Off to the Seaside

It was a frantic rush on Friday. We had a viewing at last, but it was scheduled for 11 so the house had to be cleaned and ready for that - but before then Scamper, Pip and Billy had to go to the kennels, I had to get to work and we needed to pack for our Bank Holiday jaunt to Brighton. With the best will in the world nothing gets done quickly these days so it was going to be a close run thing.

We were going to Brighton because Harriet still can't leave the country. I have had an extremely frustrating couple of weeks trying to contact the lawyer and get some answers. It will all come to a head soon when her visa runs out, something about which I am deeply concerned but seemingly powerless to do anything about.

Anyway, I set off from Harlow on the train and left Jay to get everything ready.

It was good to get away. Those of you who know us well will know just what a waking nightmare everything is at the moment. We had made a complaint to the police about the harassment we had been receiving from a neighbour. Although the response officer came out and said he would pass the case to the neighbourhood police team nothing happened. That was during the May Bank Holiday and although we telephoned again we heard nothing more despite some recent escalation in the trouble.

So it was a surprise when the neighbourhood police officer decided to call on Friday as well. It was the usual story of administrative incompetence to which we are becoming very familiar. The email was sent to someone who was off sick and she assumed that the rest of the group would deal with it but they were unaware since it was sent to a specific person. When we contacted the second time we were put in touch with the wrong 'neighbourhood' police team.

Whether it is our US lawyer, our UK lawyer, the Home Office, the Police Vehicle Inspection Unit or the Neighbourhood Police the result is the same. It is just endless delay, shoulder shrugging and obfuscation. We are offered every possible assistance short of actual help.

So, as I say, it was good to get away. Jay was late arriving at Canary Wharf due to dealing with the police but we were soon on our way to Brighton. We had decided to take the train and avoid Bank Holiday traffic nightmares and it proved to be a good decision. One hour after leaving London Bridge we arrived at Brighton station and headed down to the sea front.

The weather was fair but as we crossed one main road and stopped on a traffic island it changed suddenly and furiously. We huddled under the umbrella but it offered pathetic protection from the horizontal rain. Harriet was covered by her rain cover but she thought it was more fun to try to kick it off. So we were trapped in the middle of the road with traffic flying around us and we could barely even see the crossing signal turn green before we could flee to safety.

But that was it thank goodness. We arrived in the Holiday Inn Brighton looking like drowned rats and were told by the receptionist that we should have taken a taxi. Hindsight is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

The room cheered us up though since we had been upgraded to a sea-front executive room with a balcony. The English Channel is not quite the Pacific ocean but it was still an impressive body of water. Right in view was the melancholy but still striking sight of the rotting remains of Brighton's West Pier.

Our sole foray outside was to buy Harriet some milk and food but we were still expecting another vicious turn to the weather so we scurried back to the hotel and had an extremely nice meal in its restaurant.

However, the weather had changed and the next day we really caught the sun as we explored Brighton's beach and remaining pier. We visited the Brighton Sea-Life centre. There are no performing dolphins there these days thank goodness and we enjoyed wandering past the displays and admiring the turtles and sharks while turning away aghast at the giant spider crabs.

In the evening we headed out to Brighton's Gay village and managed to get a table at an extremely popular and smart restaurant.

Here I must confess that the previous night we had polished off a decent amount of wine on the balcony admiring the view and then during the meal. Our adventures during the day had required a beer or so for sustenance (along with a prudent tray of chips down by the beach). However, as we sat down and began to anticipate a top quality meal a sudden wave of queasiness overtook me.

I decided to go for a Bruschetta as a starter and although it came with sardines I reckoned I could just scrape the fillets off and enjoy the bread and tomatoes. That would settle my stomach and set me up for a main course of chicken.

The starter arrived and I was aghast. The sardines were not the anticipated slivers but two large fish sitting proud on the dish - tails, fins, scales and heads all intact. I made a valiant effort but there were so many bones and by the time my main course arrived I was really on the verge of collapse.

It was plain, simple chicken and I couldn't eat it. I really couldn't - I just wanted to be home so once Jay had eaten his delicious sea bass we paid up and left.

Reader I confess, that I made it to the end of a pretty little Brighton lane before empting my stomach onto the street. Oh the shame.

It was early to bed and the next day I felt much better. We visited the Royal Pavillion - the odd looking onion topped building so associated with Brighton. The Price Regent had built this to stun and impress and he surely succeeded because I cannot imagine anyone could walk into that place and not be amazed. There are two large rooms at either end - a banquet hall and music room - which cannot be easily described and pictures wouldn't help either. The monster chandelier in the banquet room is suspended from a giant silver dragon and is the most singular thing I think I have ever seen. The music room came with a sad story of how it had been damaged by arson and once the restorers had re-gilded all 35,000 shells in the ceiling the hurricane of 1987 dislodged a giant stone ball on the roof which crashed through the ceiling and the whole restoration had to start again.

We had a very nice extended lunch in Pizza Express and spent a low key evening in the hotel bar.

Sadly the next day we had to go home. Despite my troubles following the meal and getting soaked we had a really enjoyable time. There were no dogs to worry about and we could just concentrate on Harriet and each other. She loved all the new experiences, whether walking through the noisy amusement arcade on the pier or walking through the equally noisy chinoiserie of the Prince Regent.

We are not exactly thrilled to be home but it's a beautiful evening and a fittingly peaceful end to a wonderful holiday.

An expanding menu

The tin of baby milk prescribes five feeds a day - a total that Harriet has not managed since she was very small. That said, there is nothing about her that suggests that she is not eating well enough because she is now too big for the Moses basket and has moved into her cot.

The first night was a bit of a struggle because the transformation was almost too much. The cot is bright, has colourful pictures and animals for grabbing all around it. Our baby who previously slept so soundly woke us up at 4 as she played in this new wonderful gym. So she's back into her sleeping bag to restrict those flailing arms from trying to grab every teddy and toy in the cot and shove them all in her mouth.

She is becoming so active and co-ordinated. Her personality is strong and nowhere is it more evident than at meal times. The instructions on the tin of milk can say what they like but she knows precisely what she wants, when she wants it and how much. Nothing but nothing will coax her to eat anything once she has 'ad enuff.

That said, she is not too fussy an eater and is expanding her menu daily. This week she had her first meat (chicken with sweet potato). Previously she would passively accept the spoon and swallow but now she really gobbles it up.

Gran and Grandad were here last weekend and they bought her a walker. At the moment there is not much movement but it won't be long. All good stuff - but slightly concerning how quickly she is growing up.

A worthwhile trip

This year we have had to get used to waving goodbye to each other as we attempt epic journeys. At the beginning of the year it was of course the 6,000 mile journey from San Francisco to Heathrow and latterly it has been the equally time consuming drive to Cornwall. It felt just the same on Wednesday morning when I drove through Stevenage ("twinned with the planet of the roundabouts") and dropped off J and H at the railway station.

I had made the same journey myself a couple of weeks before so I knew full well the effort required. Fortunately Harriet is better set up these days because she is now eating solid food (well not solid exactly, but non-milk food). It must be an amazing experience, having been used only to milk, to suddenly meet your first banana custard. Her face was a picture but we got a surprisingly good amount of custard eaten and she has never looked back (actually she has vetoed cauliflower cheese but who can blame her?).

Their destination was Yorkshire and their mission was to pick up the new Land Rover. After all my previous optimistic blogs I'm not going to say too much but (*touching wood, rabbit's feet and horseshoes etc) it seems to be going well. The new truck is very similar to the old one but with a few improvements. One of the benefits of having had the previous landy was that I knew a bit more of what to check. Thanks to this I immediately identified the dodgy lock on the rear door and they replaced it. This time it came with a full tank of fuel so no repeat of the last unwelcome break in a layby. Compared to the truck we last bought (although we don't really know what that was) this one is a year older but has done 30k fewer miles and seems to run well.

Well, fingers crossed this blog has jinxed us.