Settling in

It struck me the other day that I've said very little about how we're getting on 6 months after the big move. I'm starting to feel like I live here now.

Three things have occurred to make this happen:

1. We've made some friends which REALLY helps to make us feel settled. And this meant that new year was spent at a dinner party, as opposed to sitting on the sofa, with Dr G willing me not to fall asleep at 10pm. We were out till 2am. I can't remember the last time that happened (she said, ancient so-called party animal now sounding about 105 years old).

2. We keep bumping into kids in the village who smile and wave at Madam. This means I get a smile and a wave from the mum too. Sounds like a small thing, but that does help to make me feel welcome.

3. I bumped into Madam's nursery teacher at the gym last week and had a lovely chat about kid-free days.

That one was a bit odd as I'm not used to people I call 'miss' talking to me while semi-naked. What is the protocol for that kind of meeting? I looked firmly into her eyes and tried to hide my lady parts without looking uncomfortable. A bit daft really, as she's female and has two kids so very likely has seen lady parts before.

Anyway, all in all, Holmes Chapel is starting to feel more like home. Which is good, as the state of the economy and the size of our mortgage means it's going to be home for quite a few years to come. As everyone always says about getting settled, it's knowing people that makes a place.

I do hate sounding cliched, but they are cliches for a reason, aren't they?
Lucy

The Fog

Regular readers will know I was bewildered by my own keys a few month's ago and at least now I know why - being pregnant will do that to you. As it is, I'm now experiencing what I can only describe as my own weather pattern, mostly manifesting itself as an 'hormonal fog'. I'm relating it to pregnancy but again it could be another sign that old age is settling in for the duration.
This week it has exhibited itself in several delightful ways:

• COMPLETELY forgetting several conversations that myself and Dr G have had. Now they were a few month's ago but I'd be hard-pressed to say I was even in the room with him when we talked about it. You can imagine how delighted he was by that.


• Striding purposely upstairs to do something important, but losing the plot as soon as I reach the landing. Not just 'what was I wanting?' more 'why am I here again?'.


• Mentioning that we'd do make purple porridge to Madam then wondering why she was upset when I presented her with a bowl of porridge with blueberries, not purple porridge. I made her cry! It's true, I'm a crummy mummy. More on that later.


• Writing things down on a to do list (sensible) then losing the list (stupid!).

Safe to say it's nowhere near as bad as 'The Fog' (original book by James Herbert for those to remember him). I don't want to murder anyone - well, not yet anyway. Well, okay, not often. Though I did hear about a friend of a friend who's hormones turned her really psychotic and she accused all and sundry of sleeping with her husband. Pregnancy is such a delight.

Anyway, the wonderful She suggested a solution: how about a notepad and a pen on a string round my neck. When something is important, I can then write it down immediately and won't lose the note. Only problem is, I'd look like a mad old lady, like the one I used to see in London. So what's better - the hormonal fog or the old mad bag lady look?

Off to - oh god - I do know this, something to do with water...
Lucy