The Trailer Park

The brochure read, “Set amid the forest that adorns the coast, is a delightful, well-run family campsite with excellent facilities. Relaxing is easy here; most of our ‘emplacements’ are surrounded by hedges, offering privacy and shade from the hot sun.” We arrive in the pouring rain to be greeted by a very large yellow sunshine sign saying, “Welcome”. As we check in, the French receptionist is certainly not smiling. She abruptly tells us we have parked in the wrong place and then sets about listing out the rules of the campsite. We nervously drive down a dusty track towards our pitch, under the gaze of rows of campers, sitting under their umbrellas in psychedelic waterproofs. At the end of the now rather slushy muddy cul-de-sac, we reach our chalet. We sit in the car for a few moments waiting for the downpour to subside, glancing around us searching for the supposed hedges. The Toddler waves at two children looking out of the window of the next door caravan, hopeful that he might make some playmates. The curtains twitch and the faces quickly disappear.
Now realizing that the rain was here to stay, we begin unpacking the car and in true British style flick on the kettle in the hope that a nice cup of tea might brighten things up a bit. The rain relentlessly pours and in the absence of any coats, I am suddenly struck by a claustrophobic panic. Sensing this, the boys launch into hyperactive puppy mode and embark on a very loud machine gun game around our ‘cabin’. My husband flicks on the kettle again and reassures me that after a good night’s sleep, we will all wake up to brilliant sunshine.
That evening we sit around eating the remnants of the previous chalet’s fridge and embark on a game of Scrabble, allowing for ‘sounding out’ words, of course. As night falls, the music begins. It soon becomes obvious that we are positioned close to the bar and are about to endure hours of karaoke. Here we are lying in a caravan at 2am being kept awake by some drunk man singing ‘Eye of The Tiger’, when we could be enjoying the peace and quiet of rural Dorset. My husband desperately talks me out of marching down to the bar in my pyjamas and launching into a psychotic rant on the dance floor. A few hours later, I awake to a loud roaring noise and a distinctly unpleasant smell. Drawing back the curtains, I come face-to-face with an enormous dustcart emptying large wheelie bins into its great roaring jaws, just yards from our chalet. “That’s it,” said my husband reaching for his mobile. “We’re going home.”

Camping - Boden Style

After a six-hour drive through France, which according to the instructions was supposed to take four, we arrived at our campsite.  Tempers were frayed to say the least.  My map and sign reading had taken us back and forth around "peripheriques", "toute droite", "la gauche" and everywhere else that avoided our final destination.  Now I was beginning to understand why we seemed to spend lesson after lesson at school asking for directions in French.  Their maps are utterly unreadable.  We have also had to stop at least six times for The Toddler's mini bladder.  However, the sun is shining and the smiling holiday rep leans in through the window and cheerily says, "Welcome to France."  We follow her to our pitch under the watchful gaze of other fellow campers, checking out the new arrivals.  This is where I must come clean.  We are in fact staying in a 'Chalet' and not under canvas.  I know most campers will be appalled by this admission and even more appalled when I tell you it was known as a Deluxe, had three bedrooms and two bathrooms with warm running water and even a microwave.  Please take pity on me.  I just needed to be broken in gently to the whole camping lifestyle and live amongst the camping fraternity, gazing at the tented families from my decking.  I was intrigued by our fellow campers, both chalet and canvas ones.  I spent afternoons casually strolling past tents, glancing at mothers dressed in skinny jeans playing Sudoku whilst their husbands brushed extra virgin olive oil on the barbecued king prawn kebabs, secretly glancing at their Blackberrys.  Meanwhile, their Boden-dressed children frolicked happily around them.  The next few days were perfect.  The sun shone and we lay on a couple of deckchairs ploughing our way through books, while the children gleefully cycled around the site.  There was a wonderful atmosphere surrounding us that was totally relaxed.  Families were playing ball games, cycling in the woods and rowing on the lake all in the safety of the grounds of this beautiful French chateau.  My husband and I were convinced we had finally discovered the perfect family summer holiday.  We were on our way to becoming real campers and we were excited.  So much so that we grabbed a copy of the 2009 camping brochure, to book next year's holiday.  We were ready to take on the canvas super tent, wrestle with guy ropes and launch ourselves into the communal showers.  That was until we moved to the next campsite.  Unbeknown to us the real camping experience had only just begun.

The tooth fairy

Much to her delight, my six-year-old daughter’s tooth has just come out. It is one of the large front teeth so she has been left with a broad ‘gappy’ smile and a distinctive lisp.

Thankfully, we were spared too much wobbling and only endured a day where the tooth in question hung on a single thread being pushed backwards and forwards, much to the delight of her two younger brothers. After a school day full of wobbling, she arrived home and tried to persuade me to pull it out. Generally, I am able to do most things for my small twittering starlings but this was a giant step too far. Finally, I was rescued by the small thread, which finally gave way resulting in the tooth landing in a bowl of pasta and pesto. We all cheered, clapped and threw a few high fives. Excitedly she turned her attention to the tooth fairy and carefully wrapped her precious tooth in a piece of cotton wool.

That night, with the tooth safely under her pillow, she was more eager than ever to go to bed. She lay peering up at me with a slightly puzzled expression on her face and asked, “How does the tooth fairy know my tooth has come out? Did you ring her?” “No,” I replied. “It’s just magic. The tooth fairy is very clever,” I quickly added. She remarked how clever she was and how busy she must be visiting all the toothless children in the world. I quickly wrapped the whole discussion up and suggested she went to sleep as quickly as she could.

As I came downstairs I too hoped that the tooth fairy would be alerted and would not forget to visit the small pink bedroom at the top of the stairs. I made a quick phone call to the committee of mothers who I gathered gave valuable advice to the tooth fairy on the current monetary value of a top front tooth. The rest of the evening was the usual whirlwind of activity, washing swimming kits for the following day, preparing packed lunches and rummaging in the school book bags for the day’s numerous notices.

The following morning, I was woken by a loud yell coming from my daughter’s bedroom. “Mummy, the tooth fairy hasn’t come. She hasn’t taken my tooth,” she cried. My heart stopped and I felt instantly sick. How could she forget? What on earth possessed her? I ran in and calmed her down telling her that the tooth fairy obviously did not see the little tooth and she was probably so busy last night that she was postponing it for the next night. Gradually she calmed down accepting the excuses and sympathising with the tooth fairy’s busy schedule.

Thankfully, the next morning the tooth fairy did not forget. In fact, she left a generous gold rather than silver coin, to compensate for her neglect the night before.

Five a day

Five portions of fruit and vegetables a day, is what the Department of Health is constantly reminding us to eat. Like most mothers I want my three twittering starlings to stay fit, healthy and energised so I spend time loitering in local farm shops or in the grocery aisles of supermarkets feeling and sniffing my way amongst the mounds of broccoli.

However, I sometime wonder if our shining examples in Government have ever tried to persuade their children to consume the five 80 gram portions of fruit and veg a day, let alone allow for the poor parents who have to prepare it. In the first instance, we have to find five portions that we know the children will eat and not prod at with a fork. My six-year-old daughter spends a few moments at the start of each meal scanning the contents of her plate for any unidentifiable object or trace of dirt that dares to appear on a small steamed carrot. As for The Toddler, despite having vegetables put on his plate religiously over the past two years, not a pea has passed his lips. The closest he gets to a vegetable is beans of the Heinz tomato sauce variety. When it comes to vegetables, I have refined the art of disguising the courgette, carrot and mushroom in a casserole by cutting it up into miniscule pieces so that it goes unnoticed.

Fruit is a safer bet. Seedless grape boxes are empty moments after entering the fridge and apples and bananas rather boringly make a regular appearance in the lunchbox. The Toddler would gladly consume a punnet of blueberries for breakfast, lunch and supper. At this time of year, strawberries are a welcome change from yoghurts, although please spare a thought for the mother who has most probably hulled at least 1,000 strawberries this summer alone.

As for smoothies, they are firm favourites with my children and until recently were another tick in the five per day box regularly making an appearance in the lunchbox when we run low on apples. However, now we are told that these contain as much sugar as Coke, are ruining our teeth and have no nutritional value at all. Personally, I am struggling to see how the sugar contained in the fruit in these drinks comes close to the sugar contained in Coke, but who am I to argue with the experts. However, the alarm bells ringing through the media have no doubt impacted the concerned parent and as a result I am sure that many lunchboxes will be smoothie-free next term.

At least the autumn will be upon us soon and the trees and bushes will be full of different fruit. That is until the media tell us the news on the latest level of sugar content in a blackberry.