Hollibobs part 2: A diggy and two Doras

So I'm sitting here wearing a scarf to ward off the morning chill, looking out at the trees in the garden that are just starting to go russety and using all my willpower to ignore Anthropologie's potentially ruinous emails about their autumn jumpers, and it strikes me that I still haven't written about our summer holiday in north Norfolk.

It was more than just a summer holiday, really. It was Samuel's first ever holiday, it was my mum's chance to get away and celebrate her recent well-deserved retirement. It was also an opportunity for me and Lucy to get out of our respective cities (for the second time in as many weeks) and relax a bit.

Granny K treated us to a week in a gorgeous – and extremely purple – cottage on the picturesque High Street in Blakeney. It was great for us all to spend some time together and Samuel, as usual, absolutely reveled in the company of his granny and his aunty. But, much to everyone's confusion, rather than calling them 'Granny' and 'Aunty', Samuel just decided to keep things simple and call both of them 'Dora'. He's been calling Lucy this for ages (we've no idea why), but now Mum too? Toddlers are weird. He'd wake up in the morning, stand in the doorway of his cute little attic room and bellow, 'DORA!' at the top of his lungs until they both appeared. Apart from these early morning alarm calls, I'm pretty convinced that Mum and Lucy loved his company too. Having said that, Samuel did give Mum a bit of a shock when she sat him on her knee in the car and he beeped the horn. Lucy managed to capture the moment on film for posterity.

We were based just a few minutes' walk from Blakeney's quayside. Families spent hours crabbing there (much to crustacean-phobic Lucy's abject horror), there was a little funfair with a teacup and saucer ride that proved to be the most exciting thing Samuel could ever have dreamed of, and the vast expanse of marshlands leading out to the sea seemed to stretch out for miles.

Blakeney is gorgeous. It has about three pubs, two restaurants, a small supermarket and a fantastic playground and, most importantly, it has a delicious deli that does a good line in lattes, French sticks and ready-made Thai green curries. It seemed to be solely responsible for keeping us going for most of the week.

Most mornings we hopped in the car and drove along the coast road, through weird and wonderful little villages like Stiffkey (which was in the middle of its annual scarecrow pageant – yep) to spend a few hours at the seaside – mainly at Wells-next-the-Sea. It's the most wonderfully family-friendly beach. Golden sands ideal for sandcastle action, gentle waves that make for perfect paddling and an amazing cafe that also does a good latte (regular readers may notice that this is *quite* important to me). It also boasts a 'Wash-n-Wag' for tourists of the four-legged variety and one of the world's biggest deckchairs. All the essentials, if you ask me.

And how did Samuel take to the seaside? Well, he loved it. He couldn't get enough of the feel of the sand under his feet and by the end of the week he'd immediately go to take his sandals off as soon as so much as spotted a beach. He loved the sea and couldn't believe he was allowed to jump and splash in the shallows to his heart's content. And the bucket and spade that mum bought for him? Well that was possibly his highlight of the whole holiday. He christened the spade, 'Diggy' and refused to let go of it at any point.

We also visited Brancaster and Sheringham, and celebrated Lucy's birthday at a gastro pub called The Victoria on the Holkham estate. I had a crab roll that came with a side of crisps in a crab shell. The birthday girl was not amused.

James didn't get to spend as much time there with us as we'd have liked (when you have a cat with heart problems, proper family holidays aren't easy to come by), but he was there for long enough for a small family photo-shoot in the shallows. North Norfolk was great. Flat and gentle, it's stunning in a sedate kind of way and I hope we'll go back again soon. We might even attempt to do another boat ride to see the seals next time. You'll notice that there are no photos of any seals in this post. That is because I spent the entire time on the boat trying to stop Samuel from screaming, and trying to avoid eye-contact with the 30 other seal-seekers in very close proximity to us who were wondering why I'd taken tantruming toddler on a boat. You live and learn.

And now for the obligatory photo dump before I get back to ignoring those Anthropologie emails. Honestly.

36/52 and 37/52

The blog's been a bit quiet the past week or so. That's because the past week or so has sounded a lot like this:

Me: Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

Samuel: Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

James: Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

Me (looking at work project): Aaaargh!

Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

Samuel: Noisy, Mummy!

Me: Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH! I think I just wee'ed.

Samuel: No more, Mummy. NO MORE, MUMMY! Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

James: Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

Me (looking at work project): Aaaargh!

James: No, Samuel, you can't drive your ride-on car down those steps! NOOOO SAMUEL! Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

Me (looking at work project): Aaaargh!

Samuel: MORE PEPPA! Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

James (putting the 389th episode of Peppa on the iPad): Cough! cough! COUGH! COOOUUGGHH!

Me (looking at work project): Aaaargh!

Samuel: NO MORE PEPPA!

That pretty much covers it. Last week was a bit pants, all told, but we're feeling a little better now. And, despite our collective illness and my mammoth workload, we still managed to squeeze some nice stuff in. Stuff like park visits in the sunshine. They never disappoint, as the first cheeky snap shows. Samuel is loving getting out and about and crunching the early autumn leaves with his new little red shoes. 

Today we also decided to do the sort of thing you should always do after a crap run of things: party. We booked tickets to a baby rave (I know, okay. Stop rolling your eyes.) at The Bedford in Balham on a whim because we thought it sounded like fun. And, joy of joys, it was indeed a bundle of fun. 

We all danced around like idiots, marvelled as someone fired a glitter canon while balloons were rained down upon us and took full (albeit responsible) advantage of the bar. Best Sunday afternoon in ages. Samuel couldn't quite believe his eyes and ears. The lights! The sparkle! The tunes! The opportunity to show off his groovy moves without somebody telling him to calm down because the lady downstairs might complain! 

I took terrible, terrible pictures, but I feel it would be wrong for me not to include at least one as a photo of the week since it commemorates Samuel's first proper disco. But, if the unique shapes that he was throwing are anything to go by, I think it's unlikely to be his last.

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This week I didn't do the ice bucket challenge even though I was nominated for it. Hair, you see. Obviously I made my donation, though. Anyway, we still had some bucket action going on around here courtesy of Samuel who spent an afternoon running around with his old baby bath on his head.

Have I mentioned how much fun he is at the moment? And how much he loves to dance? The dancing makes me so darned happy. He is also, in equal measure, very naughty and challenging right now. But it's amazing how quickly I forget that when he's throwing shapes with a bucket in his head.

Hollibobs part 1: Queens of the mountain

I can't tell you exactly why me and Little Sis decided to climb Snowdon. I think I was just tired and weary of work and motherhood and the city and I wanted to escape it all for a couple of days and Lucy had some time off work, so we thought we'd go on an adventure. 

We could have gone to a spa or on a pub crawl or to a shopping centre. We're city girls and these are our habitats, after all. But, for the first time in my adult life I sort of heard the call of the wild and said that I quite fancied walking up a big hill. Lucy said she was up for it and suggested Snowdon because it's about as big a hill as they come. She knew someone who'd done it once, she said. 'How hard could it be?' we thought. And just like that, super casually, we'd planned to walk up a mountain.

And so a few weeks later we found ourselves in a little B&B in North Wales with no wifi and no proper walking boots and no knowledge of hillwalking or map reading and no plans to do anything other than to walk up a mountain. It was extremely exciting. 

We woke up the next morning, ate an excellent Welsh fry-up, drove to the foot of our randomly chosen path, the Pyg track, and felt like we were heading to Mordor. And then we started walking up, up and up, over jagged rocks and scree and streams ... and it wasn't like Crystal Palace Park one bit. 

I didn't expect it to be so scrambly. We had to get on all-fours a lot and kind of bound across boulders with all the grace of concussed Labrador puppies. And I didn't expect it to be so dangerous. Surprisingly, mountains don't conform to the sanitised health and safety regulations of the attractions that I'd generally visit. Literally one misplaced foot on the wrong slippery stone and it's goodnight Vienna. But there's nothing like the very real risk of death to make you feel alive, and I didn't expect to enjoy that as much as I did. 

A bit under three hours later and we were up at the top, knackered, soggy and with legs that felt like Cheese Strings but absolutely buzzing with a sense of achievement. We shuffled up the terrifying steps to the summit on our arses and caught a quick, beautiful, glimpse of the Irish Sea and, you know, all of Wales, before the clouds descended and we were in a white out. 

And then - utter joy - we went in the cafe. At the top of the mountain. It sold lattes and postcards and novelty fridge magnets and made two townies like us unbelievably happy.

And then for the descent. It poured down and our socks were soaked through, but it was easier in some ways because the pressure was off. And I also learned that you must never underestimate the pleasure that comes from passing shattered-looking people on their way up when you're on you're way down and telling them cheerily, 'Don't worry - you've only got another hour to go!' 

Honestly, the air, the exercise and the views - it was ace. And addictive. I'm desperate to get out of London more and climb more hills. I want to collect the other two of the Three Peaks and I'm already half-planning a trip to the Lakes next year. 

The only real problem we had was that when we got back down the mountain we couldn't announce to anyone that we'd been up it. No phone signal or wifi, you see. Annoying. You can take the girls out of the city ...

34/52

I'll write more about the holidays soon, but back here in the cold and rainy real world, work is busy and time is limited, so for now here is one of my favourite pictures of the three of us. It seems completely impossible to get a photo of all of us smiling/facing the camera/not obscuring our face with boater hats at the same time, by the way.

As an aside, a week in Norfolk has done nothing to help with my Right Move habit. Property Gods, I call on you to sort us a cottage within walking distance from the sea pronto!

33/52

So we're on our hollibobs in north Norfolk with Granny and Aunty Lucy at the mo. A proper post will follow shortly but, for now, just check out how happy this little boy is to be at the seaside for the first time. And check out his impossibly glamorous Aunty Lucy who was celebrating her birthday today. And just imagine how incredibly sweet it is when every time we pack up to leave the beach we hear him say, 'Bye bye, sea.' 

32/52

Aaargh! I'm a day late on my photo of the week! This is the first time all year. But I've got a good excuse - I've been in the wilds of Snowdonia climbing a mountain and the wilds of Snowdonia don't really do 3G very well. More on that story later, but in the meantime back to Samuel.

This is a selfie we took this week. I am shameless - absolutely shameless - in my use of selfies as pacifiers. When he's upset or tantruming all I need to do is show him himself on my little phone screen and he calms down instantly. Genius.

This photo in particular seems to back up my recent claim that Samuel is 80% cheeks.