Pride Comes Before A Fall

It was a proud moment when we received Eddie’s school report. His thirst for learning, his mastery of science, his flair with language. My heart swelled. He broke his tablet a little while ago and has missed playing some hideous punchy game where the characters have superpowers like invisibility or unlimited access to dynamite, and have a series of mass brawls. There's probably more to it than that, but that's my non-gaming perception of it.

We presented him with said tablet and he was suitably chuffed. Until the next day when I had to take the thing away from him again. Because we received this:

It reads: Dear parent, Today Eddie has bot been behaving as well as they could in school and spent 15 minutes in Time Out duirng lunch, discussing the reasons and impacts of their behaviour and considering how best to move forward. Reason for Time Out: Fighting at lunch time....

Oh. It's a little crumpled because I think he must have screwed it up when he got it, in a measure of disgust - at letting himself down, I hope.

But we are all are very proud of the performance of the England football team at the Euros, in spite of the sadness at the end of the game on Sunday night. Poor Eddie was inconsolable at the final penalty, until he'd had a good half an hour of Lord of the Rings read to him. Gilby sobbed himself to sleep. They had hoped and dreamed so much. Hearth Mother (and Father) were a little more pragmatic. But Gertie had come across a statistic about how domestic violence rises during an England game and rises more when they lose, so she went to bed worrying about that.

Still, only 55 million pounds needed to complete the sticker book, so we're nearly there.

Currently reading: Spring Cannot Be Cancelled - David Hockney in Normandy by Martin Gayford

Creating Monsters

It's the Easter holidays, we're still (sort of) in lockdown and I have inadvertently created some sort of monster in trying to limit the boys' daily screen-time. 

During term they are allowed to be on 'devices' from when they get home from school until 6pm. For Eddie, that generally means two and a half hours. Gilby will get slightly more some days as he walks home for school, but less than two hours on the days when he does a sporting activity or club after lessons. 

At weekends and during the holiday they are allowed to take the 'two o'clock option' - but they must be off by 5pm.

That means that from waking until the magical hour of 2pm when Fortcraft, Mineleague and Rocketnite (or whatever) are allowed, there are just empty hours to be filled.  The last half-term challenges, while updated for this holiday, have lost their allure. My children do not seem to be magically reciting Hamlet or producing short films. Instead the Boredom Basilisk pays a visit.

Things I read tell me that boredom is good for children.  That it is character-building, invites creativity and problem-solving, encourages the mind to wander and daydream, improves mental health.

It doesn't feel like a good thing when they are lethargic and complaining and entirely unmotivated and exist only for Fortleague (or something) later. Oh, and some foraging for food. That happens. Snacks disappear faster than working pens in this house. 

The return of football training and clubs has done much to release some of the pent-up energy in the household, but it has, in turn, unleashed another monster - the calendar Kraken, with its sinister, impossibly-intertwining limbs. 

A bunch of fixtures that I would have taken utterly in my stride pre-lockdown suddenly seems entirely overwhelming as I try to work out how I can get both boys to football matches in different directions at the same time on a Saturday morning or dash between drops to cricket and dancing on the same evening, - while my own diary column fills up with book groups and stoolball training and committee meetings. 

Like many people I have no desire to return to pre-covid levels of craziness, but I feel powerless to stop it happening at the moment.

Bribing My Way Through Lockdown Days

Half term is always expensive, and turns out it still was, even in lockdown during a global pandemic when we can't really live the house, and certainly not the village. 

How, you ask? 

Well, we have a 'rule' in our household of no devices before 3pm. Mornings, without the discipline of homeschooling, became long voids of time. Gertie met a friend to walk around with for an hour each day. Gilby managed a socially-distanced morning of fishing with a schoolfriend, and Eddie, too young to meet up with a friend independently, read quite a lot of Beano. (A subscription has been his lockdown treat.) What we really needed was structure and purpose. 

So I resorted to bribery - always a parenting win - and came up with a series of half-term 'challenges' with a heirarchy of financial reward. (And before I am judged too harshly, they don't yet get pocket money.) 

The list included poetry and Shakespeare by heart, cooking, DIY, writing, music and sport. 

Gertie learned the prologue to Romeo and Juliet. Eddie learned the first part of Hamlet's 'To Be Or Not To Be' soliloquy - though it sounds funny coming from the mouth of a 9-year-old. We had two three-course-meals cooked for the entire family, and the boys collaborated on writing and recording a song about the foibles of various family members. Several 5km runs were completed in increasingly competitive times, and I got a new birdtable. (To be fair, that birdtable required some intervention from Hearth Father as it was a little more complex than I originally envisioned, but still.)

I am now skint. 

The littler people have decided that challenges are an easier way to earn money than chores. It's a crying shame that they require the extrinsic motivation of a financial incentive to do this sort of stuff. I seem to have created some sort of monster. Easter is only three weeks away. Let's hope we have a few more freedoms. It would be cheaper to go to a theme park or eat out every day. And it might have been cheaper to buy a handcrafted birdtable from an artisan online shop, but never mind. 

Currently reading: A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders

Different Colour Pens

 Eddie has just revealed a secret about his homework.

I don't know whether to be shocked by his deception or admiring of his ingenuity.

Before I explain, I need you to know that this confession has an important caveat: Eddie is, without question, a bookworm - and in any hours where he is not allowed on his tablet or the PlayStation he will be found with his head in a book.  I'm just saying...

So, he is required to complete his reading journal each week, updating it with the titles of books he is reading, perhaps the number of pages, and some comment about the book.

As third child, he is often left to fend for himself and doesn't have quite the level of attention that his siblings might have done, but for once I remembered to check up on the reading journal.

'Have you filled it in for this week?  Your teacher would like to see them on Monday.'

'Yes, don't worry, it's all up to date.'

'Oh, good.'

'Yeah, once a week I just fill it up with random titles that I've been reading. I put lots of entries and use different colour pens so that she thinks I've done it on different days.'

Help. I now can't unhear that disclosure.

Currently reading: My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

Post Lockdown Birthday

Eddie turned nine last weekend and deciding on a way of marking the moment was trickier than usual. Everyone else in the family had their birthday this year in 'actual' lockdown so there was no question beyond how to make it special at home together. 

Not so for Eddie.

To him, the world appears pretty much back to normal now. He's been back at school since early September, and the classroom seems similar to what he knew before. The teachers are not required to wear masks, nor are the students (unlike at secondary school where they seem to have become something of a fashion accessory). Changes are subtle. Things look much as they ever did. 

His football team are training and playing matches against rivals home and away; social distancing is encouraged, but you can't put a decent socially-distanced tackle in, and it goes out of the window if a goal is scored, in the natural joy and exuberance of that moment. Swimming classes are back on, though he isn't allowed to shower afterwards - an irrelevance to a 9-year-old.

So why wouldn't a party or a sleepover be possible?

It must seem ludicrous to him that he can be in close proximity to his friends during the school day, play on a football team with seven other players, be in a swimming lesson of a different eight kids, travel to school in a car with two classmates - and yet, because we are a family of five, only have one additional person in the house because of the Rule of Six.

It's difficult to make sense of - especially given that as a secondary school teacher I come into contact with between 150 and 200 students on an average seven period day. 

He has been on a fantasy-kick for the last few months, and so in the end we chose to do the Harry Potter  Studio Tour and experience the 'film-making magic'. Eddie was allowed to bring one friend so that we would be a legal party of six amidst the hundreds of other visitors.

In the end it was a fun day out, completed by a wand-fighting lesson, a broomstick ride, a trainride to Hogwarts and lashings of butter beer (well, one serving to share, since the purchase required remortgaging the house. Actually, the whole thing pretty much cost the price of a week's holiday in Spain, but whose counting in these strange times?

Lockdown Letter

One of Eddie's homeschooling activities this week was to write a letter. He will be heading into Year 4 in September, and the idea was to introduce himself to his new new teachers.

He carefully drafted the letter in his notebook, then borrowed my typewriter to type it up. He seems fascinated by the 'instant' nature of the typewriter, in comparison to the laboriousness of having to wait until the end of wordprocessing something to print it off and get the hard copy in your hands.It's an interesting perspective.

Anyway, here's the finished version.

Now, as an English teacher I'm very happy with the layout and paragraphing. Nice work there, on the whole.

I'm less excited by the unintentionally ironic misspelling of 'literacy' in identifying it as his favourite subject.

Then there is the gradual fading out of capital letters and punctuation (some of which can be blamed on the typewriter - it's a temperamental old thing) and the allergy to spaces between words at times.

But I can let those go. 

I'm more bothered by the fact the implicit suggestion that his mother is weird, he's being 'left behind' at school and that he has the onerous task of feeding the cat and dog, as though he lives in some form of Victorian workhouse. The idea that sleeping on a sofa is a particularly human characteristic that the dog has adopted is also a tad troublesome. 

For the record, the chicken run is now a peaceful, harmonious - it just took a few days for the pecking order to be established! (Blanche is in charge, in case you were wondering.)

Currently reading: A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe

Bubbled School Days

Life has returned to normal, somewhat, for Gilby and for Hearth Father. Gilby is back at school for four days a week, and Hearth Father back at work full-time after being furloughed in April and May. 

The rest of us are still, for the most part, stuck at home. 

Gertie goes out occasionally to meet one friend. Eddie is too little, still, to be able to do this. Excitement for him comes in the form of being able to go to the shop once a week, alone, to buy some sweets or chocolate. On his last visit a man 'was quite old and a bit confused and wasn't able to properly socially-distance,' he explained. Given that the pubs have only just reopened and the local is next door to the shop, I expect I know the reason for his confusion. Football training returned last week for both boys. In 'bubbles' of five, maintaining two metres distance at all times, each child with their own ball.

Socially-distanced football training

I escape into school occasionally for a meeting with parents - in the open air - or a meeting with teachers. I have not been assigned to operate a bubble at school because I have two children of my own at home. My teaching is all online - through a blog and Google Classroom, with a few 'live interactions' via Google Meet or Teachstream through the week. The days beat out to a different rhythm, punctuated now by the additional demands of  'staggered' drop-off and pick-up times for Gilby. 

As a Year 6 student Gilby could have returned on the 1st June. We waited a couple of weeks and sent him on the 15th June - time for the dust to settle on new systems.  As well as the variations to the start and end of the school day, I have to wash his uniform every night to 'decontaminate'. He has had his leavers' assembly - split into three celebrations with the maximum fifteen students spread out on chairs two metres apart in the hall - where he received a dedicated copy of the Bible along with a virtual handshake. This was videoed for parents and sent out as a YouTube link. The moments of Gilby holding the candle and doing a reading didn't make the final cut.  Fridays are reserved for teachers to make their Zoom calls to other students and set on-line work, so it is a four-day week in school.

A new suit for the Year 6 prom

A socially-distanced 'prom' has been organised for the Year 6s for next week. Pupils must bring their own food and drink, and only one parent is able to drop them off. At the suggestion of the school, Gilby has also taken in a polo shirt for his fellow students to sign - in a sealed bag that can only be opened after seventy-two hours.

They play cricket each day, with two balls; one dropped into a bucket of disinfectant each time it is played - touched by the bowler and a single fielder before being thrown to the teacher and cleaned while the other ball goes into play. 

There is no interaction with anyone outside of Gilby's bubble. It seems a strange way to end primary school, but perhaps better than no ending at all, which is what it looked like back on Friday 20th March when they were sent home for what we thought might be the final time this academic year.

Currently reading: The Illustrated Pepys From the Diary, Edited by Robert Latham

Empty Playground

I had to drive past the boys' primary school yesterday, and noticed how overgrown the empty, cordoned off playground opposite looked. The last time we were there was the last day of school, Friday March 20th. We didn't know if it would end up being Gilby's last day at primary school or not (though we are choosing not to send him back on Monday; can't bring myself to do that while people are still dying in their hundreds) and the atmosphere was very weird. It got me writing again - and thinking about how the plague preyed on play.

More Teething Trouble

It's fair to say that our tooth fairy doesn't have the best record. If she was in my employment I'd probably sack her. She is dreadfully unreliable and sometimes forgets to come on time. Sometimes she is unable to find the tooth and wakes the owner up accidentally during the search. She doesn't often communicate like other tooth fairies seem to, and when she does leave a note, her writing is 'too big' - apparently.

Eddie lost a tooth this week. Hearth mother and father had been busy doing a play while dealing with September, back to school routines, the aftermath of puppy-gate and a new member of the family (we have a teenage German exchange student staying with us).

The tooth fairy was up to her old tricks again.

'She didn't come!' cried a distraught Eddie upon waking yesterday morning.

'What do you mean?' I called, frowning at Hearth-father and fumbling frantically in my purse.

Hearth Father's palm was duly crossed and he took up the, er,  baton. 'Now then, let's see. I bet she did. Nothing there under the pillow? Are you sure? Let's look under the...mattress, just in case.'

Lo and behold: a single shiny pound coin. Magic. Sleight of hand. Disaster averted. Eddie was ecstatic. For a moment.

'But she didn't take the tooth!' he wailed.

'No-o. No, she didn't. Um...Perhaps she was disturbed in the night. Maybe you woke up too soon.'

This was followed by some hasty improvisation of fairy folklore.

'She might come back for it tonight?' He added, rather desperately. 'Perhaps that's what happens in these, um, cases...'

Thankfully, the tooth fairy had a better memory in the evening. But there were whispered discussions across the landing.

'She wouldn't just take it and leave nothing...'

'Do you think she would leave another coin?'

'Well, it has always been a two pound coin for the first big front tooth...'

'Fair enough.'

Some urgent checking of pockets and purses ensued.

'I've only got a bloody two quid coin!'

'Ssssssh. Give it here.'

'But then he'll have had three pounds!'

'Never mind. It'll have to do. So be it.'

Thus Eddie came down to breakfast in jubilant mood this morning, his trouser pockets heavy with gold; and was last overheard in the playground regaling his friends with the story of how he tricked the tooth fairy...

Currently reading: Mapp & Lucia by EF Benson

It's All Greek To Me

It has been a busy old week with regards to the combined demands of primary school and social commitments. Monday was 'Superhero Day' for Year 2. Eddie hasn't worn a superhero costume for a couple of years, so some improvisation was needed. 

Yesterday was 'Forest Schools' followed by a party at a local farm park. This required the sorting out of a present for the birthday girl - on a school night - and, with an after work meeting and ferrying the kids to clubs until 9pm, I left Daddy in charge. He surpassed himself. I had expected a tenner stuffed in a card, but the present was thoughtfully chosen, wrapped and delivered on time.  

Today was 'Greek Day' for Year 5, so, following the success of mid-week birthday-gate, Hearth-Father was promoted to costume design for the first time. With hindsight, I don't know why I have found the last few years remotely stressful. I should have handed over responsibilities a long time ago. I may be about to announce my retirement. Somehow he managed this:

And is utterly forgiven for raiding the wardrobe for my sandals and destroying a pillow case. I have no idea about the authenticity, but am overwhelmed by the commitment. After nineteen years I have discovered my husband's secret dressmaking skill. The needle and cotton are his domain from now on.

Currently reading: The Mere Wife by Maria Dahvana Headley

A Variation On 'The Dog Ate My Homework'

As a teacher, I have heard every excuse for late or missing homework over more than two decades.

At home, I'm very good at checking on the homework produced by Gertie. Obviously I want her to succeed and all, but I also don't want her to get into trouble with any of my colleagues now that she is in secondary school. Might be a bit awkward. It helps that she is relatively organised, and that the homework is emailed to me directly as well as to her through the school's automated system.

Gilby isn't so good at motivating himself to do anything that isn't football, so I've also had half an eye on his homework over the years and we've had a number of Sunday afternoon 'prompts'. (He might call them 'rows'.)

But in the tradition of third children having to fend for themselves, it seems I have rather abandoned Eddie - and so he's had to organise himself for a while. And when I say 'a while' that probably means his entire school career after the first fortnight.

But it's holiday time and Christmas is all wrapped up, so I thought it would be good to show interest.  It provoked mixed feelings, therefore, when I came across this little gem in his homework book this morning:

Didn't seem quite fair to berate him for the spelling, missed capitals, etc. There is something refreshingly - and frighteningly - honest about seven-year-olds.

Currently reading: Things A Bright Girl Can Do by Sally Nicholls

The Angel Gabriel Bit Me Once

"The Angel Gabriel bit me once..."

Those immortal words were uttered by Gertie, whilst watching her little brother perform in the (unsatisfyingly small - am I allowed to say that?) role of 'Courtier Number Two' in the KS2 nativity last week. It was the usual novel re-framing of the Christmas story, (even though this is a church school so you'd think that a 'straight' version would be encouraged). This year's was The Magical Jigsaw Puzzle.

We were commenting on how good the girl playing Gabriel was (very large role; her mother must have been pleased).

It's not the sort of behaviour you expect from God's messenger, frankly. Gertie explained that way back in the days when she was at primary school (like, last term), she was assigned as the girl's 'buddy'. Not an easy mission, given the biting.

Still, just goes to show.  Not sure what, but I'm sure it shows something. I'd love to include a picture of the biting archangel, but photographing other people's children is definitely frowned upon; so I'll concentrate on my own.

Eddie certainly made the most of Courtier Number Two, delivering all six lines with volume and expression. And helping out other members of the cast with theirs - whether they wanted him to or not, frankly.

Last day of term. Only the 'reindeer cones' for sale on the playground and PTA 'lucky dip' to dodge at pick up this afternoon and we are there. And so, as Tiny Tim said, "A Merry Christmas to us all; God bless us, every one!"

Currently reading: The End We Start From by Megan Hunter

From In The Navy To Being Marooned

Today was a big day: Gertie's transition from primary to secondary school.

I don't think I got upset back when any of the kids first started in reception. I was happy that they didn't cry and actually wanted to go, and I don't remember it being hard to deal with. In fact, each time one of them started school I actually think I was happy to have reduced the nursery bill. And when Eddie went to school and the kiddivoucher payments finally stopped so that I was back to full salary, it was brilliant.

And I was working at the end of last term so I didn't get to do all the end of year assembly stuff that they do to mark the end of primary school. Hearth father went and found it all a little bit emosh, but it all sort of passed me by. I was pleased that at 'prom' she still wanted a quite girly dress, unlike some of her friends who looked far too sexy for eleven. She looked beautiful and grown up and dignified.

But this morning was a big deal. For her, it definitely was. All her clothes were laid out the night before. There was a lot of preparation. I got a big squeezy cuddle behind closed doors but a cool blown kiss once we were in the street and I fear that is how it will be from now on. I didn't expect it to be quite such a big deal for me though, to feel quite so emotional this morning; it kind of hit me from nowhere: My little girl is really grown up and confidently moving on.

I took her for an ice cream at the end of the day though.

Tooth Fairy Needs to Remortgage

Gertie begins her secondary school adventure in the morning. Her clothes are laid out ready, the new blazer has its purple flash sewn on denoting her new house colours, the shoes are polished, the school bag and PE kit packed. 

But that's not the story. No, the story is that Mother Nature has picked tonight for Gertie to lose three teeth. In the space of about eight minutes. And a fourth is very wobbly and painful. Calpol required. 

So now, anxious to create a good impression tomorrow, she will in fact resemble a pirate - or a geriatric - every time she opens her mouth.

More to the point, we've had to make an emergency trip to the bank to fund the fallout.

C'est la vie.

Currently reading: Imagine Me Gone by Adam Haslett

School Uniform: The Holy Grail

Smashing parenting today!

This comes with an exclamation mark as it is not a claim I am often able to make. Did I say 'often'? I meant 'ever'. But today is the day.

Let me explain. We are in the final days of the summer holidays and so comes the inevitable uniform buying, gathering, labelling nightmare.

Gertie is going to secondary school which means that she is starting from scratch. Blazer, two polo shirts and the skirt come to eighty quid, and we haven't got as far as shoes or PE kit yet, so this time of year is laden with expense as well as stress. 

The boys won't stop growing, and although Eddie, being number three, essentially lives in hand-me-downs, there is still an awful lot of 'naming' to be done on uniform. This has always filled me with horror. I am not a lover of sewing. The iron-in labels are fiddly and horrible. A biro doesn't quite cut it in the leafy lanes of rural West Sussex. It takes hours and I hate it. Usually. 

But finally, after eleven years of parenting I have made an investment and found the answer. The philosopher's stone, the Holy Grail. It is transformative. Totally life-changing.

This is so not a sponsored post as I am simply not important enough to do that, so I shall refrain from naming the company involved. It wasn't cheap because I had to buy three of them. But I can now stamp their names on to their uniform, This makes it fun. 

Even Gilby's socks have received the treatment. Yes, his socks! Look:

I know. Go me, go me, go me.

Best £44 I have ever spent!

Currently reading:

This is going to hurt by Adam Kay

Most Likely To...

Gertie has had her end of term leavers' assembly amidst plenty of tears, shirt-signing and nostalgic stories about the last seven years.

She has gone from this....

To this...

In what seems like the blink of an eye. Tempus has certainly been fugiting.

Meanwhile, Gilby received this end of term of award, much to his delight:

And this one:

No question about how his identity is being constructed!

And now the long summer holiday lies ahead, with all its promise and adventure.

Phase One begins this evening with a trip to the cinema to see The Incredibles. This is Eddie's treat for being 'good' for ten days in a row. And by 'good' I mean putting on his shoes without fuss or argument when told to leave the house and not going into meltdown at bedtime. Sigh. One small step at a time.

Currently reading: Slade House by David Mitchell 

Different Success Criteria

It has been a good weekend in the Hearth-house. Gertie and Gilby have successfully taken part in the final performances of the school play, Bugsy Malone to great critical acclaim. (From Hearth-mother and Hearth-father at least.)

Gertie has enjoyed her Year 6 prom and all the associated pomp and circumstance, including mini manicure, pedicure and 'waterfall plaits' whatever that may mean. We did have conversations like this, though:

Gertie: Mummy, what was your prom dress like when you were in Year 6?

Hearth-mother: Prom dress, darling? Oh no, we didn't have such things. Proms, or nice dresses. My parents were mostly dressing me in tartan and making me match my siblings...

Gilby has this morning received the 'player of the year' award for his football team and is marching around as though he as won the World Cup. The coach credited his hard work, captaincy skills and being a great 'reader of the game'.

And Eddie? 

Well, results for him to. He is still alive, narrowly escaping being throttled at several points through the weekend, and I ended up not phoning the police yesterday when I thought he was missing. Different levels of success...

Currently reading: Why Mummy Swears by Gill Sims

Another Budding Literary Career

Following in the footsteps of Great-Hearth-Aunt, Eddie's literary exploits continue to exceed expectation. Next week his riddle poem is published in Young Writers - Little Riddlers South East Poets. Today, his classmates helped performed a song about a penguin that he had written. Given Eddie's already well-developed propensity for self-promotion, these latest achievements make him nearly unbearable. In fact, he was most put-out that the class were only going to sing one verse during the assembly when he had gone to the trouble of writing a whole two more. Didn't they know who he was?

It was a treat to watch this assembly as all three of them were actually recognised. Gilby as a maths champion and Gertie for last weekend's swimathon where the team of six swam 117 lengths in an hour. Proud mummy moments.

Future Careers

Gertie has announced, from the lofty position of Year 6, that she would like to be a 'human rights' lawyer.

I think she might be actually be headed into discrimination and gender equality law. This term's topic at school is 'Explorers', and asked to choose from the list of famous explorer names on the board one to research independently, she immediately raised her hand and asked why they were all male.

Then, this afternoon I went to pick her up from 'Girls' Football' club after school. I wondered why she looked completely dry given the drizzle. 'Oh no, we played in the hall because it was wet. We can't play outside when it is wet because we only do football on the playground, not on the field.' I enquired as to whether this was the same for the boys.

'No. But don't worry, Mum, I'm already planning to raise it at school council next week...' 🙂

Still we've come a long way since the Intelligent Parents' Manual of 1944, where I have reached this little gem: 

Currently reading: All That Man Is by David Szalay

Toothless Grin

Got the call from school. 

Not the neglectful 'you've forgotten to pick your child up' one that we sometimes get when clubs are cancelled at short notice. 

No, this time it was the 'your child's been hurt in an in incident' call. I'm not a fan of that word, 'incident'. 

The 'incident' this time was that Eddie had lost a tooth. Probably a frequent occurrence amongst Year 1 children anticipating visits from the tooth fairy. Except that the tooth in question hadn't even been wobbly. Eddie had been 'pushed into a bin' by another child (a five-year-old in reception class) and his front tooth had come out. It was his first one. He wasn't ready. It had an enormous root and I couldn't believe that something so enormous had come from such a small person.

The headteacher and other staff were mortified and apologetic. Should never have been allowed to happen. Lots of blood. The other boy has been severely sanctioned. Entirely unprovoked, etc. etc. 

(I was just pleased that it was, indeed, entirely unprovoked.)

The other tooth is also a bit wobbly, so Pirate Eddie may have to have a trip to the dentist.

Currently reading: H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald