September 2007

PostingEn vacances....

.... for a couple of weeks. Back early October.

Posted 21 September 2007 21:11 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Holidays

PostingBaboushka

Definitions of an 'older mum' can vary wildly, not just from one country to another, but from region to region, family to family. What's old in one person's eyes can be positively youthful in someone else's. Thanks again to all who commented on Tuesday's posting and reminded me of this.

750pxRussianMatroshkanobg_Small.jpgHere's another good example. Apparently even today, in Russia, women tend to have babies before the age of 25, and women older than this are categorised by maternity units as 'elderly', or whatever the Russian is for 'over the hill'.  Dread to think what they'd make of new mums in their 40s. Stalin probably rounded them up and sent them to the Siberian salt mines in disgrace for pressing their withered ovaries into service one last time. Personally I blame all those matrioshka dolls they have. Such temptation to see if there's another little one waiting to emerge.

I discovered about Russian ideas on maternal age in Oliver James' book Affluenza, in which he explores why so many more people fixate on what they haven't got and seek to be someone they're not.

Not obviously a book where I expected to come across definitions of an 'older' mum. But maternal age is relevant here, insists James. He says he mentions childbearing age in Russia, because Russian women 'do not yet define their worth through paid work'. Many of them do work, but their primary focus remains on being mothers. Hence fewer of the tensions between work and family experienced by so many of their counterparts in Western Europe.

James lays the blame for some of our social ills at the door of poor childcare. His biggest bugbear is putting young children into nurseries before they're ready and even argues that our culture's restless dissatisfaction and obsession with 'having' rather than 'being'  is a byproduct of inadequate early child care that makes us insecure and needy.

He objects to mums leaving young children in nurseries or with childminders, arguing this causes long-term behavioural problems for the children in question, who find it difficult to form relationships and tend to base their sense of worth on external factors (exam grades, size and location of house, trendy gadgets). The problem with 'affluenza' is its many sufferers are never satisfied, no matter how much they achieve or own,  leaving them with an unquenchable sense of emptiness. Since Beanie, aged 17 months, goes to nursery twice a week, you can imagine how I felt when I read that.

Here is James on the evils of day care for young children: "The message from research is clear: under three a child is best off with one person, the same one every day and one who is responsive."

However, he's not unsympathetic to mothers: "The great problem [with being a mother] is the lack of status it attracts and our having been brainwashed into believing that only paid work is admirable. Unfortunately it will be rare that anyone other than your partners will give you the credit you deserve. But in its absence, remember this: however much you were raised to be a prize-hunter, intrinsic pleasure is far better for your emotional well-being. It may not seem so very often, but the authenticity, vivacity and playfulness of small children is hugely rewarding, a much greater boon than any number of promotions or pay rises."

So there we go.

Posted 20 September 2007 13:19 | Number of comments: 17 | Comments

Older mother Childcare Nursery Parenting gurus

PostingLot of it about

Some doctors don't like treating older mums-to-be, a midwife friend confided in me recently.

Why not? I wondered. "So many questions," she explained wisely. "The older, educated mums get on the Internet and winkle out every bit of information they can. Sometimes they know more than the doctors do. Makes the doctors nervous."

But the doctors have all that status that comes with their white coats, I pointed out. How could they be intimidated by a pregnant woman who's frightened herself silly on the net? "They're phasing white coats out," she told me. "White, you know. Gets so grubby. Nobody has time to wash them." So, how then do doctors manage to outwit their uppity patients? "Big words," she said succintly. Ah, words. That would do the trick.

Then I was chatting casually with another medic, a doctor, and mentioned my interest in the issues surrounding older mums. A lovely girl. Kindly, generous and competent. But she rolled her eyes at the mention of older mums. "There's certainly a lot of them about," she told me drily.

I shouldn't be surprised that age issues can lead to difficult dynamics between doctors and older mums. The other week I experienced it myself, when I saw a young female doctor, who didn't look a day older than 30, bless her. I couldn't help thinking no way was she old enough to understand about babies and miscarriage. Goodness knows what she thought of me.

I'm still reading Kate Mosse's excellent book Becoming a Mother, which has a small section on older first-time mothers. One of the things I like best about Mosse is that she's so iconoclastic, but in such a thoroughly thought-out and sensitive way it's hard to imagine anyone disagreeing with her as she proceeds to demolish one out-dated belief system after another.

I was glad to see she had words about how some members of the medical profession treat  mum-to-be over 35 as latter-day dinosaurs who are messing with Mother Nature, automatically labelling them 'high-risk'. Mosse discovered that psychologists at Bristol's Institute of Child Health had reviewed medical literature in this field, and discovered most of it hopelessly out of date.

According to Mosse, the Institute concluded: "Social and psychological factors were not taken into account and most research is out of date. We were also surprised at the very small samples that researchers used. The problem is that poor science of this type of then used to justify the label 'high risk'."

Given that overall life expectancy has changed so drastically over the last century, likewise health and nutrition, perhaps it's time some enterprising doctors revised their definitions of what it means to be an older mum. Having had Beanie aged 38, and not yet given up hope of having another baby, I've got more than passing interest in the subject. If anybody's heard of any research in this field, I'd be interested to know about it.

Posted 18 September 2007 21:54 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Older mother Parenting gurus Pregnancy

PostingNew beginnings

So, the weekend away. The child-free weekend away.

Surreal moment in Manchester Airport en route to Waterford, in Ireland. Was pushing a trolley between terminals. That felt natural: I'm used to pushing things. Looked down. Couldn't see a toddler in front of me.

Ohmigod, where was she? Where was Beanie? Panicked.

Remembered. Big sigh of relief - she was at nursery. While I was supposed to be learning to enjoy myself on my own again.

Va-vay said before I left: "If you don't come back having enjoyed yourself, I'll make you go away again."

Mad paranoia before I left. I started worrying someone might steal Beanie from nursery while I was away. Phoned a friend. Who was kind enough not to sound exasperated but persuaded me my fears were groundless; talked me onto the plane.

As for the wedding itself, beautiful. The sun shone on our corner of Ireland. The priest who conducted the ceremony could have been in showbiz. A "character" we all agreed afterwards. Straight out of Father Ted.

As we waited for the bride to arrive, a red butterfly fluttered in an arched window of the church. She arrived to Pachelbel's Canon in D, played on the harpsichord. Never fails to bring tears to my eyes, that music. The groom looked so proud to be marrying such a lovely girl.

They certainly knew how to party. The party went on until five am, with lots of singing, dancing, drinking and talking. I managed to last until one o'clock. Late by my enfeebled standards.

It was lonely without Va-vay. Made me realise how lucky I am to be with him. Reminded me of the start to our family life.

The wedding seemed made up of couples, like when I was 'properly' single. At the dinner, I sat next to other 'singleton' at the event, a nice Irish diplomat who told me it was difficult in his line of work to find a wife, because nowadays women want careers, and are reluctant to go through the upheaval of moving country every three years.

Our table had a book on how long the speeches would last.

On Sunday morning, I got up, made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed to read the papers. For the first time in the eighteen months since I became a mother.

At the security check on the way home, officials searched my belongings. The woman found my diary and opened it. The pages fell open where I'd left a picture of Beanie on her first birthday. The official looked at the photo. Looked at me. Smiled. Stopped the search. Waved me through.

Posted 17 September 2007 15:41 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Fun Holidays Out and about Kit

PostingWeekend away

Off for a couple of days. Back Monday.

Posted 14 September 2007 11:31 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

PostingBig Chill

September07009_Small.JPG New developments in egg-freezing techniques apparently mean all women will have the opportunity to delay having children until a time that suits them, according to a story in The Scotsman earlier this month. A breakthrough in freezing technology, which eliminates the risk in damaging the egg after thawing, paves the way to offer the treatment to all women. Up until now only women facing cancer treatment have been offered it. Two fertility clinics in England are now planning to offer it to women who want to delay motherhood, usually because they are without a partner or because they are pursuing a career.

The Scotsman quotes a Professor Gedis Grudzinkas, medical director of the Bridge Fertility Centre, saying: "The contraceptive pill gave women more choice about when they started their families. Egg freezing now gives women the chance to delay having children until the time that is right for them."

Wonder how many women will take Professor Grudzinkas up on this new service. I would have thought about it, seriously thought about it, if I hadn't met my husband when I did, aged 35, and been lucky enough to have the Bean (pictured). Don't know if I'd ever have had the nerve to go through with it, though.

Posted 13 September 2007 21:30 | Number of comments: 4 | Comments

Older mother

PostingJammin'

September07cropped031_Small.jpgFor years, I aspired to be a domestic goddess. I had all these fantasies about how when I got married I would practise the arts of cooking, knitting, patchwork, pottery, quilting, tapestry, gardening and jam-making.

My future life as wife and mother was so perfect in my singleton imagination. I was going to be the kind of earth mother who made her own organic stock from scratch, could run up a pair of curtains on her machine and had a pasta-maker I used, oh, more than once. Since I only got married at 37, I had a long time to polish up the fantasies, without much of a reality check. Now here I am at the coal face. And I realise how very difficult a job being a good housewife can be. This stuff is tough. Much, much tougher than people acknowledge. But I'm no quitter.

Here is my progress report so far.

1. Cooking

Two or three nights a week I manage a proper home-cooked meal for Va-vay. The rest of the time it's ready meals via M&S. Beanie is refusing to eat anything I cook her. She downs her spoon and bangs on the table for Petit Filou. It's pretty dispiriting. I try not to take it personally.

2. Knitting

Reasonable success here. I've made Beanie a blanket, stuffed hippo and monkey and am half-way through a cardigan for her.

3. Patchwork

Zero progress. Nul points.

4. Pottery

Attended class. Managed to make and glaze large plantpot, of which I am disproportionately proud. I love it. Gave Va-vay evil looks when he suggested re-patriating it to one of his cupboards.

5. Quilting

Thought about going to class. Decided against, on grounds of lack of time.

6. Tapestry

Have stitched in another tulip on a canvas I bought four years ago. My sister came round. Looked at the canvas. Said: "Is there any woman in the world who doesn't have a half-finished tapestry kicking round somewhere in the house?" I don't know. Is there?

7. Gardening

Have applied for an allotment. Estimated waiting time: five years. They are all the rage in Edinburgh after Antonia Swinson wrote her enchanting book about them, You Are What You Grow. Meantime, I have geraniums.

8. Jam-making

Have tried hard here, with mixed results. Two nights ago I made my first attempt at this, after Granny gave me two pounds of plums from her garden. It was all going so well.... then we got to the part where the recipe said to turn the heat up as high as it will go, and then in seconds my beautiful red jam turned into caramelised brown treacle (pictured). Gutting. It's still edible, despite being carbonised.

Other News

I've been lucky enough to get a couple of awards recently.

Lovely Omega Mum at 3kidsnojob, a daily must-read for me, kindly gave me this one:

Awsomeblogger_Small.jpgMany thanks, Omega Mum. There are lots of people I'd like to award it to. I've decided I'd like to pass it on to DJ Kirkby, since her blog Novel with No Name has got me so involved I'm hopping up and down with rage at what's happening to her heroine, a new mother with a less-than-supportive husband.

Lou at the Wonderful World of Anna Gibson was good enough to give me this Nice Matters award. Lou has a young daughter close in age to Beanie and writes about so many experiences I've had as well. Her blog has helped me realise I'm not alone in many of my fears and worries about being a new mum. Many thanks for the award, Lou. Much appreciated.

nicemattersthumbnail_Small.jpgI'm sorry I couldn't award this to more people. In the end, I've had to choose two, so here goes: I'd like to pass it on to Erica of Littlemummy and British Parent Bloggers, because I enjoy her blogging tremendously, she truly is a nice person and we're friends.

I'd also like to give it to Vicky, of Little Legends, the free guide to places for kids in the UK, and Manic Mama, an entertaining mamalogue about life looking after her three little boys.

Posted 12 September 2007 22:16 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Activities Blogging Domestic chaos Food Older mother

PostingLet's fix it

upsyon_Small.gif Social conditioning starts young. I learnt this from a cursory ten minutes last night in front of my new favourite TV channel CBeebies. Women can hardly be surprised their menfolk focus on solutions and practicalities, when young boys are encouraged to model themselves on Bob "Let's fix it" the Builder. Bob is a likeable chap and good sort, but includes machines among his friends. I suspect if the government ever got serious about getting more women into IT, it would probably have to tackle gender issues with Bob's TV show first.

Likeable though he is, I wonder if Bob's storing up long-term trouble in relationships with his focus on machines. Will Bob grow up to be a man who'll listen to and empathise with his partner? Poor Bob. He'll probably get into trouble with her by putting on his hard hat and rushing to fix things, all well-meaning and wanting to please. Then she might complain: "You never listen to me! I feel so unheard." And he'll be left feeling all confused. All down to misguided early conditioning. Tragic, really.

As for us girls, could CBeebies not have found us a better inspiration than Uppsy Daisy, the sweet-natured but feisty heroine of In the Night Garden? Iggle Piggle, her great pal, doesn't look old enough to be allowed out with this young lady. If I was his mum, I'd be practising disapproving looks. Doing clever things with her hair and repeating her own name isn't much of a way  for Uppsy Daisy to pass the time. I'd get bored. She just skips around the garden and flicks her hair. Electronically. She doesn't get to go in the lovely boat with Iggle Piggle and his red blanket. Also, I was a teeny bit scared of her in the episode where she found out some naughty person had been bold enough to sleep in the motorised bed that follows her everywhere. As Derek Jacobi intoned in the beautiful voice-over: "Only Uppsy Daisy sleeps in Uppsy Daisy's bed." Well, that's us told.

Then there's the question of the Pontypine family, who live in a semi with net curtains, which they sometimes twitch, by the foot of a large tree. All ten of them. Is it any wonder we suffer this tyranny for large families, given nightly bombardment by the Pontys and their eight children? Last night Beanie and I counted the Ponty progeny in and out of more flowerpots than I care to remember by cold light of day. What's more, all the Ponty babies are of identical height..... meaning Mrs Pontypine must have given birth to octuplets. Now that's pressure.

Posted 11 September 2007 11:38 | Number of comments: 19 | Comments

Activities Childcare Domestic chaos Fun

PostingObsessed

The night after Kate and Gerry McCann were named as suspects in the disappearance of their own child, I dreamt my duvet had turned into a rippling black cloud that was engulfing me in a sea of darkness. I woke up dripping with sweat to hear Beanie next door screaming, and clambered out of bed, pushing away the darkness.

No news story has ever affected me like this before, except maybe the Soham murders. I've become obsessed with this latest twist in the case of a little girl who went missing in mysterious circumstances in Portugal five months ago. Obsessed to the point where I can hardly talk of anything else. To the point where when I wake up it's the first thing I think about.

Since the story broke in May, it's felt like a part of me, of who I am as a parent. I've based so much of my behaviour since the little girl went missing on the assumption she was abducted from their ground-floor Portuguese holiday apartment.

I've hassled Beanie's nursery to tighten security, refused to leave her with anyone except close family and a handful of trusted friends and planned our holiday around being with her all the time. Beanie, like Madeleine, is pretty and blonde; just a couple of years younger than the missing girl. But so many of us parents, if not all of us, identified with the McCanns, with the unspeakable calamity that seemed to have befallen them.

The Madeleine story appeared to embody every parent's worst fears. The stuff of myth and monsters. Now it seems the real truth might be darker still. I hope not. But I get a bad feeling it might be.

Posted 09 September 2007 11:40 | Number of comments: 28 | Comments

Childcare News Safety

PostingClean-up operation

cleaner001_Small.JPGWe're thinking of hiring a cleaner. This could be a bigger decision than we realised.

Leafing through Yellow Pages this morning, I stumbled on one firm offering an unusual range of  services. Under the slogan: "Life Maid Easy offers you the chance to reclaim your life." This is what they offer: cleaning, ironing, window cleaning. So far, so normal.

And... wait for it: Life Style Management.

I've heard about powerful cleaning agents, but this is going too far. And you know the really sad thing? I was almost tempted to call these enterprising people and see what they could offer.

Posted 07 September 2007 12:54 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Domestic chaos Home Missing sanity Work at Home Mum

PostingGranny footsteps

wildflower_garden_flotterstone.jpgHere's a little-known advantage to having children later in life. One that's been under my nose for months, but that I've only now noticed. By accident, really. Revelation strikes on the way back from Waitrose. Around tea-time. After we miss our bus. The way these things so often do.

"So what's it like, mum, waiting till 67 to have your first grandchild?" I ask Granny.

The state Granny is in, I half-expect her to say: "Awful. I'm too old and knackered to run after a toddler. Couldn't you have got yourself a decent feller ten years ago?" Not that I in any way feel like this myself, you must understand.

I'm expecting this response because, after all, we've just left the supermarket. The same supermarket where last week she volunteered to go back and pay for a tub of half-fat fromage frais her seventeen-month grandaughter had somehow, a day earlier, managed to half-inch from the shelves, without Granny noticing, and hide in her buggy. When the offending item was discovered, to great consternation, Granny insisted on returning to the scene of the crime to confess and pay up. So important to instill honesty early.....

Granny's finger is bleeding from a fumbled attempt to strap Beanie into her chariot. Flustered fingers, the arched back of protest, a nippy buckle....

She is also carrying two bags of my shopping (let me just say here I am carrying the other two and pushing the buggy, lest you conclude I'm a complete slacker). Her face is lopsided after a trip to the dentist to remove one of her last four remaining teeth. The rest go next week: it's a poignant time. And she is perspiring in the sunshine with her efforts.

But she doesn't say what I expected. She doesn't even hesitate.

"Brrrrrrilliant!"

She becomes more Yorkshire in emphasis. Her ruddy face and terrible teeth crack into a huge smile.

"It would have been just the same if it had happened ten years ago, mind."

Then she stops, corrects herself.

"No, it wouldn't have been as good ten years ago. I wouldn't have been retired and able to spend all this time with you and Beanie."

It's unimaginable. If Granny were still working, Beanie would never have met all the biscuit-buying old ladies in the supermarket who greet her like an old friend. She wouldn't have all the love and attention of her granny, a lady for whom the word 'besotted' barely describes the intensity of her love for Beanie. No getting to rampage around Granny's garden, enjoying the honeysuckle, no entertaining hours spent unloading and loading the contents of Granny's handbag onto the kitchen floor... the thought of Granny unavailable for larks and jollity is grim; grim in the extreme.

As for me, how would I have got through the long days of caring for Beanie on my own? I know lots of women do. But communication can be tough with someone whose only phrases are 'neh, neh, neh", "ping" and "bah-bah". Don't get me wrong; I adore Beanie, I'm so proud of her. She has an excellent sense of fun, she's loving and outgoing. My love for her is huge and overwhelming. I feel I'd give my life for her if need be. She's the most amazing, precious thing ever to happen to me. Sometimes, though, it just lightens the load to have another person there, to keep an eye out for her while I do boring domestic stuff, make her feel special and loved.

Granny has taken to being a grandmother with such glee and good grace, she even consented to read a book I bought her, The Good Granny Guide by Jane Fearnley-Whittingstall, accepting it with scarcely more than a grumpy 'hrummph' sound in mild protest that suggested one as experienced as she could have no need of such advice. And she acts on some of the suggestions too. Greater love hath no granny than this; to read something suspiciously close to the self-help books her generation disdains, to accept advice from a stranger on the business of how to be her.

Posted 06 September 2007 20:56 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Childcare Granny Older mother

PostingTime and tide

iStock000003688380XSmall_Small.jpg Erica at Littlemummy and British Parent Bloggers has pointed me towards a story revealing the pressure on mums is so great that we have just ten minutes of 'me-time' every day to ourselves, leading researchers to label our generation as 'motor mums'.

Writing as one who can barely bring herself to drive a car, I'm not sure this is the right label for me. I'm also unsure what counts as 'me-time', which in itself could be sad and telling. Loading and unloading the dishwasher? Cleaning the floors? Vacuuming? The Sisyphean task of laundry management, for which I'm beginning to wonder if I need one of those project management qualifications? Blogging?

I did go to lots of Edinburgh Book Festival events, some of them even on my own. That's got to count. But that was okay because I suffered torments of guilt for my frivolous abandon.

According to the people who came up with this research (a washing powder company) mums have so little time to themselves because they spend most of the day keeping their children happy.

I don't mind not having much 'me-time', (though as I write Beanie is screaming for my attention, annoyed to have lost me in the blogosphere, so I'll have to be quick). Perhaps I'm not being strictly honest with myself - there is tension between her needs, or at least her wants, and mine.

But I had to wait until I was 38 to have Beanie. So I had a super-abundance of 'me-time' before she arrived, some of it great, some okay, and some, well, frankly, lonely; spent wondering if or when Mr Right would materialise, if I'd be able to have a baby. Yes, I know: Bridget Jones, eat your heart out.

Maybe being older has meant a bigger adjustment to devoting most of my waking hours (and quite a few of the sleeping ones, too, on occasion) to another person.

But after waiting so long for her, now Beanie's here, I intend to make the most of it.

Posted 05 September 2007 11:46 | Number of comments: 19 | Comments

Childcare Daughter Guilt News Older mother

PostingSilver spoon

HarrietAugust07046_Small.JPGAfter yesterday inflicting on you the picture of an Indian lady breastfeeding a monkey, which all of us agreed was pretty vile, I've got something much cuter to show you today. This is a picture of a fantastic piece of ergonomic baby kit that one of Va-vay's work colleagues, a lady who lives in Egypt, kindly gave us. I'd never seen one of them before, I'm not even sure they're available in this country. The beauty of the shape is it allows babies to hold their cutlery more like an adult would hold a knife, as parents will tell you babies tend to do anyway. So Beanie can wrap a tiny fist around the stem, then still heap up her petit filou, fish pie or whatever, and convey it thence to her tummy, a process which is much harder for her with a conventional rubber toddler spoon. We're not sure yet if Beanie's right or left-handed. Probably right-handed. Hoping so, anyway, as this lovely spoon will work only for right-handed toddlers. But don't worry, Beanie. No pressure.

Posted 04 September 2007 10:50 | Number of comments: 7 | Comments

Friends Kit

PostingMonkey business

41032595monkeymom203_Small.jpgWe all know that breast is best, but really, you can take a good idea too far, as I think you'll agree this picture proves. This Indian lady, a government worker, has treated Buru, her pet monkey, as her third child, since her woodcutter husband found him half-starved as a baby under a nearby tree after a storm. "Yes, I breastfeed him. He is my son," Namita Das told BBC News. "I did not have a son. God has given me one." According to the BBC, Buru generally stays at home, but can sometimes be seen climbing on neighbours' rooves, stealing bananas. Blimey! And I thought I got some funny looks for breastfeeding Beanie until she was a year old.

Posted 03 September 2007 16:36 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Breastfeeding Missing sanity News

PostingGrand finale

PICT0147_Small.JPG Beanie's playgroup reconvenes later this month in our local church, now that the Polish theatre group performing there has packed up its lorry of props, grease paint and other kit and headed south like swallows.

Come snack time this autumn, when the toddlers are feasting on slices of banana, bread sticks and raisins, it'll be nice to think the church was home for a while in this year's Fringe to a troupe of actors who saw the snack area as their performance space. The buggy park was their box office; playtime their showtime.

Judging by their press board, the group had a good season; they won lots of awards in the local and national press, and played to packed houses. Their being here in the neighbourhood lent a touch of glamour to these all-too familiar streets and made me proud to have them here.

So proud, in fact, I didn't even mind (well, not that  much) when they stood outside on the streets smoking roll-up cigarettes and looking blank when I asked (politely!)  if they could let me get the buggy past. They looked so young, in their uniform black jeans and jumpers. Ah me!

All the other actors, comedians, authors, musicians and film-makers who have made Edinburgh such a fun place to be in August have also packed up for another year. Last night marked the finale to the Edinburgh International Festival, with the Bank of Scotland Fireworks Concert (pictured) that Va-vay and I were lucky enough to be able to watch from our sitting-room window.

There are lots of good things about the end of the Festival. Easier to get a table in cafes. Freedom to walk through town without reluctantly accepting a dozen cards for shows I have no intention of seeing. No feeling bad that performers put their heart into this event, and yet so many Fringe shows attract an audience not much out of single figures. Fewer posters of needy, identikit comedians.

But when I saw workmen dismantling the marquees for the Edinburgh International Book Festival in Charlotte Square I couldn't help but suffer a small pang of loss.

The Book Festival was fantastic; I travelled back to fourteenth century England when Simon Armitage spoke about his translation of Gawain, wished I had half the talent of Kitty Aldridge and Esther Freud, who spoke together about their new novels, felt I learn more in an hour at a wonderful creative writing class by Kate Mosse and Greg Mosse than I've done in a term at other classes and was scared stiff by Ian McEwan in conversation with Ian Rankin (so much so that afterwards I sprinted across the rain-logged lawn to locate Beanie and be sure she was still safe).

I delved into the hidden world of obstetrics at a talk from Janice Galloway and Alan Warner, imagined myself travelling the silk road with Colin Thubron and braved Arctic ice with Benedict Allen. Closer to home, I was entertained by Antonia Swinson's uplifting stories of life on her Edinburgh allotment. It's been inspiring and magical by equal turn. So while it's good to have playgroup back, I'll see it with different eyes after this summer.

Posted 03 September 2007 12:47 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

Books Edinburgh Festival Out and about Playgroup