It's Easter! And back in my day, we only got one egg each...


That's Amelie with her haul from this morning's Gardner Family Easter Egg Hunt. Which excluded Toby for legal reasons. I hid a total of seventeen eggs: one for every year until I'm child-free and living the quiet life on Easy Street. And before you ask, no, I didn't just hide them in that box. That's actually a state-of-the-art cardboard collecting basket.

The eggs themselves were cunningly positioned in various top secret locations around the flat, most of them following Jimmy Savile's example of hiding in plain sight, which explains why it took Amelie so long to find them. I ended up having to give her clues. Which basically amounted to telling her where they were. And even then it took a while.

Anyhoo, it's pretty obvious to anyone who watches that video that Amelie's just had her hair done. You don't get to look like that by accident. She's clearly rocking the Amy Winehouse look, with a touch of the Vivienne Westwoods. We actually took her to the hairdresser yesterday afternoon. Personally I thought that she and I were already too cool for school...


In fact, not just too cool, but too old and too young. Lisa, however, felt that Amelie could do with a trim, and Amelie herself had complained that "Every time I look up, I see hair", so despite sporting the kind of fringe that Marie would be proud of, we decided to escort her to the salon.

But not until we'd splashed out on an Easter treat. Yes, we might have bought half a ton of chocolate and enough buns to keep a herd of elephants happy, but what you really need on an Easter weekend is a trip to the cinema. So I took Amelie to see this...

It's The Croods, a story about a family of Luddites who resist change and find the everyday world scary and challenging. It was a bit too close to home for Lisa, so Amelie and I went on our own. And very good it was too. Amelie's been asking to see it for the past fortnight, so when I told her we were going to see The Croods, she was naturally very excited. Until I mentioned it was at the cinema. At which point her face changed to one of disappointment, and she told me that the cinema is a boring place where "you just have to sit there and watch something".

It's hard to argue with that. I did try to explain to her that the only alternative to the cinema is a dodgy car boot sale and a badly shot bootleg, but I'm not sure she fully understood. And by that time I'd booked the tickets. So I was going, with or without her.

And fortunately it was with her. The Croods was Amelie's first ever 3D film, and the first for me without cardboard glasses with red and blue lenses. Amelie told me that I looked like "a cool popstar"...


Namely Peters from Peters and Lee. Fortunately, no one could see me in the dark cinema, and despite paying upwards of seventeen quid (plus popcorn), it seemed well worth the money. The film's had slightly mixed reviews, but personally I thought it was great. Maybe I'm just starved of entertainment, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. And it was visually spectacular. Even Amelie managed to sit through it without moaning.

So we returned home on a prehistoric high to pose for photos and collect Lisa and Toby for an outing to the hairdresser. Traditionally, we always turn up five minutes late, but this time I'd given Lisa three hours without Amelie to ensure that she was ready on time. Unfortunately she also had half an hour with Amelie before we left. So we got there ten minutes late.

The girl who washed Lisa's hair asked her what she'd done so far that day. Lisa replied "Nothing special", to which the girl responded "Ah, just a chilled-out day..."

Something tells me she doesn't have children.

If there's one thing I've always said, it's that having the unfailing support of your children can make all the difference in life...


It means you always have someone to back you up when you're lying to the authorities. And as it happens, the police were round here again yesterday. But in addition to them, we also had a visit from our good friend Marie, who popped down to Brighton to show us the fringe benefits of her new hairstyle...


We were all open-mouthed. Especially when we found out it wasn't a wig.

Anyhoo, it's always nice to catch up with Marie and swap stories on our respective lives, and sure enough, the moment I'd bundled her into the car at the station, Amelie launched straight into a lengthy account of her experiences at Peppa Pig World. I don't think the rest of us got a word in all day.

Apart from when we gagged her with chocolate. Marie was kind enough to bring Amelie a white chocolate Hello Kitty, which I took great pleasure in slicing through the neck with a sharp knife, so we did get a brief respite while the girl stuffed her face. Although she's not averse to talking with her mouth full.

As this blog post ably demonstrates, Marie's visits tend to follow a similar pattern. Basically we accept all her gifts, hand her our children, then fill her with carbohydrates and send her down to the seafront while Lisa goes to bed for the afternoon. Which explains how we ended up licking the Brighton Wheel...

Marie's recently completed a comprehensive SLR photography course, designed to teach her about composition, lighting and advanced camera settings. I'm not certain there was a module on tonguing local landmarks, but if there was, then she's completed the practical assignment with ease. She even managed to get Amelie's new trainers into shot.

£2.99. I know, I couldn't believe it either. It's the bargain of the century.

Anyway, having scootered her way all along the seafront, Amelie was naturally too tired to walk home, so Marie gave her a piggy back along Madeira Drive while I pushed Toby's buggy and carried her scooter. It seemed like a fair arrangement. Although Amelie felt it would be even fairer if we took her to McDonalds.

Having weighed up our options, and admired the art which has been jet-washed into the grime on the promenade walls, I proposed that we return home instead, and Marie seconded the motion...


As it transpired, we arrived back just in time. Five minutes after walking through the door, the bell went, and we found Lisa's old school friend on the doorstep. So clearly the sign downstairs made no difference whatsoever. We don't know who let her in, any more than we know who called the police, but both things happened within twenty minutes of each other, and she was soon being escorted off the premises in odd shoes and a dishevelled state. It was a slightly unsettling experience, but as Marie pointed out, at least it proved to her that I'm not fabricating my blog posts.

Despite the drama, Amelie hadn't forgotten about McDonalds, so with the coast clear, I agreed to drive her down to the marina for a Happy Meal. Quite honestly, our lunch was an arrestable offence with the Diet Police, so I felt McDonalds would make no difference. With that done, there was just time for Amelie and Marie to collaborate on a work of art...


I won't embarrass the artists by telling you who did what, but I'm genuinely impressed that a girl of her age can draw so well. She's only thirty-three.

Of course, a visit from Marie wouldn't be complete without a small disaster, and sure enough, just as Lisa was preparing Toby for bed, I heard a short shriek coming from the bedroom, and walked in to find Lisa with her foot in some cat poo. It seems that when I wheeled the buggy down the hallway to go out for our walk, I closed the door to the cupboard where we keep Chloe's litter tray. And then didn't reopen it.

It explains why I've cropped Lisa's legs out of this photo...


Her tights were wrapped in newspaper in the bin.

I'm afraid the mental woman came back today...


But it's always nice to see Marie, so we didn't really mind. And to be honest, she's not the only one around here who's barking...


Well, miaowing. Either way, I need to tell Toby to stop laughing at the afflicted.

The thing about post-Thatcherite Britain in the 21st century is that no one knows who their neighbours are. And that's just the way I like it. Lisa bumped into the bloke from across the landing at lunchtime today, who told her that the woman who turned up here yesterday morning was a gypsy who was casing the joint in preparation for an organised hit from her traveller mates. Which is the kind of inaccurate story the Daily Mail would be proud of. He then added that she tried to gain access to his flat by pushing past his wife and saying she was looking for someone called Lisa, "whoever that is".

We may never know. Especially as Lisa didn't tell him. We did discover, however, that the person who called the police was Mrs Spin-Cycle upstairs, so she's clearly capable of taking prompt and decisive action. As long as it doesn't involve insurance.

In the meantime, I've decided that in the light of recent events, we need to be prepared for a quick getaway. So I've bought Amelie some new trainers...


They're Nike Air Max, and they retail for upwards of fifty quid. Although I paid £2.99 in a charity shop. Unfortunately, having rushed home from work today to show Amelie my exciting new purchase, she declared that they're "not as pretty as I was expecting", and ripped open a parcel from her Grandad, the contents of which proved far more engaging...


To be fair, I might have got the bargain of the century, but the woodpecker probably cost more.

I think Lisa's sleepwalking is getting out of control...


Well ok, Lisa doesn't sleepwalk. Except to the kids' bedroom to pick up a crying baby. They say that strangers are just friends you haven't met yet, but in this case we met her on Sunday. We actually had another visit from Lisa's troubled old school friend this morning.

As harsh as it might sound, our biggest mistake on Sunday was opening the door, and as awful as it made Lisa feel, we refused to do that again. The ringing and banging started at 7:15am, and whilst any clear-thinking person might have given up within a few minutes, this lady went on... and on... before transferring her attention to our neighbours.

By 8am she'd been told to "f**k off out of the building" by the bloke opposite, but undeterred, she just returned to our front door. A few times we thought she'd gone, only for her to materialise on our doorstep a couple of minutes later, so judging by the sign which went up in the entrance hall later this morning, she must have simply been trying other doors.

We were reluctant to waste police time with a 999 call, but at 8:10am Lisa phoned the 101 non-emergency number. And was promptly put on hold. For fifteen minutes. At which point a police car arrived. Lisa hadn't even given them our address, so clearly someone else in the block didn't share our reluctance to phone 999. And to be honest, I'm glad they did. The police persuaded her to leave in a matter of moments, and the situation was resolved ten minutes before I had to leave for work.

Lisa managed to find the phone number of the lady's mother, who remembered Lisa well, and by the end of the morning, we'd got a message to her support worker, informing them of what's been happening. It seems she's about to be moved into the mental health equivalent of sheltered housing, so in theory she'll be better looked after, and won't be waking up our neighbours again. But in the meantime, I'm tempted to disconnect the doorbell.

Back at the end of November 2005, in addition to tackling the subject of radioactive otters and their alien captors, I mentioned in passing that I'd spent an evening at the Mill View psychiatric hospital. It was as a visitor, not a patient, although I think the differences were minor. We were actually there to visit an old school friend of Lisa's who had fallen on hard psychological times, and in the seven years since, those times have become arguably tougher. She's been in and out of hospital, and mostly out of contact.

Lisa's seen her a handful of times over the last seven years, but I've not met her since 2005. Until late last night, that is, when she turned up on our doorstep. It was 9:40pm and I was in my onesie on the sofa, about to get ready for bed, when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. Lisa answered it, and with barely a word, her old school friend walked straight past her, into the living room, and sat down next to me on the sofa.

I could base a stage play on what happened over the next hour. Although I'm not sure I could write tension that palpable. It soon became apparent that the lady was more unwell than we feared, was acting very strangely, and refused to leave our flat. She lit up cigarette after cigarette, stubbed two out on our carpet, and another on the TV, behind which she appeared to think something was hiding. Lisa gently encouraged her to go home, but she insisted it was too cold, and remained where she was.

It was one of those tense situations I prefer to watch on TV. With a history of unpredictable outbursts and occasional aggression, we were terrified of provoking her emotions and ending up in a dangerous situation, particularly with a sleeping baby in the next room, so we were being as low-key as possible, unsure whether to phone social services, the police, or a taxi.

Gentle reasoning seemed to be getting us nowhere, and by 10:40pm Lisa was becoming genuinely scared. The lady might not have turned to violence, but she was in danger of burning down our flat, her behaviour was getting more erratic, and we couldn't persuade her to leave.

So I took decisive action. Whilst my instincts told me to hide in the kitchen with a large supply of chocolate, I forced myself to put on my shoes and coat, and firmly offered to drive her home. And to my great surprise, she agreed.

That journey is one I'll never forget. Sharing my car with someone who won't wear a seatbelt, is clearly in a state, and who opened the door while the vehicle was moving. And I was driving with no underwear, in a onesie I never usually leave the house in. But I successfully got her home in one piece. Although she walked in front of my car as I tried to pull away, and narrowly avoided being run over.

I arrived home shortly after 11pm, to find Lisa trying to remove cigarette ash from the sofa, and picking at the burn marks on the carpet. She'd already phoned her Mum, who was convinced I'd probably been knifed by that point. Lisa had to confirm my survival with another call.

But all's well that ends well. The lady should be getting the care she deserves, our carpet's got some interesting new markings, and the fag-end we found wedged in the sofa didn't ignite all the cushions. We eventually made it to bed around midnight, with the flat smelling like a 1980s bingo hall, and Lisa's nerves ripped to shreds. Much like the carpet near the sofa. I don't think we'll be answering the door late at night again.

Amelie's at her Grandma's house today, which is probably just as well because she's becoming slightly obsessed with the Cillit Bang advert, and keeps running out of the living room shouting "Mummy, I've just seen Barry Scott!". Which is slightly unsettling. I keep thinking Lisa's having an affair. So the girl could do with a day away from the TV, just to calm down and refocus her mind on more healthy obsessions such as SpongeBob SquarePants and The Simpsons.

It means that I've had time today to channel the ghost of Michael Winner and harness his expertise to make a high quality film for no money in a short space of time. Whilst in Devizes last week, I shot a video of Amelie using the slide at the small play area around the corner from Big Sis's house, and having done so, I realised that I had a similar video from two years ago. So using the magic of technology, and some directorial flair, I've come up with this...


Obviously if I had a voice-over from Barry Scott, it would be a lot better, but even so, it successfully highlights two important things: how far she's come in two years, and that she's lucky to still be alive.

She's not the only one developing rapidly though. Toby's first tooth, which emerged a few weeks ago, is now protruding enough for him to open a can of worms on the stage of the Jeremy Kyle Show, but interestingly, whilst discussing his dental development with Lisa last night over of a box of Slovakian Ferrero Rocher (which is enough to make the ambassador Hungary), she referred to Toby's tooth as a 'radish stabber'.

I spoke for the rest of mankind by saying "What?", to which Lisa responded that 'radish stabber' is a common expression for a baby's first tooth, and has been used by her mother for years. Despite the fact that she doesn't eat vegetables. I tactfully put forward the suggestion that no one else in the English-speaking world has ever used that phrase, and that it's possible her mother could be barking, but Lisa insisted it's in widespread usage around the globe, and that I'm just an ignoramus.

As a result, I'm publishing it here, so that when Lisa enters the phrase 'radish stabber' into Google to check how many times it's mentioned on the world's 650 million websites and hundreds of billions of pages, she won't be disappointed.

Well, all good things must come to an end, and eventually I'll finish writing about last week. But before I do, here are a couple of well-groomed youngsters with matching comb-overs...


Big Sis's hair looks good enough to eat. Which explains why Toby grabbed a handful and started chomping...


That photo was taken late on Saturday morning, shortly before we left Devizes for a lunch date in the sticks. Big Sis had arranged for her cleaner to do an extra weekend shift in order to rid her home of the inevitable layer of grime and filth we were bound to leave behind, and the woman turned up early before we'd even gone. Anyone would think she was keen to earn those double-time wages. As a result, I was forced to load the last of our luggage into the boot while the domestic staff commented on the state of my car. Frankly I was glad to get away.

But not as glad as I was to arrive at our next destination. We were booked in for lunch here...


That's The Cricketers Inn in Longparish. I thought Devizes was out in the sticks, but this place was even stickier. In a wicket kind of a way. Longparish is a small village in the Test Valley (which is like Silicon Valley in beta) and judging by their website, there's more going on there than in Brighton.

As it happens, we weren't in town to attend the Smooth Movers exercise class or to view the signed photo of David Gower on the wall of the Cricketers Inn, we were actually there to have lunch with an invalid. Yes, if you're wondering what the public face of retinal screening looks like in the 21st century, here's your answer...


Most people on sick leave spend their time wrestling sharks, but if you're really up for a challenge, you can manhandle my daughter instead. The lady on the left is one of this nation's finest eye screening professionals, but tragically she's been forced to take some time out from saving sight, after she had an Alien moment in B&Q and ended up impersonating John Hurt by the fitted kitchens. Having been operated on extensively (although not in the cosmetic way she'd hoped for), she's no longer allowed to lift anything heavier than a knife and fork, so carrying an entire screening programme is out of the question.

But stuffing herself in my company is fine. So we met her and her husband for lunch. And very nice it was too. The concept of a latte hasn't yet reached the village of Longparish, and neither has the printed menu, but having made our food selections from a blackboard whilst sipping a simple coffee, I'm pleased to report that they make the world's finest Steak & Stilton Pie. No, really. Admittedly, I've never actually had Steak & Stilton Pie anywhere else, but I can't believe it could be bettered. It was genuinely fantastic, and I'd consider driving the hundred miles back there just to have it again.

But it wasn't just me who did well out of the meeting. Lisa got a bunch of flowers; Toby got some socks and some stacking cups; while Amelie received an array of gifts, including a Gruffalo Terrible Claws Bath Mitt and some Knobbly Knees Bath & Shower Gel. It has a "Woodland Mist Scent" for that genuine deep, dark wood experience. She also got a 'Boat in a Bottle' kit, which she's bound to have a smashing time with.

The best gift was reserved for me though. I received a pen which says 'DON'T BE BLIND TO DIABETES' in big friendly letters which are large enough for the vision impaired to be able to see. It features a spring-loaded pull-out mini-banner which, in addition to catching the loose skin on the wrinkled hands of a pensioner, informs the reader that "Screening is quick, easy and free of charge".

A lot like our lunch. We were out of there in an hour and a half, and our companions paid for the meal. Which was particularly embarrassing, as we could barely fit all their presents in the car. I think I'll start saving for our next meeting now.

Just look at that wide-eyed old dinosaur with the big teeth...


He's having the time of his life at Peppa Pig World. To be honest, it didn't matter if I was playing the Big Bad Wolf in Red Riding Hood...


... or Morgan Freeman in 'Driving Miss Daisy'...


... I had a whale of a time last Friday. Although I slightly regret not blacking up for that last role.

Our day at the Paultons Family Theme Park didn't revolve entirely around me of course. There was a certain little lady who wanted to go there too. And having watched her dart about from ride to ride, whilst stuffing her face with ice cream, candyfloss and doughnuts, I'm pleased to report that she thoroughly enjoyed herself.

But enough about Lisa. The important thing is whether or not Amelie had a good time. And for a while, that looked in doubt. Since our visit to Nickelodeon Land eighteen months ago, Amelie's been asking when she can go on a rollercoaster again, and for the past fortnight, she's been telling me that her first ride at Peppa Pig World would be one such beast.

Unfortunately they don't have any. In reality, Peppa Pig World is a triumph of marketing over substance, and consists of just seven rides. One of which was closed for maintenance. You don't buy a ticket for Peppa Pig World, you buy a ticket for Paultons Park, and the pig sty is just one corner of it. It's what you might call a theme pork. And it certainly brings home the bacon. On a cold rainy day in March, the rest of the park was deserted, but Peppa Pig World was still pulling in the pushchairs with a steady stream of pre-schoolers and toddlers.

Our seasonal assault on Peppa involved a short walk through the rain past some non-porcine attractions, and that's where Amelie spotted a rollercoaster. Named 'The Stinger', it's appealingly styled to look like a caterpillar, thus drawing in small children, only to sting them with a bit of post traumatic stress disorder. Amelie asked to go on it, and to be honest, it didn't look too scary, so with no queue whatsoever, I happily accompanied her on.

Fortunately she was all smiles and excitement. Right up until the first bend. At which point she burst into tears, started screaming, and said she wanted to get off. Which is not all that easy on a rollercoaster. After the first circuit, she breathed an audible sigh of relief... only to burst into tears again when we went round for a second time. As we staggered off at the end, she turned to me and, through her sobs, said "I think I was too small for that ride".

Fortunately she's not too small to be picked up by her father...


Although she's on the verge of being too big. I think my face is swelling up under the strain. Another thirty seconds and I'd have keeled over with an aneurysm and taken Peppa with me. So I let her chat to George on her own...

Anyhoo, the good news is that having been stung by the Stinger, you can't beat the anti-histamine effects of a couple of unemployed actors in pig suits.

Pausing only for a medicinal latte, we made it to the saftey of Peppa Pig World at midday, just in time for the noon outing of Peppa and George. Disneyworld has the Main Street Parade; Peppa Pig World has two furry piglets and some decking. It might not seem like much (and let's face it, it's not), but it was enough to put Amelie back in a good mood, and before we knew it, she was over her trauma and climbing back on the horse.

Which in this case was a dinosaur. Amelie tried every ride in Peppa Pig World, plus a few others aimed at small children, but her undisputed favourite was George's Dinosaur Adventure. Mainly because she could go on it alone. In fact, they insisted on it. Having measured her at the entrance, the staff declared her too tall to go on the ride with me, and before I knew it, she was mounting her own dinosaur and disappearing off into the distance. Not even Lisa could catch her...


Before long, Amelie and I were going up in the world, and looking down on Lisa and Toby...


... which is something we both do quite regularly, and by the time the rain really kicked in, we'd been on helicopters, boats, tractors, trains, cars and hot air balloons. Although, as this video demonstrates, you're always left wanting more...


Suffice it to say, I did buy her that candyfloss. And in return, she let me go on one ride. Yes, as the rain tipped it down and the park prepared to close, we finally made it out of Peppa Pig World and into the more adult-themed Paultons Park, where I managed to fit in one, solitary, rain-soaked thrill-ride...


I was the only one on it. Which proved to be just as well, as I thought I was going to throw up. Amelie called me "The Amazing Flying Man", but in reality I was as sick as a parrot.

It's me on my stag do with a gorgeous young model!


That's 'stag' as in beetle, and 'young' as in four-year-old. But I'm still very much a man's man. I was ogling a cracking pair of bristols at the time. Unfortunately it was Bristol's finest museums.

Anyhoo, having been left to our own Devizes last week while Big Sis worked away in London, we decided on Thursday to follow the advice of the Village People and go west (where the skies are blue) to experience the delights of Bristol, and in particular our old friend, BS6. It's more than ten months since we last (and first) saw him, and he brought us chocolate that time, so it seemed well worth making the trip.

I've not driven into Bristol before, but fortunately I have the inbuilt sonar and advanced navigational skills of a bat. Unfortunately it's a cricket bat. Suffice it to say, we were lost within two minutes of hitting the city centre. I'd printed out a map, but it didn't seem to bear any resemblance to the mean streets we were heading down. We'd arranged to meet at the M Shed Museum on the dockside, but frankly I was struggling to find the river. And when I did, I realised we were on the wrong side of it. BS6 texted me at 1pm to ask if we were in the foyer or the café. I was tempted to reply that I wasn't even sure we were in the right city.

But fortunately, due to a combination of luck and sheer luck, we eventually found the place. Visiting Bristol's museums is a lot like stepping back in time, as demonstrated by the ticket machine in the car park...

It's the word 'new' which transports you back about twenty years. I thought it might be referring to the new(ish) nickel plated coins, but I tried an older one, and that didn't work either.

Luckily, whilst the parking might have cost me 10p more than it should, entry to the museum is free. Although they charge enough for a cream tea. We successfully rendezvoused with BS6 on the dockside, where he was doing his best to get involved in a professional photo shoot...


Obviously that was just a warm-up for the main event which was due to take place when *I* arrived with my camera...


Admittedly, I don't quite have the grace and poise of the model in the check dress, but that's because BS6 had just shoved me out of the way before the camera went off. And because I didn't have professional lighting. Fortunately, however, he's compensating for my lack of showbiz style by posing like Louie Spence.

Well, kind of.

Anyhoo, Bristol lost out on their Olympic bid due to the size of the running track pictured above, but in addition to watching Amelie sprint around in circles, we also enjoyed a very civilised cream tea in the museum café, while BS6 told us about his love of interior design and his plans to launch an assault on the Bristol music scene by fusing jazz with prog rock. Or something. To be honest, I might have made that up.

With the scones gone, we then headed out for a stroll around the docklands with BS6 acting as our tour guide. Sadly, he had to leave us shortly afterwards as he's currently forced to work for a living, and we'd probably already cost him a fortune in lost contracts, but he left us with a parting gift of an Easter egg, plus a magazine for Amelie. A magazine which proved far more distracting than anything Bristol had to offer...


If she hadn't been so engrossed in that comic, she might not have missed the elephant in the room, which was lurking on the ground at her feet in the form of a five pound note. To be fair though, we didn't notice it either until Lisa had finished taking my photo. I know I didn't drop it myself as my money is a combination of credit and loose change, but I think there's every chance BS6 stuffed it inside the comic as an extra little gift. Either way, I told Amelie it had come from the Fiver Fairy, and promptly pocketed it for myself.

The giant mirrorball we were pictured with on Friday was actually Bristol Planetarium, but as BS6 pointed out, none of those stars are unique to Bristol, so we chose not to waste our time on it. Entry to the At-Bristol Science Centre was far too rich for our blood, as were the prices in their gift shop, but fortunately their café facilities proved just as engaging...


I've never seen two people so excited by a latte and an ice cream. Anyone would think I never take them anywhere.

Anyhoo, having wandered around the docklands and soaked up both the culture and the refreshments, we headed back along the quayside past a boat called Amazon (I think they bought it online) and ended up back at the M Shed for a brief tour of Bristol's history. Amelie rode on a vintage bus, I operated a full-size set of traffic lights, and Lisa looked longingly back towards the café.

We returned to Devizes via the M4 treacle zone, a stretch of motorway which distorts the fabric of time and makes a short journey feel like a lifetime, but it was well worth making the trip, and we'd go back to Bristol in a heartbeat. Though possibly not by car.

The zombie apocalypse is upon us!!!


And one of them's got her hands on my son. It's no wonder he looks so worried. With the sudden breakdown of society and a global assault on civilisation by a violent plague of the living dead, he's clearly concerned that his father's never going to have time to write a proper blog post.

I'm not sure if Peppa Pig World is best summed up by this photo...


... or this video...


But either way, you have to be mad to spend a whole day there in the pouring rain.

It's us partying hard with the world's largest mirrorball!


Obviously we'd cleared the dance floor by that point. Which tends to happen when Lisa starts doing her Gangnam Style.

Anyhoo, the trouble with being 24 hour party people is that it doesn't leave much time for blogging. We spent most of yesterday soaking up the cultural history of Bristol with this bloke, and today we'll be splashing in the muddy puddles of Peppa Pig World. This evening we have a dinner date with Big Sis and her significant other, and tomorrow we head home via a secret rendezvous near Andover, where I hope to film someone wrestling a shark when they should be putting their feet up.

So I might not have time to write about it, but trust me, we're having fun.

With the recession biting and our belts tightening (in more ways than one), I've always thought that the closest Amelie's likely to get to soaking up the Med sunshine is when the doctor puts her on anti-depressants, but against all the odds, I'm proud to say that I've now taken her to Turkey...



And it looks good enough to eat. She's just pointing out where the stuffing goes.

As it happens, Amelie and I weren't the only ones talking turkey yesterday afternoon. Big Sis returned from London with the aim of spending an hour or two in her dining room, chairing a transatlantic conference call with two dozen Americans. And despite loving my children like her own, she was somewhat reluctant to do it against a backdrop of screaming and arguing. So having discussed the possibility of taping Amelie's mouth shut, I eventually agreed to take her out for a few hours.

After researching 'fun things to do in Wiltshire' on the internet (that didn't take long), we ended up at The Hope Nature Centre near Trowbridge. It's a charity which provides employment for young adults with learning difficulties, and they have a range of small animals, plus a tearoom with cakes, so it seemed like the perfect place to visit. We left here at lunchtime, and were soon at one with nature. Although it was closer to two by the time we'd missed the sign and done a u-turn in Southwick.

Here's an animal with the potential to bite and kick...


And the pig's no walkover either. Unfortunately, my pork photography got the chop shortly afterwards when a ham-fisted member of staff shouted across the park to accuse us of something far rasher. Apparently we'd walked in without paying.

Now, I accept no responsibility for this whatsoever. I'd failed to find any mention of entry fees on their website, and when we arrived, all I saw was a small shed with big signs advertising ice cream and cold drinks. I'd deliberately looked for somewhere to pay, and found nothing, so I assumed I'd just make a donation on the way out.

Naturally I was wrong. It transpired that just around the corner from the massive sign saying ice cream, there's a laminated sheet of A4 which reads "Adults £2, Children £1". Or it would do if it hadn't completely faded in the sunlight. Frankly it tests your mind-reading skills more than your literacy.

But having paid our dues, and shrugged off the disapproving glances from people who thought I was too tight to give three quid to charity, I went the extra mile and bought some animal food, after which we embarked on a bit of a feeding frenzy...



That's Amelie cutting her teeth on a rabbit before tackling the world's biggest bully goat...


If things continue like that, they'll end up with six bags of bones and a goat that looks like a hippo.

Fortunately, however, that goat doesn't get all the attention. We were lucky enough to get chatting to a friendly young goatherd who let us get up close and personal with a horny young female called Storm, and offered to demonstrate the meticulous training which has resulted in her acquiring the ability to jump up on command in return for a mint...


It's enough to get your goat. I wouldn't mind, but thirty seconds later, she spotted the bag of food in my hand, jumped straight up at me, and left mud all down my coat.

Anyhoo, after a swift game of My Little Pony...


... we soon abandoned Hope Nature Centre, and headed into Trowbridge (or, as Amelie called it, Drawbridge) to look around the charity shops. Parking in Trowbridge town centre costs 50p for two hours, which is enough to make anyone from Brighton faint with incredulous shock, and what's more, it was a sound investment. Not only did I buy Amelie a cuddly cat for two quid, but I found a Gieves & Hawkes shirt in my size for only £3.99. It's £125 on their website. So I'll either wear it or sell it on eBay.

If there's one thing people often say about us Gardners, it's that we're never happier than when we're keeping fit and exercising...


Obviously that's just the people who have never met us. Those who know us a little better will be aware that we generally like to use our cross trainer as a clothes horse for drying laundry. Or we did until we got rid of it.

Anyhoo, a family holiday wouldn't be a family holiday without Lisa throwing up, and sure enough, my wife awoke yesterday morning feeling as rough as a woman with two kids who hasn't had much sleep. After one mouthful of muesli, she requested a bucket for breakfast, and before long was turning the bedroom into a vomitorium.

At the time, she was feeling hot, cold and shivery, so we thought it was some kind of virus, but the good news is that her symptoms passed within a few hours, so I think maybe she was just sick of being woken up at night by a troublesome baby. It meant, however, that I spent yesterday morning alone with two kids and a white sofa, while Lisa was confined to her bed. So by lunchtime I needed a massage.

And fortunately, it turned out to be very good. The lady arrived with a portable massage table which she set up in the dining room for a feast of kneading and pummelling. She told me she'd been doing it for fifteen years, and it showed. She was actually very good, and the result was a lot better than my last experience. Lisa managed to take her turn too. Although she told me she almost threw up through the hole in the table.

The best thing about my massage, however, was the personal service the lady gave me as an added extra. Yes, just when I thought my rub-down was complete, she was kind enough to give me the benefit of her local knowledge by telling me about a park I should take Amelie to. She even gave me directions. And two hours later, we were there...


When I say 'we', I mean me and Amelie. And no one else. Lisa stayed at home as a precaution against vomiting, and the park was entirely deserted. We had the whole place to ourselves. Which is surprising, because it's actually fantastic.

It's called Hillworth Park, and is tucked away behind some houses in the heart of Devizes, where (clearly) nobody notices it. Or maybe they're just not mad enough to go there when the temperature's below zero. According to the park's website, it was completely revamped last year, and frankly it shows. The whole place has been kitted out with state-of-the-art play facilities and outdoor exercise equipment. They even have a brand new tennis court which is entirely free to use. It was unlocked and open, with just a simple sign politely requesting that each person only plays for an hour if there are others waiting. I've never seen anything like it. In Brighton, that sign would have been torn down and burnt.

As for the outdoor gym equipment, we were able to train...



... slide...



... and pump iron...



... without so much as a hint of vandalism. The entire place was immaculate, and everything was in perfect working order. Possibly because no one's ever used it.

They also have a small aviary, although when I told Lisa they had birds, she replied "Doesn't every park?". Ultimately though, we had the time of our lives...


Although these things always end in tears. I think I'll contact the National Accident Helpline...

I don't usually do requests, but...


In the words of Lisa, "Oh deer..."

Anyhoo, I've woken up this morning to reports of heavy snowfall, travel chaos, stranded motorists and school closures. But not around here. While Brighton has ground to a halt under a blanket of snow, we've barely seen a flake in Devizes. I'm looking out of the window at green grass, blue skies and sunshine. Even snow is too exciting for Wiltshire.

It has been very cold though. Which is annoying as Lisa went with fashion over practicality, and only packed a light jacket for Amelie. She's currently modelling her Spring collection in sub-zero temperatures. But that didn't stop us getting out and about yesterday. A friend of Big Sis has lent us a buggy, which means we're not limited by how far I can walk in the baby harness without developing permanent curvature of the spine.

So we hit Devizes yesterday. Shortly after Amelie had hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Staying at Big Sis's house is a lot like reading 'The Thirty-Nine Steps' whilst listening to 'Stairway to Heaven' performed by Steps. We were taking bets on who would be the first to impersonate Mr Tumble, and my money was on Lisa, but at 10am yesterday it was Amelie who hit the deck with a loud thud. She only fell down three steps, which is about 1% of the total, but she managed to chin the wood flooring and burst into tears.

Fortunately, if there's one thing that can cheer up a four-year-old, it's an afternoon in Devizes. Mainly because it makes you appreciate how much worse things could be. We spent a couple of hours sheltering from the bitterly cold wind in a branch of Pizza Express, where Amelie did her best to look sophisticated with a hot Bambinoccino...


Naturally she oozed class, refinement and maturity beyond her years. Right up until the moment she put the chocolate-sprinkled drink back on the table...


If I'd been this age in the seventies, that's the look I would have gone for. Possibly minus the headband.

Anyhoo, we finished our afternoon by popping into Sainsbury's for one or two essentials, and coming out with a full weekly shop, after which we spent the evening trying to eat as much of it as we could. I think I've put on three stone in the past week, which is a problem as I'm about to get my kit off in front of another woman.

For reasons I haven't yet fully established, Big Sis has booked a visiting masseur to come round and give me and Lisa a rub down. Sis doesn't know her personally, but claims she's the daughter of a friend of hers. I'm a little bit apprehensive though. Bearing in mind how uncomfortable I felt the last time I was pummelled by a beautician, I'm a bit concerned that Sis may have found her in the personal ads at the back of the Wiltshire Gazette, and it won't be that kind of massage...

A big white horse on a cold, bleak hillside. It can mean only one thing...


The Cheltenham Festival starts tomorrow. Oh, and we're at Big Sis's house in Devizes.

Back in the good old days, when I was footloose, fancy free, and untroubled by paid employment, the Cheltenham Festival was one of the television highlights of my year. Unfortunately, since being forced off the sofa and out into the workplace to support my needy family, I've missed it every time. So I decided this would be the year that things changed. I deliberately booked the last of my annual leave for this week, so that I could relax in front of the TV with a feast of horse racing action.

At which point I remembered I have children. And Amelie barely allows me to watch the weather forecast, never mind four days of non-stop sport. I haven't even had time to read through the runners and riders, let alone study the form. So I've fallen at the first fence, and the Cheltenham race meeting has been abandoned. Which is a shame because I could have put our insurance money on a horse.

Fortunately, however, my week off hasn't gone to waste. Big Sis offered us the chance to spend a few days in Devizes (you wouldn't want any longer), so having driven 150 miles back home from Norfolk on Saturday afternoon, we drove another 135 to Wiltshire yesterday. I feel it's important for the children's development that they're able to encounter a wide variety of environments and feel stimulated by a range of new experiences, so a trip like this is invaluable. It means Amelie can watch Netflix on a totally different sofa...


We actually left for Devizes about three hours later than intended, but the drive only took two and a half hours, so I'm now thinking we could come here for a day trip. Amelie was a lot better behaved this time (if you don't count the twelve times she wound down the window), and the highlight of the journey was the game of 'I Spy' she had with Lisa.

Now, you'll have to take my word for this, and to be honest, if I read it on someone else's blog, I probably wouldn't believe it, but I swear on Lisa's life this is true. When Lisa said this:

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with H."

Amelie responded with this:

"Is it Ancient Egyptian?"

I'm not sure if that owes more to a grounding in historical Egyptology or the fact that she pronounces 'ancient' as 'aitchant', but either way it's impressive. And it makes a change from her constantly putting her hands either side of Toby's head and shouting "Baby Antlers!"

But in reality, the answer was house.

I'm not saying the people of Norwich are weird, but there's a place in the Castle Mall shopping centre where they paint apes to look like Elvis...


It's not so much Guerilla Warfare as Gorilla Warhol. There's an explanation here, but I've a feeling the article was written by the Gasway marketing department.

Anyhoo, on the subject of cheeky monkeys, it's Mother's Day today, and with the arrival of Toby, it's the first time Lisa's been able to expect two presents from her adoring offspring. Needless to say, she was disappointed. The more children we have, the less time I have to organise gifts for them, and having been away for the past couple of days, Lisa was lucky to get a box of chocolates and a card.

She did, however, receive a bespoke piece of artwork...


Amelie has a habit of making me look less like a big Daddy and more like Giant Haystacks, so I insisted on drawing my own body in an effort to keep things in proportion. Unfortunately she then drew Lisa to look like Twiggy, which slightly defeated my purpose. The Christmas puddings on the right are actually diamond rings, and she asked me to help her draw babies in both mine and Lisa's hands. Presumably to remind us how much worse things could be. The inspirational cherry on top of the creative cake is, however, the dark splodge on the grass beneath my feet. Amelie told me that was dog poo.

To be honest, I preferred our picture of superheroes...


The top one was supposed to be Lisa, but she ended up looking more like Michael Foot crossed with Einstein. So we were spot-on both ideologically and intellectually. My main reason for loving it, however, is because it demonstrates Amelie's ingenuity. And neverending list of excuses. Having watched me draw the dog on Supermummy's legs, she requested that I draw another one on Captain Clown below, but asked that this time I leave her to draw the tail.

She duly did so, after which she sat back, considered her artwork carefully, and said "Actually, that one's a beaver".