I love you Germany, I do

I love Germany. But I didn't realise everyone else did too.

I was just a bit surprised when they topped the 'most popular country' poll last week.

If it had been the most popular country once people had visited, I could understand it. I’ve been there and it’s great. But I thought I was alone and everyone else had a reason to really dislike the Germans.

Because they don’t laugh much. They wear terrible clothes. They eat raw meat. They work too hard. They don't like spending money. They put towels on sunbeds and they don’t queue. They speak better English than we do and they generally take life too damn seriously.

Except most of that isn’t true (except for the English bit).  

How can a nation with such a crazy dress sense, that created the Love Parade (RIP), take itself too seriously?

They love football, drink decent coffee, had mayonnaise with chips long before we did, drink copious amounts of good beer, eat really good food (if you like meat) and surround themselves with absolutely delicious cakes. They recycle with an efficiency and dedication we can only dream of.

And staying there with a family is an absolute pleasure. My Dad took my sister and I on a swimming tour when we were teenagers, then back again to see the families we met. I went on my own, with my family, I even took my friends. I clubbed, ski’d, shopped in C&A, swam in lakes and drank cognac for breakfast. I have memories of me and my sister laughing so hard we didn't think we'd breathe again. The most generous, welcoming and warm experiences of my life.

It's a great place and finally somebody, everybody, agrees.

My son, German football's biggest fan

About that 20 minute warning...

Dear Husband

We need to talk about leaving the house and that 20 minute warning.

Nothing annoys me more in this world than when, after an hour sprawled in front of Breakfast TV drinking coffee, you announce that we’re leaving in 20 minutes.

Then……in 20 minutes, when you’ve showered, dressed and packed your one bag – you start shouting at me, “COME ON! AREN’T YOU READY YET? WE’RE LEAVING!” then under your breath “bloody woman, she takes hours to go anywhere.”

You see, your argument is based on how long it takes YOU to get ready.

Just You. With hardly any hair (no drying), hardly any packing (one pair of pants for 5 days), and absolutely no one to look after whilst you’re doing it.

In the 20 minutes you’ve kindly allocated me to get out of the door, I am:

·         Having a shower

·         Wiping a child’s bottom

·         Getting back in the shower

·         Breaking up a fight

·         Giving up on the shower

·         Standing on lego (allow 1 minute for pain to pass)

·         Clearing up lego

·         Washing up breakfast dishes

·         Losing my towel

·         Answering the door to the postman

·         Remembering I lost the towel….Hello Postman ;)

·         Putting my underwear on

·         Retrieving my pants from a child’s head

·         Throwing my clothes into a suitcase

·         Throwing clothes for two kids into a suitcase

·         Putting the rest of my clothes on

·         Setting my hair on fire with the straighteners

·         Setting my towel on fire with the straighteners (oh, there it is!)

·         Breaking up another fight

AND I didn’t even get chance to check Facebook.

So next time you shout “20 minutes and we’re leaving”, I’ll grab my one bag and I’ll see you in the car.

Love you,

Wife
Read the Husband's response to this letter...click here

The Gallery - A Family Story

I don't have enough pictures of the Davies clan. So on a rare holiday together last year to celebrate my Dad's retirement, we set one up.

But it was hot, I was in a rush and I didn't pay attention to detail as I usually would.

The boys wanted to be in the pool, the baby wanted to be out of the sun, everyone else wanted a cold beer. I forced them all to grab a child and STAND STILL just for a minute.

Ready? Set the timer, run to camera, press button, run back into position. Done.

This is the result.

My perfect family photo isn't quite so perfect because:

• It's mainly floor
• I was wearing my skirt hitched up to my neck as a dress
• None of us have the right child
• The baby can't see
• One boy has a pair of shorts on his head
• My poor boy has nothing on his bottom (modesty protected with yellow paint *ahem*)
• My brother appears to be busking

On the plus side, we're all in it, we're all smiling and it was a bloody good holiday. And this photo really makes me laugh.

Join in The Gallery at the wonderfully varied Sticky Fingers blog.