Dr Egypt and the Swan’s Vast Margarita.

Shams TV

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Here we are by Malltraeth bay and the tide is right in, one lone swan floating effortlessly on the water like an ice cube – only with a reeeeally long neck so not actually like an ice cube at all. But hey, BB woke me up at 4.30am and decided to head bang the early hours of the morning away, so any chance of an analogy by 10.30am, sitting in the wee Renault with my Mac perched precariously on one knee in the drivers seat, is frankly, a bit of a wonder. I drove down here to ensure he got some kind of a morning nap, enticing him into the car seat with a baby apple off the tree and a puffed corn ring chaser. And I’ve got to hand it to the Renault manufacturers, they sure do make a soporific engine noise, only takes 4.5 minutes before he’s snoring at the sunroof, mouth open, dreaming of his next banana custard and dysonning the living room, Gigglebiz chirruping in the background – toddler Heaven.

This little village is the place where that bird draughtsman genius Tunnicliffe used to conjure up his magic on paper – but you wouldn’t know that to visit here. Strange to me that there’s no kind of ‘Tunnicliffe Experience’ going on here to promote the area a bit. But then again that’s very much the Western side of Anglesey for you – p & q (peace and quiet) in spades, usually with a dash of a rainstorm or a sustained flash of afternoon sunshine. But today it’s one of those garden-badminton-opportunity days. Not a breath of wind, and just the swan gliding in the vast margarita of the bay, hiding her giant flapping feet below the surface and wondering why the blonde in the Renault is staring at her and tapping.

I love my Mac, (thanks Apple) and that’s much more of a wonder than a bad analogy. And every day I wake up positively goggling with delight to be in a digital world so even if you’re as cut off as we presently are, you kind of aren’t at the same time. Last night I posted my latest entry on the blog and got responses in a few minutes from all over, from Saudi to Brazil and from Scotland to America just for starters. I totally love that, you get to feel global from a little kitchen in this Celtic outpost of Britain (kind of like the window-sill of Wales).

Which brings me neatly on to blankets – is there anything I can do in my own small way to promote the amazing woollen tapestry industry of north wales? There’s a beautiful, authentic and precious craft hanging on by it’s fingertips and again strangely the big local shop which is the regular pit-stop for tourist coaches passing through Anglesey at Llanfairpwllgwyngyll (yes, really folks and that’s just the beginning of the name), well they sell Scottish wool products. Not that the Scottish woollen industry isn’t fantastic in it’s own right – but consarnit, this is Wales, an area of high unemployment and out on the limb of UK investment  (though with money for squirrel sign-posts, bizarrely). We visited Brynkir woollen mill last week, got a really snugly baby blanket, and admired the GORGEOUS products in their deserted mill shop, employs only 2 workers and you would hardly know the place was there. Can there be a place for apprentice weavers in the modern age to revitalise a dying craft? Surely with a bit of a will, some design and marketing flair, there’s a chance of a Phoenix moment. Makes me get all passionate for some reason, and I’m not even Welsh. Hate to see beautiful crafts die out, I guess. Adding some pictures on this one today so you can see what I’m blethering on about. Rant over…..moving on…

Yasser speaks a few words of Welsh now with an amazingly accurate pronunciation – on account of the Arabs having a fair sprinkling of the throaty “ccCChhh” sounds in their own tongue. He’s enjoying the surprise of throwing in a phrase or two at work, unexpected coming from Dr Egypt. I think he’ll pick it up quickly, and be spared the hell of 13 verb conjugations in the present tense alone of standard Arabic grammar horror (more of that in my forthcoming book which is in the offing, or inning or something). We’re so lucky that English is simples. I go, we go, they go, etc etc..…lucky old us, easy-peasy lemon squeezy. One of the things I like about speaking other languages is that it gives you the chance to uncover and express other parts of your personality and let rip according to the emotional inclinations of that nationality. I mean I think language classes at school kind of missed this important point. If you think about it, how much more fun is it to speak Italian if you can do authentic and feeling Godfather impersonations and let out the macho side of your nature play out? (yeah, and I’m a girl, so how’s that for an uncovering huh?). Pretty hard to do that with the monotone of your English English. And in Arabic I’ve discovered for one thing that you can give a terrifically extended and warm welcome hello to everyone by saying it about 7 times in different ways upon meeting your host or guest depending on the circs. (should take the first 5-8 minutes of the conversation). Kind of hard to be THAT hospitable in English English. Mind you, after hubbie’s question about why we raise our tone with such enthusiasm to say ‘Byeee!’ with flourish at the end of meeting or conversation in our culture, I’m kind of left wondering myself what that one’s all about. Happy to end the contact? Relieved to scurry off to attend to pruning the lettuces or something? Add to comments on this please.

And talking of countries, have decided not to exhibit in Romania this autumn (actually northern R, bordering Moldova and kind of off the beaten track – what the heck IS a beaten track by the way, who beat it and why?). Maybe Bucharest another time.  Getting ready for a little bit of exhibiting in London in October. Kind of weird to be showing in a place I could actually drive to for once, and not having to negotiate with any of my alternate or additional personalities is making it eerily simples. Now if I pretend to be Ukrainian I could add in a bit of that exotic pzazz galleries seem to love. Maybe I should go to Moldova and negotiate from there just for fun. Phewie….young one in bed and not woken up for over an hour…must be getting delirious.

Chin chin.

Bloater burps and Ragtime Boy

Bobby Bryn Boogie

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New Mum’s get run down, especially since they don’t have house maids popping up everywhere to help out as we saw in Saudi, alas alas.  I leapt at the ceiling when Dr Husband came home and put his hand on my shoulder and tweaked it, so realising I was a bit of a wreck. When I rub my eyes they feel like kangaroo pouches. And then today I’m perfecting the art of talking out of the side of my mouth like a bad ventriloquist on account of a mouth ulcer the size of a peanut and a sting to go with (not that peanuts sting, obviously, but you get the idea). Helpful Doc said to put tahina on it, in the Egyptian way, so I did, and folks, it does feel better already – or it did until he offered me some marzipan cake which we had to celebrate our son’s first birthday. Arrghgghghg… chewing no good. Re-tahinered come bedtime though and it works, yes Siree Bob, can’t talk at the same time though. Nuff said.

Meantime back in ‘royal Anglesey’ Holyhead harbour was bulging with pirates today at the Gaffers Day which we stumbled on. A sparkly sunlit sort of a day and the marina looking ever so pwitty with some old schooners bobbing up and down. Since Yasser has reached the pinnacle of Ramadan and is therefore fasting for 2 more long days he got VERY excited when the scent of kippers reached his nostrils – apparently on account of the intense salted fish-scoffing that goes on in Egypt once fasting has finished. So he made a bee-line for the kipper-house (eh?), and we got a bag full of bloaters which turn out to be the same as kippers only all zipped up, looking shiny and orange, straight out of the smoke-box. Quite a pong it was too. And once we got the blighters, sorry, bloaters, home, the honk was still transmitting through 4 layers of plastic bags and determined to convert the rest of the fridge contents to smoked morsels at first gasp. Anyhow in a couple more days we’ll scoff them down….bet they give amazing smoked burps (smurps), and we’ll get back to you on that,  in the interest of research (sure you’re glad we live on an island). Didn’t get the name of the band playing near the jetty though, they were really good, thanks guys for lifting those bank holiday spirits.

Dysonning Duty

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Big news of our 1 year old, Bobby Bryn has not only learned to use a baby Dyson (most useful), but also he’s been learning to dance, with a freezer amongst other articles. Actually it’s a bit rich to say ‘learning’….he just boogies naturally. Also he’s discovered how to break into a run, particularly near our gate or anywhere in the vicinity of horses. Terribly excited about the nags in general and seems to be a natural equestrian since he starts trying to trot on me every time I put him in the Ergo-baby carrier. Oh yes and THANKS to all my friends for recommending that product by the way.  New mum says ‘YES I CAN’ to American pouch;… comfy, handy, and an excellent surprise training ground for miniature jockeys. Pushchair smushchair, the boy likes to bounce.

GIDDYUP.

Password Dyson and half a Trouser Leg

Dyson Boy

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Do you think it will be long before we have to have a user name and password to get into our homes rather than use keys? Heck, I’ve got so many user names on various websites now I’ve almost forgotten who I am. And what I thought was a simple system of registering fruit for my passwords in various formats such as  TENMANGO, MANGO007, MANGOTASTIC etc, I’ve recently realised that I’ve sunk myself into a swamp of password pulp confusion and now I’m reduced to automatically hitting “YES” to the question: FORGOTTEN YOUR PASSWORD?” every time I go anywhere and leaping to my mail to reset it yet again (only to forget it later on that evening).

Cyberspace is an addiction and love affair, so does it matter that we are all being turned into little secret agents with this password obsession? And don’t get me started on Profiles. How many identities do you have now and how many more will you create in the next year alone?

Create Profile…I haven’t fabricated a full-on fiction one of these yet from the full range of my imagination, but it’s tempting. I mean I could be anyone but I haven’t really tapped into that potential so far. Here I am in 2 paras…..Like anything in life, by the tenth time you do it, you should be snappier at it, even though in terms of content you might not have gotten any more exciting, though I suppose if you write it well you might seem to be.

Amongst his other presents, we bought a mini-Dyson for our son’s first birthday next week. This is due to it being his main goal every morning to root out the adult version from the utility room and haul it into the kitchen and blow down the tubing like he’s on the plains of the outback. No mean achievement since it’s a lot bigger than he is, and we won’t stop him doing that since it means so much to him – in fact he’s actively in training for vacuum duties, sucking up his first piece of discarded crust and half a trouser leg just this morning.  So passionate is he about this procedure that it takes precedence over breakfast. Now I’ve heard that Virgos are creatures of habit, nevertheless it’s a surprising one to set at this time of the morning. But what do I know? I’ve never been a 1 year old boy.  And anyway, I’m a Pisces, person astrologically LEAST likely to form a habit — except for Neutrogena soap—have to splash that on my mug every night, as nothing else makes my skin squeak so good. Maybe it makes my complexion more fish-like or something.

Funny thing about his birth and being a Virgo. Nearly everyone in my husband’s family is born in the same week. So once BB’s due date of August 14th came and went without a tweak last year, (even despite lively and extensive daily coastal walks round Anglesey) and we’d got ourselves all psyched up for a swaggering Leo,  we began to figure that he was holding out to be part of the big Egyptian Virgo gang and so twoz.  I continue to stand (or rather swim) alone with the fishes. That’s OK though, we’re all in need of a party come March I reckon.

Doctor Mazda (it’s not a Mazda) in Royal Anglesey

It’s not easy being an Egyptian on a sparsely populated Welsh island. Going from a population density of 35 thousand per km squared in the Egyptian cities to er…95.8 folks per km squared here on Anglesey, it’s not surprising that he’s a little bemused about the amount of fresh air circulating between one individual and another. Even the sheep have plenty of room to stretch out without bumping into each other. Just for info, the population density of central London is less than 5,000 per km. So on our beautiful Welsh outpost, it’s eerily quiet, but plenty of flower-filled space for jogging as mentioned earlier – I guess that accounts for the rapaciousness of the local bluebottle population who must have gotten pretty adept at sniffing out humans at a thousand paces. But it’s funny how the cultures differ…my mother used to run a mile to get away from people on the amazing stretch of Newborough beach…but I love a busy beach…guess my time in the middle east made me love company more.

It’s not easy being foreign either…new regulation just made it a lot harder for people driving on a foreign license to get insurance. So the amount paid last year suddenly got multiplied SIX times. Phoo. Seems like all the utilities want to grab more of your money in the current UK…after more than six years living in Saudi, you notice the changes. And it’s really weird having seen people living in poor conditions abroad to see the over-burden of bureaucratic expenses in this society that doesn’t have anything to do with the fundamentals that people need to have, shelter, food, warmth. I guess there is no such thing as a simple life here. Feel really sorry for those people struggling in the inner cities.

So anyway, insurance…and wheels…so having got the insurance, the doctor has bought a wee senior Mazda convertible- er well a Eunos (no I’d never heard of that either) and will be zipping off to the hospital soon, which will have a much better population density than here, so that’s good. Was a long period without hospitals hiring, so it’s a relief. And Bobbie Bryn and me may go and feed the wild ponies again tomorrow, who will gallop across the fields at a screech pace at the first whiff of a polo mint. BB loves this and laughs at their flapping upper lips as they grope for the sweet. The nursing mums dash forward first and hog the gate, lips gyrating, bless ‘em, shifting their backsides to stop the non-mums getting their necks in first. Have to be a bit in sympathy here, nothing like feeding your young one to bring on the hunger of a post-burnt-out-food-storage camel…..  have to thank my husband for this analogy, though not absolutely scientific.

Bobbie Bryn’s new boots and bluebottles

first shoes

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Bobbie Bryn got his feet measured in Bangor this afternoon for his first pair of proper shoes. When he got them on he stomped about with a wobble and happy strong sounds which my husband and I think may come from his Albanian ancestry …….”uuuuuuuuuuuuuunCHHCT!!” since it’s neither English or Arabic, either that or he’s been swotting up on Star Trek and learnt some basic Vulcan.

Are we looking to invest? The kid’s shoe trade is HOT. Maybe this a regular feature but they were queuing up in the kids’ section and it’s nowhere near term-time. Loved the shoe designs we got, though where are the brighter colours for boys? The obsession with blue boy’s clothes usually sends me shooting back to the Scandinavian websites – nothing wrong with the many shades of this colour, but there is a whole rainbow to choose from, so it’s kind of surprising. He’d love something in zebra stripes I’m sure. He also considers the taste potential important since one of his favourite activities is sitting in the middle of the cloakroom, trawling through the shoe stack and gnawing on a bit of boot.

It’s been raining now for three days solid, and I swore to myself that having experienced Saudi Arabia I would never complain about rain again. So it’s great, and the ten thousand plus miniature frogs (? toads…?) we have jumping about in the garden and the surrounding fields are pretty ecstatic about it too. Funny how the wasps stay indoors when the sun goes in and all the frogs emerge with the rain. I do wonder what the wasps are up to in the meantime. I can imagine them peeping out of the hole in the wall first thing and shaking their heads, “shucks Bruno, another stinker of a day…who’s up for a game of poker?”, or maybe they’re all playing on-line, which might account for the slower broadband speed of the last few days (wouldn’t it?).

Living on the edge of a nature reserve as we do, wildlife forms most of our daily company, and it’s quite a different mob from the weaver birds with their upside down houses and golden-bottomed giant ants of Jeddah.  Flies of all forms have gone nuts this year and it’s kind of comic to take a run in the nearby forest and find yourself getting followed by a buzzing cloud of them. My husband got a little upset about this the last time it happened since he looked to the holiday makers round about as though he must have been smelling particularly ripe, sprinting doctor whizzing past, a throbbing swarm of bluebottles hot on his heels. Not quite up to clinical standards. Good for fitness mind you, reckon he added at least a couple of km per hour to his pace. Almost worth applying a stink specially to guarantee it, come to think of it……

Bobbie Bryn sees a Pom-Pom Chicken

love a duck

You’ve really got to like big cows an AWFUL lot to be altogether happy to cough up nearly £15 to see them at the Anglesey Show yesterday.  Admittedly there are quite a lot of other things to see, amongst them some giant vegetables, fantastical bonsai trees, various shiny bits of farming equipment, monster sows with squeals to match, a Ferrari (bizarrely), orange flavour Turkish Delight, dozens of new-born locals blissfully sleeping the whole event away in de-luxe pushchairs, many other samples of champion livestock, some elegant showjumping and hot meat stands in a variety of formats to satisfy the most voraciously carnivorous amongst other things.

Anglesey is a very quiet place without much in the way of entertainment so I thought we’d give it a whirl with my Egyptian husband who is new to such events, and our 11 month year old, who I had an idea might enjoy gurgling at the goats. As it turned out he only got gaga over some particularly cute little ducks in the poultry tent, who did some great impersonations of Donald’s nephews and had wee Bobbie Bryn laughing his head off. The mad white chickens with fluffy pom-pom hats and pantaloons to match came a close second but as far as competition in bird sounds goes, Quacking has the edge over Clucking, definitely.

Once we left it didn’t take us long to discover that we couldn’t find the car – a first for me. And if anyone was there and wondering why a tall woman was sprinting up and down every row of cars in the fields for about 30 minutes, it was for this reason. Since my husband was fasting, i tucked him into the shadow of a yellow transit with our boy and various bags of Turkish delight, and legged it round the fields. “Mae hi’n wedi colli ei gar!!” (she’s lost her car) I heard roundabout, always happy to provide a bit of amusement for passers by.

It would be very handy if some of the £15 entrance money might be used in future to put up some zone labels to help people out here. I wasn’t the only one staggering about looking lost, and sadly some of the foiks were elderly and less likely to get jogging. We found the car eventually, and at least I got a work out. Silver linings, clouds and so on.

Big congrats to all the Champs that day, can’t be easy to groom a bull the size of our bathroom.