The spider situation is getting worse. Last night – and I can hardly bring myself to type this without shuddering and pacing the room jerking my hands in horror – one walked on me.

I was getting the bath ready for the girls, and the girls ready for the bath, when I felt an itch on the back of my neck. Scratched it, didn’t think anything of it then a few seconds later Maggie said Mummy you have a hairy spider on you. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur as I realised what she was saying, flailed my arms wildly until it dropped on the floor, registered the size of it (bloody enormous. Really. Not just fear speaking, it was huge.) and abandoned my children to run shrieking into the bedroom. So much for motherly instinct to protect my babies.

Once in the bedroom I did remember I had children and forced myself back to the bathroom (what is the point of having a husband who is not there on these occasions?) Maggie, who is fortunately not at all bothered by spiders, even those that are nearly as big as she is, told me it had gone under the wardrobe, then I spent the rest of bathtime explaining no no I wasn’t frightened of it, silly, it just made me jump. If Tamsin grows up to be arachnophobic I accept full responsibility.

The spider hid next to the wardrobe for the entire bath – so I am really quite impressed with myself in that it was in full view yet I still got clean children. And to vindicate my reaction, which I know half of you are thinking is completely over the top even while the other half think I was utterly rational and actually very restrained, Cameron agreed it was a large spider when he finally got home and evicted it.

Flashbacks all evening even when soothed with a large glass of wine. Shudder.

Every year, we make cider. We had two lovely apple trees at the last house and  – what luck! – we have two here (also we have a source of boxes and boxes of pears so we’ve recently been adding them to the mix. A kind of perry-cider combo). The best ever was a batch we thought had gone wrong but didn’t get away to throwing out before we moved to Japan. On our return, Cameron eventually decided to empty the demijohns that had stood undisturbed in the garage for all that time. As he was pouring it down the sink he though hmm, doesn’t smell too bad. We bravely tried a bit (expecting instant blindness and insanity to strike) and it was fantastic! Clear and sparkly and not too sweet.

This year, it has gone mad. There’s a vague fermenty smell to the entire house and the kitchen is full of plop-plop-plop mad-sciencey noises. Whether we* moved it from brewing bucket to demijohn before it was really ready to go, I don’t know (perhaps sitting on the underfloor-heated tiles in the kitchen has had some effect?) but every time we turn our back it escapes up through the traps and spreads over the table.

*When I say we, Cameron is i/c brewing.

Despite the memory lapse that saw Cameron in London on Friday lunchtime rather than here-with-the-afternoon-off, we had a super weekend away (Sara came in my car, we went in convoy with Ian and Nona, and Cameron arrived by train that evening). If you can rustle up 20 friends* I can recommend Plas Glansevin enormously: never have I seen such a well-equipped kitchen (and I mean never, not just never in a holiday cottage). A barbecue in the pouring rain on Friday night; Maggie stayed up until 10.30! She was having so much fun running with the pack (children aged 7, 10, 11 and a couple of 13 year olds, plus a games room with ping pong and table football – though Tamsin’s walker was a big hit too - and a special secret lounge**.) Saturday morning, once everybody was up and dressed and breakfasted, a walk was proposed. Round the Usk Reservoir, “around 3 miles”, no problem, we thought. A bit grey and drizzly but it will be fine. And fine it was – once we’d crossed the dam and out of the chilly wind (that child needs a hat), it was really very pleasant. Maggie did spectacularly well and walked and walked and walked, despite it being significantly further than 3 miles (I reckon maybe 5),  despite nobody having brought any food or drink, and despite wearing wellies. Blackberries is all she (and the rest of us) had to eat en route. She was carried towards the end but nothing wrong with that. Tamsin, of course, was carried the whole way and had a lovely sleep for most of it. On the way home we drove past the red kite feeding station and saw loads of lovely birds! Didn’t stop, which was a shame, but we were engrossed in trying to get a convoy of vehicles (we were like rush hour all on our own) past a sheep trailer on a bend in a one-lane road.

Another barbecue tea and the children went to bed earlier if not exactly early. I have no idea how M survived the weekend (but she has slept until 8 every morning this week so I am not complaining).

Sunday was warm and sunny so we decided to go for a short stroll up the hill. Predictably, Guy with the GPS and the map could not prevent us getting lost (we are not lost we know exactly where we are) and it turned into another 5 mile trek. Interesting, though: we met some farmers, a lady with a chainsaw, and I wonder if the old farmers are still talking about the woman who pulled a baby off her back, perched on a gate and breastfed it in the field while waiting for a herd of sheep to run past – complete with sheepdogs, Maggie was thrilled. More blackberries and one apple between the whole group, we were very happy when we finally found the house and discovered Nona and Irene had lunch all prepared. Could have done without the kitten death in front of some of the children in the afternoon (stray terrier running amok), and it was a shame our second expedition to the red kite centre was mis-timed so they had all been fed before we got there. But otherwise we had a lovely weekend and came back all refreshed. And with bags of laundry, naturally.

*I didn’t rustle, I was rustled.
**I sneaked off upstairs with my book on a couple of occasions: most comfy.

Good

• Potatoes, beans (broad, french, runner), mixed salads, peas
• Jerusalem artichokes. About 15 foot high and just thinking about flowering (nobody seems to know whether this should be permitted but unpreventable without stilts). No idea what’s going on under the ground but they have certainly provided a talking point! Next year I must stake as I plant rather than trying to deal with 7-foot stems, and with something more sturdy than a bamboo cane and a bit of string.
• Slugs. What whoppers. Shame they are inedible.
• Frogs. Yay!

Bad

• The “two sisters” idea of planting beans in with the sweetcorn – maybe I have unusually vigorous beans/weedy sweetcorn but the former is pulling the latter to horizontal.
• Tomatoes (blight); courgettes and squash (slugs); carrots (didn’t germinate or, more likely, got eaten as soon as they did. I had some lovely if minute carrots in pots on the patio – 2″ max of pure carrotty yumminess – so I suppose something down the allotment munched them); garlic (rotted); spinach (bolted)
• Borlotti beans: only one plant made it. Darn slugs.

Intermediate

• Cucumbers: those fruits I got were fantastic but I never got around to potting the plants on from the 4″ pots they germinated in. Poor things died.
• Shallots: grew well, tasted good, shame they got drenched the day I harvested so mostly rotted.
• Sweetcorn: not ripe yet so the race is on. Could do with an indian summer, please. Brought two weeny cobs home yesterday because they were almost nearly sort of ripe if you squinted sideways at them, and they were excellent.

Next year

Raspberries, more herbs, a proper salad bed. Gooseberries? Flowers for cutting. Parsnips. More peas, sugarsnaps too. More muck and slug prevention. Squashes. Possibly asparagus. More time**. A shed, so I don’t have to cart all the kit about in my car. My own runner beans: I wasn’t going to grow them but Dave down the bottom had some spare plants which I found a home for. Feel a bit guilty because his beans drowned in the rain (he’s down the bottom) while mine thrived on it (up the top), so will buy my own seed next year.

*ha ha ha.
**any suggestions gratefully received.

…and there’s sport on. Which will be illegal once I am in charge (and is not normal, is it). So I thought, glass of wine, get on here for a bit of a witter. Is anybody there?

Evenings are fair drawing in – no more popping to the allotment once the kids are in bed (or at all, if this week is anything to go by). I wonder if my sweetcorn will get ripe before the frosts come? It won’t be long. I had to put the heating on this week. Cameron put it straight back off again but that is not the point.

Tamsin did not scream through Maggie’s swimming class this week, which is progress indeed: goodbye and good riddance, separation anxiety*. And Maggie is overcoming her fear of going under thanks to some snazzy goggles.

*for now.

Back from a lovely girls’ holiday in sunny St Ives. We really did have sun and Maggie got to the beach every single day. Tamsin was not at all sure about sand to begin with, but soon got the hang (yum yum). A shame the adults took it in turns to get a 48(ish)-hour lurgy; bizarrely, the children were immune but it meant shifts to the beach in between lying pitifully on the sofa. My mother is now known as “normal granny” (much amused muttering under breath about relativity), which distinguishes her from great granny.

Cameron came home from Texas with new jeans for me (hoorah), a shiny ipod for himself (hoorah also) and the inevitable jetlag (boo).

The spider was no longer in the bath on our return so presumably the cleaner dealt with it.

Back to normal this week: preschool, swimming, rain, good intentions that fail to be acted upon. Hey ho, we did make jam yesterday. (Preens.) Took T to get weighed today so this afternoon I am mostly sighing despairingly at the incompetence and unnecessary-ness (what word do I mean?) of health visitors.

They have come out in force, just because I said something a wee bit uncharitable about one of their friends. I didn’t hoover it (and I certainly didn’t approach with glass and card: Katy, you clearly have no idea what it is to be scared!). In fact I left it in the bath. We all had a shower last night come on girls it will be fun! I said brightly, not letting on the real reason. It’s still there (and my cleaner will have to deal in order to clean the bath tomorrow).

However. One more behind the bathroom door this morning. One halfway along the landing – possibly the same one. Now, one on the stairs. The same one? Who knows. I feel a bit sick and have to keep saying just leave it alone Maggie, spiders won’t hurt you. Huh.

I hate this season. Cameron is not allowed to go away (or even to work) in September ever again. I am starting to think I might have to be really brave and do the hoover thing – I can’t camp out downstairs all day, we are leaving for our holiday tonight! But we have a Dyson, what if I see it in there? I know I’m a wuss but I am getting teary just thinking about tackling it.

Shudder.

• It’s our wedding anniversary (yay). Cameron is in Houston (boo). They forgot to put his case on the plane (boo) but he was expecting to get it back yesterday (yay).
• I’m taking the girls on holiday tomorrow (yay). I haven’t packed yet (boo) but I have made mental lists (yay) and done lots of washing (enough).
• We went into town in the sunshine yesterday. Bus woes to follow in a long whingy post but we had a lovely time: the Cheshire Regiment had stands set up in front of the library – some promo thingy, I don’t know what – and a band. Not a normal military brassy marchy band, but more like a wedding one. Angels, Everybody Needs Somebody, Mustang Sally, that sort of thing. Maggie and her friend Gwen danced and danced in the sunshine, in the middle of town, in front of something like 100 people! So sweet: I wished I had my camera. (I’ll be rather less keen on her dancing with soldiers in 15 years’ time!)
• Then she was an utter horror in Starbucks. Let this be my public apology to the people trying to have a lovely quiet coffee at the next table.
• Today it is raining again. Of course it is. I haven’t visited my allotment for weeks, it’s always bloody raining. (I must go tomorrow, I need to pick beans to take on holiday. Beans like to see the sights.)
• My granny’s transfer from hospital to care home did not go well. Fingers crossed she settles in soon as my dad has quite enough on his plate.
• Tamsin has three new teeth: one a day Thursday-Friday-Saturday. It was not fun.
• Shelob is in my bath and I don’t quite know what to do about her.  I am toying with asking my next-door neighbour to come and deal, except I would have to explain to Maggie why I haven’t done it myself and I have tried so hard not to make her scared of spiders too. But I cannot cannot go in there and pick it up; even typing that sentence made me shudder. Anybody brave passing through Chester in the next few hours before bathtime?
• Does anyone know where I’ve put my sellotape?

I have spotted a gap in the market: cow-bells for babies. We could call them babybels ha ha ha. We are going to see my grandmother next week, who can’t see very well, and I’m a bit worried she will fall over Tamsin who now zooms about at about 20 mph 6″ off the floor.

(Good news though: she had an unsettled evening, I had to go up two or three times and was worried about the night ahead. But then she went off peacefully at 10.30, after I gave her some magic snake-oil powder and slept right through until 5!! Amazing. She must have known I was losing the plot a bit. Of course I was still visited by M at 3 am, but still. Hours of sleep.)

Teeth? Habit? Baby contrariness? Who knows, but I have been woken every hour every night* for something like 6 weeks now (ever since she had pox). I’ve been soldiering bravely on – and will continue to do so, of course: there’s no opt-out clause – taking solace in the fact that she at least goes back off again quickly and blaming those pesky teeth that are definitely pushing through. Last night was just awful, though - she got up for 2 hours and wanted to play! I don’t do playing at 3 am (nor do I play the next day if I’ve lost that much sleep). Am extremely grumpy today, although also fairly smug as I’ve cleared out the larder cupboard, cleaned it, put the contents of bursting packets into tupperwares and jars, and thrown out everything out of date, apart from fruit, nuts and seeds which I’ve turned into bird cakes.

And now I am worrying about tonight. Cameron is off down south for a couple of days (lucky lucky man: what would I give for a whole night in a hotel on my own). He’s not been away much lately and last time he went T was a smaller and more amenable baby who could just be fed off to sleep while M read a book quietly in her room. Now T is a cheeky 9-month-old who likes to play and feed and try to escape and chew books and play and feed and shout and finally, grudgingly, go to sleep. Perhaps we’ll just all three lie down together (I bet I’d go off first if we did).

*There was one blessed night on holiday when she went right through uninterrupted to 4 am, and she’s done 4 hour stretches a few times since then.