Fire! Fire!

Believe it or not, within the space of a week there have been two fires within 100 metres of our house. The first was arson, up the alley. A shed was set alight in the back garden of a house that was being squatted. Gregor, following his induction into the rudiments of fire fighting thanks to uncle AJ and his mega machines firefighters video, was all kitted out and ready to go.

Different hat and no jacket today, but while Alastair was blissfully unaware at school, Gregor was witnessing real fire stuff on London Road South. In this case, the fire was in the top floor and began with a great deal of noxious smoke billowing out from an open Velux window in the roof. Gregor looked on as the firemen moved in to coordinate their actions.

Well versed in procedures, he offered his assistance.

Finally the hydraulic platform (called Simon Snorkel) arrived from Great Yarmouth (my neighbour says Lowestoft doesn't have its own) and they stood ready while the flames were being doused from within.

Unbelievable to see that they didn't have masks on while they were standing full in the face of the fumes and smoke.

I think these guys deserve their four days on four days off regime.

Tunstall forest

The glorious weather continues but the boys will just get frazzled if we stay at the beach all day so we decided to take a stroll in a forest 40 minutes away by car. I have since found out that there is a closer one - Dunwich - but the butcher, Ross, told me today that it's always full of people. So the extra 20 minutes was worth the tranquility. In the two hours that we were there we saw just one couple walking their dogs.

I took Misha to the one path I know, which is an easy quadrangle and quite open. Although we didn't take the pram, Alastair doesn't always feel like walking and prefers shoulders if he can get away with it (which he always can with Misha, but it's never certain with me!). Gregor is a great walker already and does what we do. Mindful that Alastair still doesn't look where he's walking and is constantly tripping over things, we resisted going too deep into the forest with just our shorts and bare legs.

Gregor is into sticks at the moment. Whenever we are walking where some are, he'll pick them up to add to his collection that I just chuck out again when he's unaware. Sometimes he tries to "spire" you, and utters strange phrases and names of things he gets from his schoolmates that I have to smile at because it's lovely to understand their influences, even if they are ones you wouldn't actively promote. But mostly he's just busy doing his thing.

And peeing in the bushes is no exception.

Alastair, as ever, is happy in Gregor's company and watches all that he does, but is increasingly branching out on his own too. He is becoming proudly aware of his achievements and is more confident, particularly as his walking and balance improve.

After the cow debacle the other week, I thought that this pastoral setting would restore Alastair's faith in countryside animals, but he demonstrably protested at their baaing. Ho hum...

Swimming

Last week there was a holiday for the exhausted bankers. So while they were counting all the money they've fleeced from us we met up with my sister Pauline and her son Sam at the swimming pool in Felixstowe. This was Alastair's first time in a pool. He had his gastrostomy and tracheostomy surgically reversed in summer 2007 and we wanted to avoid the pools over the winter, but now seemed as good a time as any to take the plunge.

Those of you familiar with the British phenomenon of defensive life, aka child protection, may wonder how on earth we were even able to take photos in the swimming pool. Indeed, my sister had to sign a form handed to her by the lifeguard giving her name, address, phone number and reason for our snaps.

The boys were none the wiser and seemed to enjoy the experience, though Alastair communicated to me that it was colder than the bath. I had to agree, but reminded him it was warmer than the sea. Sam was a godsend and looked after Gregor brilliantly so that I could take care of Adi without a problem. That's another reason we've left it so long - managing two on your own is not recommended, even with armbands.

Misha doesn't like pools at the best of times and the local Lowestoft one is freezing. The time slot for parents and toddlers there is 8-10 on a Sunday morning, which is far from civilised, I think.

After our 45 minute swim we hired these motorised boats and buzzed around in the lake outside the leisure centre. Gregor kept egging Sam on to go faster and crash us, as if Sam needed any encouragement.

Spring has sprung

Finally the weather got a bit warmer and attention has turned to the garden. I am trying to enlist Alastair's help in planting a few seeds, which he was happy to do with the large courgette ones, but anything else requires finer motor skills than he currently possesses.

He and his little friend Kaito were very happy to fill all the pots with compost the other day. Then, while Gregor decided to clean his bike, Alastair chose to clean the plant pots.

We have renewed our season tickets at the zoo and are trying to go as often as possible, though with school every day, we can't go as often as we did last year. But it's more enjoyable now since Alastair doesn't need his pram any longer and is much more interested in the animals.

Gregor is still waiting to reach the elusive 1 metre, which means nothing to him except he will be tall enough then to visit the Lowestoft lighthouse. Another 6 months at least, I'd say.

Whereas Alastair was very proud to be as tall as a cheetah.

Gregor was fascinated to hear that when they were born they were smaller than meercats. Alastair gave a little miaow to show he understood.

Old MacDonald has a farm

Alastair loves farms and if we ask him what he wants to do he'll usually sign the word for "farm". So the other week on the way back from somewhere we stopped off at a farm to look at some cows in the field. Although he knows the signs for the animals he never uses them and prefers to make his own noises instead.

His cow noise is only identifiable to a select few and is like a gentle raspberry sound. At this point his deep love for cows took a turn for the worse.

He definitely wasn't ready for them jumping out of his inner world and approaching the gate and mooing as loudly as they did. I think they thought it was milking time.

And now I think Alastair has a bit of a complex, because whenever cows or beef is mentioned, he puts his hands over his ears and looks very distressed and then reminds us of this picture. Dear oh dear!
We did catch up with the farmer and he was happy to pretend to be Old MacDonald, though Gregor wasn't having any of it, and in the end we had to agree he was young MacDonald because he certainly didn't look old enough.

Even sitting on the tractor couldn't improve things while the cows were standing there ready to moo at any moment. Such bovine betrayal. Poor Alastair just sat there and refused to look in their direction.

Finally, he cheered up when he found another tractor with a trailer and hay bails.

And life was back to normal again. Just like in the story books....