Bruges Part 2

Well, for those of you that don't like suspense - we made it. And relatively incident free.

My father roused us all at the god-awful hour of before 6am (I say it was awful - it was for everyone except me - one of the few perks of working day shifts, night shifts, early, shifts and really early shifts is that my body clock is well and truly broken, and therefore early starts, no sleep and timezones have no effect on me whatsoever).

We stumbled out to the car (I had already showered, washed my hair and had a bowl of porridge - Lucy looked like a rather unwashed cousin It). And got in the back (with a duvet - best treat ever!). I promptly fell asleep and so missed the drama of moving the car off our street, making it through London, and only woke up when my father's voice and language hit fever pitch.

This was because we were on a motorway (I forget which one) and the car was sliding about, and there was so much snow coming down that looking through the windscreen was like looking at a TV with no reception. And there was a stupid Harvey's furniture van trying to overtake us, but because the snow was so bad, it was impossible to see lane markings, or even the hard-shoulder or central reservation.

We slowed to 20mph, let the stupid Harvey's van speed off and then all took deep breaths. My father then asked my sister (who he had convinced to bring her MacBook) to look up the weather forecast, thus demonstrating naivety on two fronts

a. As Lucy pointed out - It's snowing.
b. Where on earth was she supposed to pick up a Wifi connection (apparently my father, until this moment was unaware that a MacBook, or indeed any laptop needed such a thing to connect to the internet).

Anyway. Once we were back on track, we actually made it to the tunnel in pretty good time. So good in fact that we were able to get on an earlier tunnel being one of just 4 cars that had turned up.

Obviously I slept on the tunnel journey (surprisingly short - only 40mins) and once we were off the other side the roads were fine, the snow minimal, and Bruges a mere hours drive. The gamble had indeed paid off.

Bruges: Part 1

Now. My father is very kindly taking myself, my sister and my step-mother to Bruges this weekend. We are only going for one night, to a nice hotel, and out for a lovely dinner.

There is, however, a possible hiccup. The snow.

We are due to go on the Eurotunnel (not as many problems as the Eurostar). But we need to:

1. Get ourselves to said tunnel.
2. Which means getting ourselves and the car off the ice-rink, otherwise known as Brooksville Avenue.

We also have a little time pressure (what good scenario doesn't?) as we must be back on Sunday, and so cannot get stuck over there because:

1. I am working at 4am Monday morning
2. Lucy is due to catch a flight to New Zealand, also on Monday, and this flight has cost her an arm and a leg, not to mention her life-savings.

Jennie (step-mother) decided that we needed to be prepared. We then realised we have no thermos, and the biggest spade we have is one Lucy and I used to use on the beach.

So, before even attempting to get in the car, it is off for a trip down Kilburn High Road to hunt out rather more suitable supplies.

I shall keep you posted on events as they unfold.

Countdown to Christmas: Shopping

My father hates shopping. And not just in the way that all men hate shopping - it actually makes him ill. Throughout our childhood, my sister and I used to dread the Saturday morning Sainsbury shop. By the time we had left the fruit and veg aisle, my father would be hyperventilating, and turning an interesting shade of red.

And then would get snappy, and then stressed, and then despairing. And when we finally got home, and realised that we had yet again forgotten to buy any toilet roll, he would go to bed for the rest of the day with a terrible migraine.

So on Saturday, the last one before Christmas, when my father (who is currently recovering from a very nasty chest infection) suggested that we might go Christmas shopping, my sister and I debated running for the hills. Especially when he added that so far he had bought nothing.

So at 8 am (and yes, we had told him that the shops don't open until at least 9) Lucy, my father, and I got the tube to the mecca of all Christmas shoppers - Oxford Circus. After breakfast at Cafe Nero (my father's favourite) and promises of coffee at Carluccios when he got tired (his ultimate, special treat favourite) we were off.

We hit the usual places - topshop, H&M, Accessorize, John Lewis, HMV, Selfridges, etc. And the closer to Marble Arch we got, the busier it was getting.

By 12, when we stopped for the promised Carluccios sit-down (my father had the thickest, most sickly looking hot chocolate, as did my sister) we did a count. And my father removed the tattered, crumpled, scrawled list of people and presents, and Lucy and I cross-referenced them with the bags, and HURRAH!!! In 3 hours, yes just 3, my father (with the extreme help of Lucy and I) had managed to get presents for 13 people. Relatively stress-free. He did however still need:

1. Anything for me

2. Something little for Luce

3. Anything for Jennie (aforementioned wife/step-mother)

4. Lots for Grandma

So there was still a way to go. So off we went - down Marylebone high street, and into Daunts. And straight back out again. Too busy. And so into the White Company. And straight back out again. And then my dear father turned to Luce and I and said "I'm going home", and that was that.

End of Mr Howe's Christmas shopping 2009.

I stayed in town until 6pm, picking up this and that, and finishing the majority of my father's slack. But I love to shop, and I love Christmas and so put them together, and I am at my peak.

Countdown to Christmas: Advent Calendars

Lucy and I have never, ever, in our entire history of Christmas been allowed a chocolate advent calendar.

It was a rule implemented by our strict mother, and after her death carried on by our respectful (and yet chocoholic) father.

We have even been given them in the past, only to have our father THROW THEM IN THE BIN!! (although we so have our suspicions that he may have removed the tray of chocolate first).

And yet as the time has gone on, Lucy and I have come to love our non-confectionary calendars - our father is very creative and we always have really lovely ones covered with beautiful pictures and glitter. And getting them is always a definite indictaion of the impending festive season.

Plus, the boyfriend, after displaying genuine shock at the absence of any chocolate calendar ever, every year without fail makes sure that I have my own little Cadbury's one as well.