Triumph

Well, that all went jolly smoothly. Friday night, Bill Bailey – perhaps not quite as funny as I might have hoped (the Guardian reviewer agreed with me): when he was funny he was very very funny but in between the funny bits he was not. Peculiar crowd too (and I was utterly amazed to realise he is popular enough to sell out 3 nights at the MEN arena). Unfortunately the first stand-up I saw live was Eddie Izzard and all others suffer by comparison.

Maggie went to bed as normal; Tamsin was up and down all evening (but fortunately Cameron was home so no real problem). A late night for me, so I was tired, but it was well worth it to get out for once, even if I was offically really rubbish and missed them.

Last night, Christy Moore. Worried would be too strong a word, but I was a little concerned Tamsin would be even more reluctant to go to sleep for an almost-complete stranger and I didn’t like to think of her crying (for the sake of either of them and selfishly for the sake of me ever going out in the future). Nona turned up around 6; the girls had had their tea and were getting into their jimjams. Tamsin did not want a feed so eventually I waved goodbye and drove to Manchester with some trepidation.

Christy was fabulous (of course): one of the friends I went with admitted afterwards that actually she hadn’t really known who he was and had certainly never heard him sing (brave of her to come, really – a few others were put off by his wiki entry) but she was converted. The chap next to me required no converting whatsoever but laughed unroariously at Mr Moore’s every amusing comment and sang loudly whenever the opportunity presented. (Fair enough up to a point but I had to consider* pointing out that I had paid good money to hear a professional singer. Churlish, me?!)

Best of all, I came home to find Nona serenely sipping a cup of tea and reading her Cheshire Life magazine. Maggie had gone to sleep after 3 stories and a drink of water (despite protesting she was not tired); and Tamsin. Well, Tamsin. I was agog and aghast (in a good way) to hear that she had not wanted to go into her cot at bedtime – as expected – but had, on being brought down to sit on the sofa and play with Nona’s glasses case, eventually put her little head down and then,  with a bit of gentle patting, fallen asleep by 7.45. Lifted into her cot, she didn’t make another peep until she heard me come in around 11.15 (and even then she just shouted, turned over, and went back off for another half hour). Astounding!

*No of course I didn’t. Nor did I tut or anything.

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