I’ve just found some lovely photos of my in-laws on their recent visit to see us. Pauline, the Irishman’s mother, always has the best hair, so bouncy and coiffed. (It is my resolution to take as good care of my hair as she does. I’m sure you will have noticed, I’m not a “hair person” and didn’t even own a blowdryer until recently.) Pauline appeared in front of Finn in curlers one night and his eyes grew wider than gobstoppers as he wondered why grandma had turned into an alien!
Here’s the little man on our neighbour Kate’s pony, Minx. I was really impressed at how he managed to keep his feet still in the stirrups in wellies. Kate asked him if he wanted to do jumps as a joke, and the little guy said yes very confidently. And until now he’s still bugging me about when he’s going to do the jumps at Aunty Kate’s house.
The showjumping judges rated Finn’s performance highly. And then we had dinner on the deck of Point Leo Boat Club. Members get the keys to this lovely little shack on the beach and you can come down at any time and have a BBQ on the deck. Everyone we know is members here, it’s like a Who’s Who of the Peninsula. Geoffrey Rush is a member as well apparently.
What a view! Apparently the legend is that some people built the club illegally many decades ago and noone dares to rip it down because the building has abestos in it. So we all get to enjoy it until it sinks or crumbles away….
We had steaks and potatoes to celebrate the Irish grandparents visiting.
The messies had lollies and tantrums….
Oh Ikea, I thank you for your cheap and cheerful plastic cups, of which I possess 127 of.
On a side note, I realised that Dylan’s hair is much lighter after summer. The Aussie sun is ferocious here!
Which brings me to this. The other day I had a scary incident. I saw a grey hair in my head, plucked it out and immediately went into hysterics. Called my mother in Singapore and instead of sympathy, she cackled with glee that I had gotten my father’s genes evidently as she is in her 50s and has a full head of black.
Then the Irishman came home, I fell upon him sobbing dramatically. This can’t be happening, I wailed, I’m 31!!!! He examined the hair and burst out laughing. Apparently it was just a blonde hair, bleached by the sun. So says the Irishman categorically. It’s even worse than I thought, I’m turning BLONDE – I lamented, and still no sympathy… The Irish are a tough crowd.