Over a year since I last posted. looking back it all seemed very simple then. Alf has been diagnosed with autism, and it gets quite manic here lately. I'm hoping to use this blog a bit more now.

Well, it's been one of those weeks.Went shopping Thursdday morning. His Lordship pulled a muscle in his back so was off work (apparently it's entirely my fault cos he did it doing the cavy shed) so to avoid the shopping grumps, I sent him to the café to have breakfast and I took the kids to give him some peace.

Mike buggared off to look at lego.

Zak sat happily in the trolley.

Alf Screamed.

I've heard a lot of talk about autism and meltdowns but only ever had dealings with it once. On that occasion we were in a bookshop (stacked books make vertical lines and Alf only likes horizontal ones) and the only way to quell the noise and head banging was to lie on the floor, open my shirt and show him a boob. Needless to say, the Oxfam bookshop have not had my custom again and I hide my face when passing.On this occasion, wild horses were not going to get my miniscule mammaries out in the middle of Tesco. So poor Alf screamed himself into a fury and began bashing Zak.

Zak cried.

So I'm trying to pick bananas out while two kids scream hysterically in the trolley. Both big for their age, strapping blonde cherubs with infuriatingly good lungs. And out of the woodwork come the doomsayers. You find them in every supermarket where a harrassed Mum has ever tried to bribe a screaming kiddy into shutting the *** up for long enough to get food in the cupboards. Elderly ladies, sucking their teeth and twiddling their grey rinses while they try to explain that national service meant this never happened in their day. While that may be true, Alf is a little young for conscription.

There's no way my big brave he-man can NOT be hearing the dulcet tones of the fruit of his loins. I can picture him hiding behind his cream scone. I make a note to buy wax. And pins.

The doomsayers suggest bribery, slapping, positive reinforcement, cuddling, screaming back and one even suggested parenting classes. Unfortunately the latter culprit vanished behind the mangoes before I could shove a kumquat where the pope dont rollerskate.Finally, him of the smelly socks appears and takes the Zak away for a doughnut. So the noise is slightly less. I get to the checkout nearly in tears. Alf has added banging his head on the trolley handle to his repertoire this trip, and his aim is excellent. One of my fingers is going black and he has a split lip. I tell the checkout girl that he is autistic, cannot communicate, there's bugger all I can do but get out as fast as I can and that I am going to just load my shopping and ignore him for 2 mins while I do so or I will cry.

We are half way through loading when Chief Suspect for the parenting course comment sidles in behind us. For some reason, no one wants to get in the queue behind this battered looking woman and the screeching child, and we were the shortest line by far. The lemon sucker behind us is muttering, thankfully Alf is far too noisy for me to hear what she is on about.Alfie increases in pitch and suddenly we hear, as clear as can be

"Alfie OUT! Alfie STUCK! Alfie DOWN! Alfie FLOOR! Alfie STUCK! STUCK! DOWN!"

At this, I really did burst into tears. Alfie doesn't speak often, maybe once a fortnight, and when he does, I always howl. The checkout girl got concerned and asked if I was okay. I replied that I was fine, I was sniffling cos i was so happy. Alf appeared to have shocked himself into silence. Either that or he cant scream AND eat a receipt at the same time.I hear a growl from the wasp chewer behind us "If that made me happy I'd drink cyanide".

Some people just dont have their priorities right LMAO...

21st July, 2006.

Oh it's been ages since I last posted here. Its all been hectic.

Joyce finally erupted and gave birth to five exquisite little PE Golden American Crested babies. I'm going to keep the sow and call her Beryl. Two of the boys have been reserved by a very nice lady for her two children's birthday. Guess which wally has made them up a little birth certificate each as an addition to their care pack and tuck box?

2nd June, 2006.

These flaming torts!!!

I've renamed them the "Norty Tortys" as their one aim in life is to wind me up.
Every morning, I open the hutch - dead bodies litter the hutch floor. Patchwork pigs sprawled all over the place. Every morning they leap into startled life and scare the heck out of me, and I'm WAITING for them to do it. This is some talent they have!

Bea has stopped nipping when I pick her up, she has no reason to assert her superiority over me now. Where the torts are concerned, I am well and truly cowed and they know it. I made them a run that must be eight foot by five foot and every morning, I, their adoring slave carry them to it. Minnie has been known to race over and grab my wellie, if I go in in bare feet, she licks. Yeugh! Another six foot levitation if unexpected! But they have a wooden ball which I chucked into the run one day. They actually play with it. Into the run, ball goes in, cue a couple of minutes of chirruping and shoving that thing round. Then they all give up and munch for the rest of the day. Dennis does so much sleeping I am surprised he hasn't starved himself to death. He even sleeps at shows. Stewards have to wake him up before handing him to the judges - I know, I watched (laughing).

I been naughty...

Steve joined our merry clan today (and while I was supposed to have been tidying up too). He is a little black chap with Trelawny breeding in him, so I am very pleased. Thank you Linda!!!

I had been invited to judge at Bedford Ringcraft Match tonight. What utter hell - judging different breeds against each other. I found my Best In Match in a gorgeous little whippet with a very young handler who could have taught some of the adults a lot in handling skills. It was touch and go against a Rhodesian Ridgeback bitch who impressed hugely with her muscle, effortless movement and beautiful disposition. I fell madly in love with a smashing little Clumber baby from the Nursery class - too young to challenge for Best Puppy.

The car died on the way home (again - I had hoped it would see me through that shortish journey but nooo).

26th May, 2006.

Stanley won't be making his debut at Epsom Show on Sunday. he has a scab under his jaw - too much escape artistry yesterday in the run.

Well, that's one less to bath...

Poor little Zak (Stan's owner) is going to be very disappointed. Little does he know we are picking up a trio of Himalayans for Sarah at the show. He will think he is seeing in triplicate! On that point, remind me NEVER to give this URL to my darling and long suffering Chris.

17th May, 2006.

Exam Day.

Spent the morning pottering about with the pigs and dogs to keep occupied. Took dogs over the fields and they had a romp while the kids and I collected Dandelions. Came back and screwed together a new run for Stanley pig, then Chris came home to take the kids. Hour and a half to go - only a 30 minute drive, but I thought I would go early.

I knew it was a bad omen when I stopped for petrol in St Albans and realised I was still wearing my slippers. RAC routefinder thingy was darn useless - roadworks and it insisted a road was there that didn't exist so I gave up and asked someone. NOW I know why blokes won't ask for directions. They are aware of a plot to send people driving for miles on the wrong side of town. No doubt the plonker had a good laugh as he sent me on my way. I headed back that way hoping to be able to thump him on the way home, but he had vanished. I then got to Oakland College - just to find that I needed to be "at a different campus" to the address I had been sent (according to the chap at reception with three studs in his bottom lip and a vacant expression on his face). I admit to being girly then and bursting into tears. It had taken me TWO YEARS to get this poxy exam booked as I somehow got lost on the system and then spent months where no one seemed able to do so much as return a simple call. And now they send me the wrong address. Okay, Oaklands, you've had your fun and can say you got your own back on me for refusing to give up. Well, YOU WIN! I'll do without my blasted IT qualification. You can ram it where it hurts.

I'm going to drink Teddy's bottle of Merlot this evening.

15th May, 2006.

Hmmmmm.

Bea has this smug look on her face and either she is rather heavily pregnant or else she needs to go on a drastic diet! Trouble is, I'm new to these beasties and can't tell. She also gives me a firm nip when I pick her up, just to let me know who is Boss. It isn't me, obviously.

14th May, 2006.

Kent Cavy Show.
Mike and I set off, had a lovely day and Teddy won his class which was a lovely start to our cavy dabbling! We also won the lucky pen draw and got a lovely bottle of red wine which I am looking forward to pouring down my gullet one evening when we are barbecuing a couple of steaks.

While there, Mike fell in love with tort and whites (the ONE breed I had hoped he wouldn't want) and we were lucky enough to be able to purchase two very good looking sows from the sale pens for him. I sent Mike off to find the breeder and ask questions - he got VERY lucky as the smashing lady gave him a show quality boar she had entered the same day so he has a really nice start. Wondering slightly how much trouble I would be in for bringing home more pigs, I thought in for a penny in for a pound and bought two more. A boar and sow, no, we don't need another boar, but he is a dear little chap and Mike's friend Emily is looking for a patched pig. So he has a home lined up where he will be spoilt rotten. Lucky lad. Okay, let's be honest, we didn't need another sow either, but this young lady gave me the strangest look as I went past her pen. Mike has named her Beatrice, and the others Dennis, Ivy and Minnie (Continuing his theme of Beano names). I think Bea and I are going to be pals.