thus, no-one was going anywhere on that ticket! An expensive journey into the world of very last minute flight booking later and they were tucked up in bed sleeping off the effects of a disaster, ticket for same flight next day (+ 2 passports) in bag....Oh, but it isn't over yet....

The next morning at 6am (5am GMT) I receive a call from my Mother. In tears. Distraught. Beside herself. "We have only just woken up", she laments. Now, the flight is at 6 am from an airport which is an hour away. You do the maths. They weren't going to make that flight. Now I was a mixture of disappointed (I really love my family and hate that they are so far away) and furious (how on earth can anyone think their body clocks will wake them at 4 am WITHOUT the help of an alarm clock?!) After realising rather quickly that there was no way I could do anything from here at 6 on a Saturday morning, I told them both to calm down, get back in the car, get to the airport and try to sweet talk the Easyjet staff there. They certainly weren't going to have a problem switching on the waterworks for sympathy! As luck would have it, with another minimal donation, Easyjet was willing to put them on the lunchtime flight (the staff probably just thought it was best to get these fools out of the country otherwise they would still be trying to get their flight to Munich a week later). I told them, on pain of death, not to leave the airport. At any cost. They didn't, and eventually, only 2 days late, they arrived to a very, very happy, bouncy Max on Saturday evening. A wonderful weekend was had by all with zoos and swimming pools, ice-creams and sunshine galore. Thank goodness it all worked out OK in the end!

This is clearly a cautionary tale - switch your brain on before you fly everybody!

Snotty-nosed again..

2010-03-03T11:17:00.004Z

It's never ending. The snot. Gallons of it. Poor little man (and poor us too). Had to pick him up from nursery again on Monday because he had / has a temperature. It seems like it has been never ending this month. I think he has been cold-free for about a week. He promptly fell asleep on the Fat Boy (yes, in front of the telly).

Felt like an awful Mum this morning dropping him off at nursery all puffy-eyed, snotty-nosed and pale (and that's just me after a month of interrupted nights!) But I just have to work and besides, the distraction should help him forget about his cold shouldn't it? I am a rubbish nurse anyway. Just ask the wife. Do I have to be able to deal with snot to be a good Mum?

Smothering them?

2010-02-24T14:00:00.007Z

It's a tough old thing being a parent. We want to protect our little 'angels' from all the dangerous and horrid things out there, yet, at the same time, we don't want to smother them. How do we get the balance right? How do we stop ourselves from becoming control freaks disempowering our small fry and preventing them from developing skills on their own?

This central question seems to infiltrate everything I do as a Mother. The most obvious place is at the dinner table. All my issues revolve around the dinner table. That's half the problem, I guess. I want (and need) to let Max feed himself 100% independently but, at the same time, I want (and need) him to eat the right things so that he is fit and healthy and grows and flourishes. I actually wish he would just refuse the spoon when it comes towards his mouth held by me but he is a lazy / insecure little man and doesn't really care that much if he gets to play and read a book whilst I shovel in the meat and vegetables. At the same time, though, I know he needs to practice eating on his own so he knows when to stop, knows what he likes and doesn't like and, last, but by no means least, to save me from having to wash his clothes every time he has eaten a meal and missed his mouth! He needs to want to feed himself and I need to keep my hands tied behind my back or I'll be writing the same blog entry when he is 5!

The same goes for letting him do 'dangerous' and precarious activities. He needs to learn to climb and run and jump but, for the first while, he isn't going to understand his own capabilities properly and, being my son, he probably isn't going to be very coordinated and good at all that physical stuff. I don't want him to break his neck but, he also needs to work out his own boundaries so I shouldn't stop him from teetering on top of a stool or chair or even falling off his balancing bike. Only thing is, I'm not sure how quick my own reactions are and don't know if I would catch him. And and and what if I don't catch him? And he falls and never wants to climb or get on to a bike again? I know, I know - me being scared makes him scared but he still manages to be a whole lot braver than me!

Tough calls, over and over again. Max is still little but he isn't a baby any more and he needs to explore. For quite he while he used to only want to play with me and be where I or his Mama was. It got on my nerves. I was dying for him to be independent and self-sufficient. And now that he is often in another room and I can't always see or hear him, I get the heebie-jeebies about that too! Where are you Max? What are you up to darling? Talk to me! Of course playing quietly is never a good sign either - bound to be up to no good!

So, you are damned if you do and damned if you don't. As I said, tough old job this mothering thing!

My vegetarian son

2010-01-17T17:35:00.003Z

The thing is, one of my (many) constant worries about Max is that he isn't fond of meat. He loves fish, but doesn't even really like chicken that much which means I am constantly looking for new sources of protein to ensure he has a balanced diet. However, we recently discovered that when he can see the whole chicken/goose/slab of whatever meat, he is much more interested. He was very excited about roast chicken recently, for that very reason. This evening he loved leg of lamb cooked in a whole bottle of red wine and with two heads of garlic (can I get in trouble for that? I am sure the alcohol had burnt off!) and he was especially keen on having a good old chew on the bone after tea! I guess he isn't such a serious vegetarian after all!

More snow...

2010-01-17T10:31:00.002Z

It snowed all night and this morning, an inch in an hour. We decided to go sledging with Max again. It was still snowing and bitterly cold. He wasn't overly impressed and took a lot of convincing. Half way up the hill, Max on the sledge, Marion and I chatting away, the sledge suddenly felt a bit light and we realised Max had fallen off the back and was laying like an upturned beetle half way down the slope! He was even less impressed with that! He went on one little ride down the hill with his Mama which he he seemed to enjoy but then decided we really ought to tow him back home, thank you very much! My sensitive little mouse.

Hot cocoa and cups of tea all round!

Pink pasta!

2010-01-16T16:40:00.003Z

Just discovered a really yummy new thing to do with beetroot. Previously, every time they arrived in our veg box, I was rather uninspired and did Russian beef borsht. Yummy though borsht is, when you have done it about a hundred times, it gets a bit boring. Also, I made a New Year's resolution to try and break out of my culinary rut and cook beyond my repertoire at least once a week. Took a quick look in my Abel and Cole cookbook and discovered 'Roasted beetroot penne'. As pink is Max's favourite colour, I figured this would be a winner of a family meal and, indeed it was. Max loved his pink pasta and pink vegetables and so did we. Delicious. Bright and cheery and yet rather sophisticated at the same time.

You need:

About 700g fresh beetroot
A few glugs of olive oil
400g penne or some other chunky pasta
3 crushed garlic cloves
Juice of half a lemon
Half a mug of single cream

To garnish:
Lots of freshly grated parmesan
Finely chopped toasted walnuts
Chopped fresh parsely or basil (parsley is better)

Oil the beetroot, oil a roasting pan and roast the beetroot wrapped in tin foil for about an hour or so (an hour or a half if they are bigger). Let them cool, then chop them into bite sized pieces (or if it's for kids, whatever size they can deal with). Cook your pasta. Fry the beetroot and garlic in oil for about 5-10 minutes (until it's warmed through - medium heat). Turn the heat down and add the cream a bit at a time. The colour is fabulous. You can't fail to be cheered by it. Add the lemon juice. Add the pasta and warm it all through. Serve topped with your toasted walnuts, grated parmesan and chopped parsley. Apart from the roasting of the beetroot, it's quick and definitely easy.

He was supposed to be sleeping!

2010-01-16T13:54:00.003Z

We put Max down for his lunchtime nap late today as he slept until after 8 (very unusual for him). He seemed to be happily chatting away for ages then went a bit silent and we figured he had dropped off. About 20 minutes later - 'Mama, Mama'. It seems he had found an artistic use for the Sudocrem! He was very proud!

Let it snow...

2010-01-13T18:50:00.005Z

I just don't get it. BBC news has 'snow' as a major headline and they manage to report on it for at least half of the programme. The trains aren't running, the bins are overflowing, the airports are closed, the streets unnavigable. Why, oh why, can Britain never cope with anything other than extreme dampness?

Here, in Regensburg, we have just as much snow and it has pretty much been coming down constantly since we returned (3 days late due to Gatwick being closed and Easyjet being a bit rubbish). Everyone clears their own front drives and their own path - can you believe there was a news article about this happening in the UK? Here it is a foregone conclusion and, by law, has to be done before 7am. The buses are running, the schools are open, the paths gritted, the roads cleared by about 8 (even the side streets) and life generally goes on as normal. It isn't even a subject of discussion.

Max isn't particularly interested or phased either - thinks it's a bit cold, doesn't want to wear gloves but does rather like to eat snow and ice...watch out for the 'doggy poo' Mummy!

A Merry Christmas Was Had By Everyone

2009-12-30T13:13:00.006Z

Christmas came and went, and with it brought one chocolate Nikolaus, two granddads, three lamb shanks, and many many presents. For photographic evidence for some of this, please see below:

One of the first presents, a petrol tanker from Uncle Sven and Auntie Corina:

Crayoning and playdohing after breakfast:

Hoovering Opa (new hoover, just like Mummy's and Mama's):

And hoovering (very popular present) the new train set:

And a whole chocolate Nikolaus all for myself, and NONE for you!

Christmas Tree

2009-12-15T15:25:00.004Z

Against all German tradition, we put up our Christmas tree last weekend.

The tree had literally come off the back of a lorry - a couple with impenetrable Bavarian accents selling them from door to door, and Carla picked the bestest of the lot. The new tree stand was the latest model by market-leaders Krinner, and can take trees up to 2.7 m high! The decorations were a mixture of ancient (bought by my mother), old (bought by us / given as presents over the past years) and newly purchased from our local IKEA. Very ecclectic, to say the least.

It was a true family occasion, Grandma and Mummy decorating the tree in colour co-ordinated red and green, Mama trying to get her favourite purple / multi-colour kitsch items (including beloved surfing Santa) on the tree, Granddad Dave sitting in the armchair, keeping out of the firing line, and Max doing the sensible thing ie sleeping in bed.

In the end Mama, all in a huff, hung 'her' decorative items on a line strung out along the bookshelves (much laughed at by everyone else).

The next morning Max woke up and thought he'd gone to heaven: A tree! In his house! With lots of lovely things on it! Including Santas (Nikolaus... ave it)! Having been told not to touch the tree, he moved his chair right in front of it to have a really good look. Of course, that didn't last very long and to date a number of items have been moved / removed / lost / broken / caused tantrums, but it is a great success. See for yourself:

Happy Birthday, Max!

2009-12-11T14:08:00.003Z

Today is Max's 2nd birthday, and not only did he get lots of presents and cards, his most favourite grandma 'suddenly' appeared in the house! He seems a bit serious, but that's just the look of concentration on his face.

Psycho Stuff

2009-12-06T20:12:00.003Z

So why is it that I am so psycho when it comes to Max's eating? Why do I feel like tearing my hair out when he is just being a normal toddler and pushing boundaries, being independent, exerting control over me, the world and everything? I go mental, he goes mental. He doesn't eat. I eat the left-overs. Mealtime over. He gets skinny. I get fat. I am moody. Wife gets beaten up. Everyone is miserable. What's it all about?

First possibility - my milk didn't come in for him during the first week of his life, he got really skinny and we had to stuff him full of formula every ten seconds to make sure they didn't admit him to hospital and feed him with a drip. Guess there is a whole heap of guilt / unworthy mother / not a proper woman feelings linked to this experience (two whole years ago) that are still hanging around inside. I was such a militant 'breast is best' advocate and then when it didn't work, there was serious brow-beating. Felt really heart-breaking at the time and it's probably about time I got over it.

Second possibility - we spent so many years trying to get pregnant (4.5 actually) that, when Max eventually did come along, I had built up such an idealised image of motherhood, what sort of mother I would be (Birkenstock-donning, breast-feeding, sling-wearing, baby-massaging) and what sort of a child mine would be (co-sleeping, no-dummy-in-sight, early-talking, early-walking, bi-lingual, and most of all an unfussy foodie like me) that I couldn't help but be disappointed and disillusioned.

Third possibility - I just can't accept that toddlers eat not for enjoyment, fun, company, greed and sheer love of grub but for sustenance and as quickly as possible so they can go back to their toys and books and everything else that is just way more interesting than eating.

Sure there might be a bit more to it than that - sometimes feeling a bit lonely here with my, as yet, rather under-developed support network - but I guess that is the crux of it. Not so complicated really. Thanks to all my old school and Facebook chums for helping me see the light this time.

Oh, and thanks to my dearest wife for putting up with my moods. Can't guarantee there won't be more black cloud evenings but, for now, I feel as though I can deal with the times when my little monster chooses to throw my delicious dishes back in my face (fortunately, we have, provisionally, left behind the phase of literally having dinner thrown up the wall).

You've seen the pictures. The boy is big, tall and healthy. What IS my problem?

Big House but No Space

2009-12-06T20:03:00.002Z

So how does this work then? This house is roughly double the size of our little Victorian terrace in Addlestone i.e. twice, yes, twice the amount of space and yet, we somehow still live in a bloody tip?

My dearest wife says it's because I relegated her stupid dark wood dresser thing to the cellar and that's where we used to store everything? Must have been like the cupboard in the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe then for all the piles of crap hanging around here to have fitted in it. Besides, the house is all nice light wood - how could we keep that old relic in here casting a cloud over our sunshine beech?

Dearest wife also says that it's because she used to do the filing and now she works in an office (novel experience for her), she doesn't have time anymore. True enough but that must mean that it's now my job and I don't have a clue about any of these bits of paper and besides, if I had known it was suddenly my responsibility, I might have started to half organise the piles before the piles became even more tottery and the drawers even more stuffed with 6 more months of god only knows what!

Maybe we do really just need a sideboard. Another piece of furniture to jam pack full of random pieces of paper. And where the hell is my P45 anyway???

Advent Advent Ein Lichtlein Brennt

2009-11-29T21:25:00.002Z

Today was the first Advent Sunday, and we used the rare opportunity of no vistors and no places to go for Max's first christmas Plätzchen baking session.

We went from here...

via here...

to here...

All in all a very successful day, rounded off by a visit to the local Christmas market once it got properly dark: mulled wine and sausages for the grown ups, Karussell (again and again and again) for the boss. Perfect.

Happy Birthday!

2009-11-18T11:34:00.002Z

Happy Birthday to YOU,

Happy Birthday,

Dear Carla,

Happy Birthday to YOUUUUUUUUUUU

Gardening

2009-11-16T19:53:00.003Z

The weekend weather was quite nice (for November), so Mama and Max decided to do some gardening. Result: rosemary, blackberry, vine, cherry tree, and garlic chives all in the ground, lots of dirty clothes in the washing machine :-)

Count Dracula, At Your Service

2009-11-02T10:27:00.004Z

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid!!!

Ahh - Those Blue Eyes

2009-10-30T15:48:00.000Z

Construction Work

2009-10-30T15:03:00.006Z

Well, it's obvious I suppose, nothing much happens in Newgrapeling Towers, at least, nothing much that makes me bothered to write about. Which is quite sad, but on the other hand, maybe it just shows that we have a life outside computers. :-)

Anyway, today Max decided that Duplo was fun, and discovered that he was able to put together his very own unprompted construction. He even named it:

airplane brm brm...

Bad bloggers

2009-09-10T14:36:00.010+01:00

OK, so we'll never make it into the top ten of fascinating, or even regularly updated, blogs. I try my best and am always thinking about entries. Honestly I am.

So, instead, here's a round-up of the most important Summer goings on.

Friends to Stay
We had lots of visitors for a while including visits from Max's future wife and her family. She bit his toe, which was not a good start, but by the second visit they started to get along really well, which was very nice to see. We also had a lovely weekend with ex-ante-natal-class friends and their kiddies who are supposed to be Max's buddies. Problem is, Max wasn't really very nice to them though a little bit of a poke, a punch and a pinch is understandable when a 19 month old has his space invaded. But whilst these little angels packed away their blueberry pancakes and happily trotted around Regensburg holding on to their Mummies' hands, our little 'angel' was running riot, throwing food around the city and heading into the path of oncoming traffic. It really was a lovely weekend but clearly the little man didn't like sharing his Mummy, and his Mummy felt woefully inadequate. Funny thing is, it's always Mummy who looks bad when the angel turns into a devil isn't it? It's always Mummy who is paranoid about what on earth locals can be thinking especially as German kids always seem so well behaved and their parents appear to be in complete shock when they see my lunatic live-wire. And yes, I do see Max as an extension of myself and I do feel as though I, personally, am a failure and that all my offspring will turn out to be mass murderers when a grubby hand lobs a tomatoey gnocchi at a passing Regensburgher.

Paranoid women should never become Mums. Another blog entry in the pipeline...

Nursery
Max does love nursery though. They told me he is only 'lieb' (loving) and is a 'Traumkind' (dream child). At nursery, when you put food in front of him, he picks up his spoon or fork and eats it (although he does sometimes still use his hands). He hugs other children. He runs around independently and plays nicely on his own. He doesn't cry or complain or pinch or bite or kick. Henceforth, Max will be taking residence at that local nursery.

Really and Truly a Mama at Last
This shouldn't really be my blog entry. It's Marion's show. At long last, after months of intrusive and, frankly, idiotic questioning, friendships undermined, bureaucratic hurdle upon bureaucratic hurdle stumbled over, Marion has officially adopted our little man. A lovely day. Even Staines was sunny and bright. A lovely moment – flowers for the 'new' Mama, nice words and smiles from the Magistrates, a toy train for Max (from the magistrates) and lots of family in attendance as well as a tear shed by the proud Great Grandma. Max didn't even mind the long drive home too much (well, I did have my fingers in my ears for the last stretch).

Back to see 'Mangar'
Max's Grandma used to be known as 'Mangar'. But he has grown up a lot since then and can say 'Ganma' properly now. And Nannak Dayf (sounds like Klingon but definitely means Granddad Dave). Even when Skype isn't working (most of the time), Max is screaming 'Hiyo Ganma' at the computer at the top of his voice. He loved visiting her and especially his beloved 'goggies' who scare him when they bark but most of the time thrill him to bits. He got to catch up and meet lots of family properly and almost behaved himself some of the time!

Only downside was that Max got really clingy with his Mama. When she was there, he needed his Mama to comfort him and his Mama to pick him up. And he certainly didn't want his Mama to be in another room for anything longer than about 15 seconds. Just shows you that biology has nothing to do with it. Marion is as connected as any biological Mummy could ever be and Max, so far, even prefers her to the one who carried him and pushed him out! Mummy feels slightly inferior at times over this and slightly left out and ever so slightly hurt and annoyed. On the other hand, if he wanted me to carry him around all day, my back would be well and truly knackered. So why is Max like this with his Mama? (Nice) answers on a postcard...

Still no friends and Max is ill
Well actually, Max isn't ill any more. He was ill, coughing, moody, moany and worst of all not eating. Max couldn't go to nursery. Mummy couldn't do any work. Mummy went into meltdown and made sure the world knew about it. Only problem is that the world is still quite small right now. Poor Marion got the brunt. Now Max is on the mend (little left over cough but not much else) and everything seems a little brighter. Still no friends (apart from the neighbours and their wonderful kids who take Max out to play at the park on his tricycle for hours on end) but once swimming and music and tumble tots (not to mention some crazy aerobics stuff I've gone and registered myself for) starts, life will take off. Won't it? Maybe we should have moved to Berlin.

Socialised Medicine

2009-09-10T11:59:00.003+01:00

With the current debate about health care in the US, and the evils of so-called socialised medicine in other countries, I thought I'd tell you of my own recent experiences with the German system:

Two days ago, I woke up with a pain in my chest. I wasn't overly concerned, but when I had trouble breathing cycling to Max's nursery, I decided to drop in on a local GP (not having registered with one yet) on the way back. They were very friendly and said I could wait for a doctor, without an appointment, and it wouldn't be too long. Did I have my health insurance card? No, sorry. Could I pay the 10€ quarterly charge? Sorry, no money with me. OK, pay next time, and bring the card as well. So I then asked, could I make a local phone call (as I didn't have my mobile with me either) - sure, no problem!

I saw the doctor within less than 30 minutes, I had blood taken afterwards, and a quick ECG, and was gone again by 10am, with an appointment for the next evening. The next day I had an ultra-sound scan, my blood values had come through, and in the end we decided that I didn't have anything serious, just some muscle pain for whatever reason.

All of this was paid for through my health insurance. No need to ask which doctor to go to, whether they would pay, or any upfront payment (other than those 10€ that they still haven't got).

I rest my case.

August Break

2009-08-01T13:48:00.000+01:00

Sorry, nothing much happens in August. It's too hot to sit in front of the computer, the lake beckons, family visits interfere, and cold drinks and / or ice cream don't go with PC keyboards.

Normal (whatever counts for normal round here) service to resume in September.

Do You Like Watermelon? The Aftermath

2009-07-31T13:55:00.001+01:00

Watermelon is fine. But when it gets juiced and kept outside for too long, and then drunk by a thirsty cyclist just home from work, it can create havoc with your insides.

Urgh.

PS: No pictures, they wouldn't be pretty

Do You Like Watermelon?

2009-07-29T12:25:00.002+01:00

I certainly do!

More Bread

2009-07-29T12:06:00.004+01:00

Lots of photos of various breads made at the course, including Tuscan Harvest Bread (made with lots of grapes and raisins and vino santo), pirozhki (with egg and cabbage), all-real-butter croissants, focaccia, French country bread with lots of nuts and dried fruit, and a communal wheatsheaf (with mouse). There were others, such as various rhy breads, brioche, fruitbread (which I turned into a gugelhupf) - I can't even remember it all.

The people on the course were a good mix of young and old, new hands and experienced bakers, and of course there was Andrew, who knows more about bread than I've ever forgotton.

Brilliant

I'm sure they mean well....

2009-07-17T08:04:00.006+01:00

At first, the novelty was appealing.

A walk round the supermarket saw Max 'pick-up' all sorts of freebies from garlic fried potatoes to little pots of strawberry yoghurt. At the butcher's he was given hunks of Fleischwurst (something akin to a high meat content luncheon meat) and at the baker's he got soft pretzels and biscuits. Even the lady at the supermarket meat counter asked 'wui der kloana a Wiener odr a Stück Gelbwurst' (whether the little one would like a fistful of German meat of one description or another). But I soon learned that, however cute it looked, Max in the trolley at ten thirty with a piece of bread bigger than his head in one hand and an obscenely huge sausage would mean he would look askance at my nutrious warm lunch an hour or so later and our sacrasanct routine would be out of synch for the whole day. The young man, of course, loved it. He soon cottoned on, vociferously complaining 'more, more, more' a hundred times at even the slightest glimpse of a baker's or meat counter vitrine. I liked the fact that he was becoming a true little German sausage afficionado but I just had to be careful with the timing. However, although sausages and bread really aren't THAT bad for toddlers, this little cultural more goes beyond a bit of hearty German elevenses. Max has been given dextrose tablets (?) from the chemists, Werthers Originals from strangers (wishing to placate a crying boy who is complaining that I have taken away a pen he was poking down his throat before putting him in the bike trailer – believe me depriving him of his boiled sweet caused renewed outrage) and the wonderful lady in the supermarket (just before teatime) who, on hearing Max's gigantinormous trolley tantrum (due to me having to get him and my frozen food home but him preferring to stay and play on the electric 'bike, bike, bike', 'car, car, car' or 'buth, buth, buth' (Max never says a word only once)) handed him an ice-cream in a packet telling me that 'now the poor little lad needn't cry anymore'. Well-meant I am sure but this latter trantrum resurfaced wth renewed vigour when I had to remove the ice-cream and plop it into the bin just as he got through the wrapper with his teeth – visualise the scene - me singing 'bye-bye ice-cream' in tense tones trying to drown out Max's wailing with a fixed smile trying to warm the cold stares of passers by. Wonderful experience.

I guess this particular novelty is rapidly wearing off...

Bread, Bread and More Bread

2009-07-13T20:19:00.006+01:00

I spent last week in Cumbria, in the North of England, on a most excellent bread making course. It was run by Andrew Whitley, who used to own the Village Bakery in Melmerby, and is the author of one of the best bread books ever (at least in my opinion), Bread Matters. Over those five days, we got instruction on how to create our own sourdough, air kneading (good for your arms), how to survive in the Soviet Union on nothing but rye bread, potatoes and the odd bit of veg, the politics of owning a bakery, water mills, organic food & farming, shaping bread, different types of flour, gluten structure, and a whole load more. I won't bore you with all the details, but here are a couple of photos of the breads I made:

Russian Borodinsky bread. A rye sourdough bread, with molasses, malt, and most importantly, dried coriander (both ground and some seeds). According to the experts, well, my other half, very authentic.

Pain de levain aux oignons et lardon: ie wheat leaven bread with fried onions and bacon. Well tasty, excellent with cold meats.

More to follow

Nothing Much Really

2009-07-13T19:56:00.009+01:00

It's been a while since we updated this blog, mostly because we've been too busy (more on that in another entry). So in the meantime, here are a couple of recent photos of The Man (at the time of writing, 19 months old already).

As you can see, he's already an accomplished gardener (what a hole), and likes blackberries fresh from the bush.

Oh I Do Like To Live Beside The Sea Side

2009-06-16T15:59:00.007+01:00

or at the very least, beside a nice lake on a hot day!

(visit to Guggenberger See, June 13th, less than a mile from home)

We Are Online

2009-06-15T10:00:00.002+01:00

I am writing this in the office (don't tell my boss) but we are no longer cut of from the rest of the world in our new home. Not the fastest link, downloading files is going to take longer than we were used to, but certainly good enough for email, MSN and the like.

:-)

Broadband Saga

2009-06-12T15:28:00.002+01:00

We're not sure yet, but maybe, just maybe, we might have internet access in our new home from tonight / tomorrow. Our internet story is a sad one, so here are just the high (or should that be low) lights:

Early May: Ordered 16 Mbit broadband access (DSL in German), including telephone flat rate for Germany and UK calls. Confirmation letter from DSL company to confirm new phone number.
One or two weeks later (not sure due to not actually living at that address yet): Received letter from DSL company that due to technical issues it is unfortunately not possible to provide broadband access.
End of May: Discussion with neighbours confirms worst fears, exactly three roads in Neutraubling got glass fibre cables about 10 years ago, including ours. Need good old-fashioned copper cables for broadband - ie no one able to offer anything above basic modem speed or maybe ISDN via land lines. Cable company can offer TV but no internet access . Bummer (or personal choice of extreme expletive).
Beginning of June: Considering Satellite option. Turns out to be very expensive (80 Euros or so per month, for 2 Mbit, plus hardware & installation costs).
One week ago: Ordered mobile broadband (via mobile operator), supposedly up to 7 Mbit. Three days later, they deliver the wrong hardware. Everything has to be returned.
Today: New hardware has been delivered. Maybe, just maybe it's the right one, the details are correct, and on top of everything, the signal is strong enough (neighbours sceptical).

Will it work? No idea, but watch this space.

Für Unsere Nicht-Englischsprachigen Besucher

2009-06-05T15:07:00.003+01:00

Liebe Nicht-Engländer

Ich habe mir sagen lassen, dass nicht jede/r englisch spricht, und daher hier nicht immer alles verstanden wird. Echt? Sowas aber auch :-)

Mein Vorschlag: einfach die Adresse der Webseite bei Babelfish, http://de.babelfish.yahoo.com eingeben (oder auch einfach nur einen Text). Da wird dann alles automatisch übersetzt - nicht perfekt, das Ergebniss ist gelegentlicher eher "durchwachsen", aber man kann meistens (fast) ganz gut verstehen, um was es geht. Einfach mal ausprobieren.

Breaking News - First Baby Illness In New Home

2009-06-04T14:38:00.002+01:00

Last night was quite unsettled, and when our young man woke up this morning he refused to be put down, didn't want his porridge, and was a very unhappy chappy. Some calpol helped improve the situation by the time I had to set off for my official first day at work from our new home (typical, of course). He seems better now, but it seems he's caught a tummy bug: raised temperature, diarrhoea, refusal to eat...

Oh dear

No Internet, no email

2009-06-04T08:57:00.002+01:00

Due to the fact that we live in the only three streets in Neutraubling where optic fibre cables were installed 10 years ago (when this still was thought to be the way to go), we haven't been able to get a broadband, or in fact, any kind of internet connection. We'll probably need to go for broadband via satellite, not terribly fast (up to 2 Mbit) but to compensate for that also quite expensive!

So, at least for a little while longer, until all this has been sorted out, we are offline at home, at least as far as emailing and such goes. I have access in the office, and will forward (print out, poor trees) any emails and take them home, post any blog items written offline (hence the flurry today), and so forth. So, please be warned and be patient, any responses to your missives (and please do write) might take a little while.

Journeymen (and women!)

2009-06-04T08:47:00.002+01:00

Almost ever since I begun to learn German, I have been thrilled about the notion of the ‘Wandergeselle’. They are young men and women who, having completed their apprenticeships, decide that they need more experience in order to become proper masters of their trade. In order to gain that experience, they must travel for 3 years from carpenter to carpenter or baker to baker offering their services to established craftsmen and asking for nothing in return. They must wear special, almost medieval costumes (the costume differs from trade to trade) and carry travellers walking sticks and their worldly belongings in a bundle over their shoulders. Although these days, I am quite sure they carry mobile phones, they are not supposed to earn a profit, only their keep and they must hitchhike from place to place searching for work and lodgings. Many of them even travel abroad on their mission to become better smith or better welders. They are a truly dedicated bunch.

You can imagine my excitement, therefore, when M, out of the blue does an illegal u-turn to on the main road out of Regensburg, to pick up a couple of oddly-clad journey 'people'. One, a young lady who only started out very recently, is an upholsterer and the other, a man at the end of his three years, is a locksmith / metal worker. They told us how, when they set out, for the first three months they are accompanied by a seasoned ‘Geselle’ who has already been travelling for some time so that they can learn the tricks of the trade and, basically, how to survive on the road sticking to the specific rules that apply to the journey. They were a young, unassuming couple and yet, they must really have had such inner confidence, not to speak of dedication and commitment, to undertake such a journey.

Maybe I don’t have much faith in the youth of today or, indeed, of Britain’s trades people but, somehow, I just can’t imagine your average young chippie or plasterer travelling for 3 years without earning a penny. Can you?

And all this just for a wheelie bin…

2009-06-04T08:41:00.002+01:00

You’d think it would be easy really. In Addlestone, we had a wheelie bin into which we put our rubbish. On Wednesdays the bin men would come and take the rubbish away (with Max waving excitedly and wildly at his dirty heroes through the window). It’s not exactly rocket science.

In Neutraubling however, our quest to dispose of our unwanted items begins at the local town hall. Room number 8. Second floor. Bit like the Soviet Union really, only smarter. Here we are told that, in order to get a bin, we firstly have to get our landlord to sign a form giving us permission to get one (as opposed to having rotting food and newspapers piling up around us in our lovely well-kept property like Mr Trevas I suppose). Once we have completed this form, we have to decide what size bin we want. Different sized bins not only cost different amounts to purchase (yes you do actually have to go to a garden-centre to buy your own wheelie bin) but your monthly council fee varies according to the size of your bin too! Once you have purchased your bin and got your special permission from the landlord, you go back to the town hall to get your special bin licence number (like a little registration plate for your bin). But, what if you change your mind after 6 months when you realise that your bin is overflowing with nappies because you were too tight to buy a bigger one? Then you have to deregister your bin and start the whole process all over again to get one with more capacity!

What bureaucracy! And that’s just the stuff you don’t recycle – the rest has to be dragged to the local recycling point which is only open certain hours and if you don’t drive, lugging tons of plastic and paper and cardboard there is probably a bit of a chore. It’s compulsory mind you – if someone catches you throwing paper in your general rubbish bin, then there will be trouble! And I thought Germans were the big greenies!

Home?

2009-05-27T09:22:00.005+01:00

Having left Max sleeping peacefully at his Grandma’s we travelled back to Addlestone to say one final goodbye to our home. I already felt detached from the town’s streets as though it was already part of my past. Problem is, I wasn’t attached to anything else in its place yet so felt rather drifty and lost all afternoon.

The early evening consisted of us manically chasing the cats round the garden with bowls of tuna trying to persuade them that they really honestly did want to be locked into a cage in the back of a hot car for the next 12 hours. For Marx and Lenin, the attraction of the fish was too much to resist so we captured them and left them yowling agonisingly in the back of the car. Button however was having none of it and refused outright.

A delicious supper at friends later, and we eventually managed to cajole her into the kitchen leaving me with my back to the cat flap preventing her from escaping and M chasing her round the kitchen – petrified cats can really honestly climb up walls like Spiderman you know?!

The night was very very long – the car smelt of cat fear and various other feline secretions, Belgium blessed us with extreme storms and roads full of bits of tree and torrential rain but eventually, 15 hours later, we arrived ‘home’!

The house is even better than I remember (I had only ever seen it once so was slightly worried that in my mind’s eye, I was seeing it through somewhat rose-tinted glasses) AND the new sofa had already arrived (lovely brown leather) AND the new kitchen is so delicious I had to do a little dance on the spot! The only problem is, it feels so big that I keep getting lost and have to ask Marion to remind me which floor the bathroom is on! With all those stairs, I don’t need to go to an evening class to do step aerobics either!

Also took a little trip around the town and actually, it’s really quite OK – a pool, a nice big shopping complex, parks, lots of little communities with families in them, a couple of nice little restaurants.

I think we’re all going to be just fine – this afternoon, the removal men might even bring us a mug or two and some cutlery so we don’t have to eat muesli with our fingers anymore and maybe, just maybe, in the next couple of weeks the cats might come out from under the cellar shelves where they have taken residence!

Now, we’re off for a much needed and well deserved coffee.

Empty House

2009-05-14T23:21:00.002+01:00

It's done. Well, mostly. The removal men came today, emptied all the cupboards and wardrobes, filled boxes and a big lorry, and generally created havoc. They are going to come back in the morning to take the rest, but it already feels totally different, a house, not a home.

I'm now sitting on the sofa, drinking champange out of a tea cup, eating a kebab with the one remaining little spoon (the same spoon I used earler to eat one of Max's pots of green risotto). There's no light, except that coming of the telly and the PC, nothing to eat for breakfast tomorrow morning, not a single tea bag in the house, though I do have one of Max's towels for after the shower (without any smellies). Lovely ;-)

It feels a bit sad, leaving this house, after living here for nearly 14 years. It's changed a lot, in the process got a lovely kitchen and a very nice bathroom, new wooden floors, new carpets, much new furniture, and many licks of paint. It's seen a big and certainly one of the most important parts of my life, including that momentous day when Max arrived and took over. And it will feel strange to leave it behind, and know that I'm not coming back again, at least not to stay. Hmph. Sniff.

Mind you, I am getting rather excited about our new house in Germany. Big rooms, a cellar, two garages, brilliant! And a nice lake to go swimming in less than a mile away. As far as I am concernd, summer can come.

Sad

2009-05-05T14:51:00.001+01:00

Carla is unhappy, the thought of leaving all her friends and family behind is making her cry...

Stress

2009-05-05T13:32:00.005+01:00

Yes, we are stressed. Quite a lot actually.

The people at Ikea aren't answering the phone. We need to order and arrange deliveries of sofa (Ikea), kitchen (Ikea), appliances (all over the place) etc while we're still here in the UK, most of the time at least. The removal company hasn't confirmed when they will be able to deliver our furniture (it takes about a week or two, quite vague, so far). The cleaning people haven't confirmed our order for the big clean, just before our tennants arrive. And our painter and decorator (Granddad Dave) has a dodgy ankle, but assures us that it'll be ok in a couple of weeks.

Oh, and on top of everything, Max might be getting chicken pox, having been exposed to another baby who got it two days later. Which would be just in time for not being able to travel to Germany on the already booked flights at the end of the month.

Who'd want to move house, unless they really had to?

Enough moaning, though. We have finally decided on a new kitchen, and thought we'd share with you what it's going to look like. It's really lovely, or will be, once it's installed. All shiny and red, with wood and stainless steel inbetween. Absolutely gorgeous - until Max gets his greasy fingers on them ;-)

The First Pictures

2009-04-16T19:23:00.012+01:00

I went out to the new house on Tuesday to measure the kitchen and also managed to take a few photos (despite dropping and smashing my camera). Click on the photos to see a larger version.

Nice, ey?

This is the living room with big french doors leading to the garden.

Here's the dining room, the kitchen is to the left. It looks a bit dark because I hadn't opened the blinds in the living room yet.

The stair case (and my shoe) from the top. I really like those round windows.

The bathroom, with separate shower and bath. You can't see in this picture but the ceiling at least 4 meters high on one side!

The door to the roof terrace (ok, so you can't see very much, but it is there, honest). Got a lovely view up there, ideal for sunbathing, if you like that sort of thing.

And finally, the outside. V. modern

Sunshine & Ice Cream

2009-04-13T20:04:00.001+01:00

Bank holiday, 22C, spring is in the air, the sun is out, and so are the Regensburgers: all the shops are closed but the ice cafes (with real Italian ice cream) more than make up for that. There are at least 20 odd in Regensburg, and every single one of them was busy. It felt more like Rome than Regensburg.

Now there's something to look forward to.

And of course, I couldn't resist. Yum yum!

Kitchens

2009-04-08T17:04:00.006+01:00

Did you know that in Germany most flats, houses etc come sans kitchen? Indeed, when people move from one place to the next, they often consider the kitchen as part of the furniture, and take everything, including the sink. All you (the next person renting the place) are left with are the tiles on the walls and the dust balls in the corner. But then, you're bringing with you your old kitchen, or not, as the case may be.

Which is why we will be off to that well-known Swedish furniture place, to spend a nice bit of money on a lovely new kitchen.

So, are we going to go for the wooden option (expensive):

Or the impressively red option (even more expensive):

Well, we'd better decide soon, or all we will have when we move in is a bare room, and maybe a camping stove.

Layout

2009-04-06T22:40:00.002+01:00

Here's the layout of our new place. You can't really make out very much, plus it's the wrong way round (it's a mirror image of what it actually is), but it is better than nothing. The numbers behing the room names indicate the size of the room in square metres.

Brief architectural German lesson:

Bad: Bath
Dachterrasse: roof terrace
Ebene: level
Eltern: parents
Essen: eating (dining room)
Grundriss: layout
Heizung: heating (gas boiler)
HWR: utility room
Keller: cellar / basement
Kind: child
Kueche: kitchen
Windfang: porch / entrance area (literally: wind break)
Wohnen: living (room)

We've Got Somewhere To Move To

2009-04-03T14:13:00.003+01:00

Last weekend we went house hunting in and around Regensburg. There were a couple of places we liked and one especially. It's about 7 miles from the centre of Regensburg, in a small town called Neutraubling. There were a number of people interested in this place, and yesterday we got news that they picked us to be their new tenants. Yes!

I haven't got any photos or anything yet, but here's at least a map to show you where you can find us from this summer.

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We're Going

2009-04-03T13:27:00.005+01:00

I'll warn you right away, this isn't going to be the most exciting of blogs. For one thing, I'm writing it, or at least I will attempt to, because seeing my previous efforts this is going to fizzle out in no time. But, hey, at least I'm willing to give it a try.

OK, to recap, we - Max, his two mums and our five cats - are currently living in the UK, somewhere in Surrey, not too far away from the great shiny busy city of London, within easy reach of Heathrow and therefore the world. And very soon now we'll be packing our bags and everything else, to move to 'the Continent' - into deepest Bavaria, to a small town on the outskirts of Regensburg, miles and miles from the nearest airport.

What, you haven't heard of Regensburg? Well, admittedly, it's a bit out in the sticks, but to compensate for that it is a world heritage site (really beautiful city centre with medieval buildings, a big cathedral, one of the world's oldest stone bridges across the river Danube), lies in the middle of gorgeous countryside, lake or river swimming in summer, skiing in winter, etc etc.

This blog will (hopefully) give an insight into how we're getting on with the move and the locals once we're there, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and where possible the funny as well. It's for friends and family, or whoever might find it mildly interesting.

Feel free to comment (but please not anonymously), link to or completely ignore, as you see fit.