Pox

I’m back from a week’s holiday near Salisbury. In order to let the boy child (seven months old) get his night time crying out of his system we stayed in a long house where the two main bedrooms were separated by, essentially, another house. This place had started life as three cottages but had been knocked together. What this meant to us was that one parent and child could sleep without hearing the other child. J and I swapped nights with Jude so at least one of us would get a chance of a night’s uninterrupted sleep.

It seems to have worked, sort of. Jude slept through his first night at home and seems to have given up on long protracted crying sessions. Hurray!

One of the other benefits in staying where we did was that Freya’s best friend lived just a few minutes away. These two don’t see much of each other since our friends moved down Salisbury way and we (well, Freya) had visions of sleepovers and much larking about. So, you can imagine the general air of disappointment when Freya caught chickenpox on our first full day there.

Despite the pox, and the unrelenting rain we had a good time. Our pals were lovely as always and we took the time to visit Old Sarum, Salisbury, Shaftesbury and the Mr Fry the Butcher in Broad Chalke.

Once I got home I found a chance to listen to Sid Smith’s latest Podcast From the Yellow Room, which introduced me to yet more music I had never known existed. Favourites were the Unthanks and a Finnish band called Karuna. Lovely stuff.