the adlards

Every little girl’s must-have accessory.

… suddenly, inexplicably (?), people start calling you “baba” (”father” in Zulu for those of you not local). “Hello baba, what can I do for you?” at reception; “Bye baba!” at the parking exits at Cavendish; “OK baba” when I don’t-want-to-buy-one-thank-you.

Oh dear. I saw a very nice vintage replica Vespa that I think I should be riding.

that fall about us in a shower leaving a scent on the evening air that’s reminiscent of others. Tens of hundreds of thousands of others that were beautiful too. And each one we rush through and we wish gone and we wade through neck deep in delicate petals that we don’t see and rush through and wish gone and gasp through to reach martini time and sleep, again.

The two “big” girls and I have colds of such significant stinkiness that I’ve had to go and find the strongest French Roast I can just to be able to taste my coffee. Oh the shame.

We thought we’d celebrate two weeks of Emily’s life with a little fly-by.

Boeings in formation over the swimming pool.

Supersonic jet and tasteful foliage.

I was reading Angelina Ballerina’s Baby Sister to Josie this evening:
“Why is Angelina angry Daddy?”
“She’s jealous, Josie.”
“What’s jealous?”
“She feels her sister is getting all the attention and she’s getting none.”
“What attention?”
“She feels like everyone’s spending time with her sister and no-one’s spending time with her.”
“But that’s fair!”
“Is it?”
“Yes, little babies are very special.”

… in the gallery

Some pics of Emily now in the gallery

Thanks to her and others (especially Glynis Garrod), we’re all home safe and sound.