A sleepy little head emerged from beneath the covers and sleepy little eyes opened to greet me. ‘Mummy’ said their sleepy owner, my daughter Milly, sleepily, ‘Yes dear?’ I smiled. ‘Is it Saturday?’ she whispered. ‘yes dear’, I nodded, smiling. ‘Well just f**k off then will you mummy’ she said and disappeared back under the duvet. I pulled the covers back and she glared at me ‘You need to get up dear, you’ve got your first riding lesson today, remember’. Milly sighed. ‘But why do we need to learn to ride Mummy?’ she asked. ‘Because you two haven’t done anything entertaining for this blog for ages and if you don’t start performing for the readers then I’ll give you both to Madonna for adoption. We live in the north now remember and she’s on the look out for third world children like you’. There was another groan. ‘But Mummy, we have to go to school all week, can’t we have a lie in at the weekend?’ she asked. ‘Well!’ I snapped, ‘and what do you think I do all week then?!’ I was quite annoyed now. She looked perplexed and thought about the question for some time. ‘Actually, mummy’, she began, ‘what
do you do all week?’ I was quite indignant now. ‘Well, for a start I, erm, and then I have to, err, you know, umm, and then there’s all the, ahhh, errr, to do as well!’ I had had enough of this. ‘I want you and your sister ready to go to the stables in half an hour or else I’ll ring wife in the north and swap you both for her children. Let’s see if she can write amusing stories about family life when she only has you two to work with!’ ‘Will you come with us to the lesson Mummy?’ asked Milly. ‘I will be along later dear’, I said, ‘but first I have to see a man about a sheep.’ ‘what about a sheep?’ asked Milly. ‘Well’, I explained, ‘He’s going to chop off all the sheep’s fur so I can write about it on the blog’. Milly thought for a moment. ‘What’s his name Mummy?’ she asked. ‘Alan’ I said. She thought some more. ‘So he told you his name was Alan the Shearer then, mummy?’ ‘Yes dear, what’s so strange about that? Actually his friend will be there too.’ ‘And what did his friend tell you was
his name, mummy? Asked Milly. ‘Hmm, let me think, Freddy I think he said, Freddy the Shepherd.’ ‘Mummy’, Milly began, ‘you know you said you wanted to reach out and get to the
heart of the North East?’ ‘Yes dear?’ I replied. Milly sighed and raised her eyebrows ‘Keep working on it mummy, You've got a way to go yet I think’, she said, looking very wise for her years, and then she pulled the duvet over her head and began pretending to snore very loudly. I don't think Milly takes me seriously sometimes, sigh, in fact I bet she doesn't even know that you can vote every day untill the 13th June in the
blogpower awards.
Wife in The North poured out the last of the gin and wiped her eyes. She was even more upset than I was at not winning the most consistently entertaining Blogpower award. ‘Thanks ever so for coming round Rilly’, she sobbed. I smiled sympathetically, trying to hide my own pain at having lost to Bryan Appleyard. Outside, a tall ship sailed past on the ocean, it's rigging clearly visible to everyone for miles around. ‘You’ve been like a sister to me’, said Wifey. ‘I knew Bryan when I worked for the Sunday Times of course’, she began. ‘He was always ruthless, even back then. We always used to say don’t upset the Appleyard whenever there was a difficult job that needed giving to someone.’ We both took out our handkerchiefs and had a good blow, drowning out the North Sea fog horn just outside the kitchen window. ‘You mustn’t be too downhearted though, Rilly’, she reassured me. ‘Remember that Bryan gets paid to write his stuff. He doesn’t have to go to a proper job as well so he has all the time in the world to write his blog and promote himself’. I permitted myself a weak smile of agreement despite my own grief as my gaze wandered over to the black kettle and matching pot that sat atop the aga. ‘I suppose you have to be getting back’, she sighed, standing up. I nodded. ‘Perhaps you should take a holiday Rilly, darling, get away from it all for a bit’. she suggested. I thought that sounded like good advice. Suddenly she grabbed my arm. ‘Oh Rilly!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re not going to write about our chat on your blog are you?’ I smiled reassuringly. I walked down the garden path, and turned to wave goodbye. A cold wind blew in from the sea so I dug my hands deep into my pockets, and switched off the tape recorder. A holiday, I thought, was just what I needed. I got in the car, switched on the sat-nav navigation thingy, and typed in airport. 
