While the Big Cat's Away...

The canaries will play.

While Hubby is picking dust particles from his teeth in Iraq, I am doing his dirty work over here...

The Sexy Guy loves his boys and loves his football, so last year he purchased season tickets to the local Championship League, Norwich City Football Club. My guys attend all home games (except on Sunday) and listen to the rest on the radio.

When we found out Hubby was deploying, one of the first things that went through their minds were that those season tickets that would sit idle.

He managed to arrange for a friend and his wife to take them-- which is asking a lot since there are the three boys and Miss Ky (of course we explained she wouldn't be going anymore).

Well, that first saturday without Dad rolled around and I had heard nothing from this couple. The Hubby kept emailing to see if the kids had been contacted. Nothing.

I texted the wife.

"Oh, there must have been a miscommunication. We didn't even know Sexy Guy had left".
"But he TALKED to you guys about it the day before he left!" Her husband had already left for the game.
My kids were dressed, sitting and waiting for a ride that wasn't coming. That saturday or any following saturdays.

Last week I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I stepped WAY out of my comfort zone: I called someone to take Miss Ky. I drove into a city I'm not comfortable driving in, during a busy traffic time, to end up somewhere I've never been. All in my hubby's British spec. car that I'm less than happy driving.

I escorted my deliriously happy boys into the football stadium and plopped down into my seat. Other than feeling like my knees were precariously close to my chin (surely I'm not the only long-legged person on this island), it was kind of exciting. I took pictures. I geared up for the great shots. My kids cheered.

Only one problem.

No one told me you're not allowed to take pictures...
so the security people did. During the game. With a personal visit. I blush easily.

At least they didn't confiscate my card.


These shots weren't my technical best, but I caught an exciting moment.
Norwich was 1-0 and the excited spectators were chanting their praises and support.

Burnley was pressuring their way down the pitch--

David Marshall (Canary Goal Keeper) stopped a spectacular shot,

but spilled it.



Only seconds after the first photo... the crowd shouted in surprised disappointment.

The game ended in a draw. That's a bad thing when you're close to being relegated.

I get it now. This father-son bonding thing.

I get how four people could stare straight ahead and make grunting noises rather than communicate verbally with one another and feel closer for having done so.

The Hubby has asked me if I want him to add another ticket to next year's pass.

I don't think so.

I'm going to drop back into the role of the one who catches their rush of adjectives as they spill into the house, tummies hungry and eyes shining.
That's my comfort zone.



Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Doesn't Every Beach Sell Doughnuts? All Things British

We arrived at our camping spot around 2pm.

To be honest, the Hubby and I really took our time getting ready to go because
1.) It was drizzly and cold (and we had T-storms only two nights before) and
2.) the people we were supposed to camp with had gone mad and invited 20 other people in addition to our family of six.

Plus we were taking Dog, formerly and currently known as Jake....

Instead of the family tent, we took two dome tents to save time and space. We put those up quickly, headed down to the sea (to tell it we had arrived) and then took a walk into the village... for doughnuts.

Of course I documented it for you.


This is the Pied Piper of Palling, my Hubby-- with waaaay too many kids.

Oh wait, most of them are ours.

Every little village has it's own sign.
I could fill an album just with signs....

And how silly can you get with this one? Hey, I find that A Palling! Oh no, we're Palling down...yeah, apparently not very silly.

Among other things, the doughnut shop also sells ice cream. With flake.

The first week we were in GB, I wanted a soft-serve cone. With a very thick British accent, the vendor asked if I wanted that with flake.. "Um.., what? Sure, ok..." (smiling stupidly like a tourist who is over-excited to be somewhere will)
He handed me a cone of vanilla ice cream with what appeared to be a big piece of wood sticking out of it.
Flake is a Twix-sized chunk of chocolate (It's very aerated and therefore tastes and breaks like outdated chocolate). Everyone here has to have it, me... not so much so.
Chocolate should NOT be messed with-- not like that, anyway.

Oh, we've made it to the shop....Inside, I'm waiting patiently. Taking pictures helps pass the fifty or so seconds it takes to make a doughnut. She suckered me into EIGHT since the little bags fit four. (so?)

I only wanted six, but ok, if you insist.I'm ready, I'm ready....

She adds the sugar.
Caster, Cinnamon, or chocolate?Guess. Just try and guess which one I picked.


YUM.

Totally unrelated subject:

One day we were walking around a car boot (the infamous one where Miss Ky tried to adopt a new home) and the little beasty child was in her "push chair" (stroller), admiring every dog. "Woof woof" she would say as they walked on by.
One lady stopped so Miss Ky could "woof" a little closer to her furry companion. The dog lifted his leg on the push chair. I've told you how fond Britain is of dogs, so kicking him wasn't an option.
I did gasp and attempt to convince the wheels to go a direction they're not designed to go to put a little distance between Ky and the golden stream-- that she most likely would try to put her graham cracker into...
And the lady says, "Healmostnik'dyourbikkie,didn'the?"

Wha..?

I did what I usually do when I have no clue what someone just said to me, I smiled and walked away. ("So, you're one meaty gal and I bet you tip the car, don't you?" Me, smiling and nodding my head).

Anyway, as I was walking and thinking how that naughty old lady said those terrible words about dogs and their privates to my sweet little angel--"niky bicky", holy cow can we be crass?!-- her words finally managed to make their way through my brain's Babel Fish.

"He almost nicked (stole) your Bickie (biscuit--cracker), didn't he?"

She had had no idea he was wee-ing on my push chair, because she was looking at Miss Ky and her cracker. I'm the one with my mind In The Gutter and thinking of dogs' nether areas...

Back to the beach...
The penny arcade.

You put a two-pence coin in to win more two-pence coins or a lolli (sucker).

My opinion on why this is a dumb idea...

First of all, why would I want more two p's when they're heavy in the purse and worthless? My other option to win is more sugar for kids I just fed eight doughnuts?


Oh well, it's all in a day at the beach...

Guess the Toy

Time to go camping. Miss Ky will need things to entertain her in the car.

What are those contraptions called, Chinese Finger Cuffs?

Nope, wrong guess.

Maybe this will help....Still stumped?

(My brother may want to leave the room for a moment while I tell you)

It's what's left of a feminine hygiene product.
Yep, that Miss Ky is a very helpful girl...

See the one side flying out the back of the car?

Thank you Miss Ky. Now maybe you could move on to the pancake fixin's since we're going to leave the griddle behind at home anyway.

And for those of you paying attention, you know I almost died from one of these nasty devices. I only carry them for emergencies, like when I'm near water that I can't resist going into (because I'd rather be dead than dry).