Editor’s Blog: I Don’t Know How I Do It, Part Two

I left you on Friday afternoon about to embark with The Kid on a weekend trip to Devon with Divorced Dave. The Kid’s a good traveller: crashes out in planes, trains and normally, automobiles. With his mother’s approval from five thousand miles away, I went for the mildly risky bath/bottle/car option, which he hasn’t tried before.He’d never found himself sitting in a car in his sleepsuit but dozed off when the Sweet Dreams dummy was plugged in. And off we gunned down the M4 with a song in our hearts.

At a service station just West of Bath, Uncle Dave decided it was time to refuel and very unwisely slammed the door as he got out to wield the pump. The Kid woke up and fun and games ensured as we piled down the rain-swept M5 dodging caravans, almost hitting one on the A30. The main problem was, like the kids on Top Gear who have now decided the Audi is uncool, The Kid agrees. He didn’t like the sports suspension and low profile tyres which give a seriously jiggly ride in the back. There was quite a lot of protest until I put my jacket over him to shield from the glare of oncoming headlights.

We arrived on the edge of Dartmoor at 10.30 PM in the pitch black and pouring rain like Withnail and I at Uncle Monty’s cottage. Got the travel cot up in two mins flat, dropped Kid into sleep sack and we all hit the hay.

Saturday 6.10 AM. It was still tipping it down. Snores from Uncle Dave’s room (may have been feigned). Usual routine of Bottle (7 oz.); carefully supervised rapid crawling round bedroom; books read: ‘Noisy Animals’, ‘Farming Animals’, ‘Spot’s Rainy Day’, ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ (twice), ‘This Little Baby’. Tempted to read excerpts from Allison Pearson’s ‘How Does She do It?’ in ironic voice but too knackered.

Morning walk abandoned as Bugaboo wheels sank in four inches of mud.

By lunchtime, however, things were looking up. Booked a table at the excellent White Horse in Moretonhampstead, ordered a couple of pints of Yellow Hammer and some linguini with crab and started to mellow out. The Kid (98th percentile for height and weight) is a serious trencherman in the making and snaffled an avocado, pasta with oil and parmagiano, half a banana, a dozen grapes and some Cornish Yarg. A huge nappy (Code Yellow) sorted in the corridor.

Off for a drive through Dartmoor mist, and teeming rain was followed by a slightly trying Devon cream tea with all the trimmings at Uncle Dave’s posh club Bovey Castle. Kid tried to crawl into the fine wine cellar which shows good instincts. Staff very understanding.

Saturday evening bath and bed entirely uneventful. Father and Dave sat down to pizza, a bottle of claret and Mike Figgis ‘Internal Affairs’ (terrific movie and without doubt Richard Gere’s best ever film performance in which he plays a bent cop with nearly a dozen kids).

Sunday morning early and a minor scare. Having turned my back for no more than eight seconds he’d disappeared. I found him in an ante-room closing in at speed on an axe and a mouse trap containing a lump of rodenticide. Then it started raining again.

This solo childcare business is about focus and concentration. Lots of it. He’s now in the safe hands of the professionals at nursery. More thrills and spills tomorrow.

In today’s bulletin:
Looks like Woolies hasn’t gone to Iceland
Cut rates or else, warns BCC
Entrepreneurs keep nose to the grindstone
Editor’s Blog: I Don’t Know How I Do It, Part Two
Bowie cashes in on Olympic Heroes