Why, Why do you mock me?

Have been back in Rule Britannia for exactly four days now. Romantic reunion with Husband has imploded in spectacular manner. Husband has taken 1 week off work. We were meant to meet at his sister's house in a British seaside town, spend a day or two of quality time with our 3 lovely nephews and 1 niece and then head back towards Scotland at our leisure, camping en route and enjoying the Great British Summer.

But instead God has mocked our plans and the following has happened:

- The Husband arrived and was unbelievably grumpy for a full day (as we haven't seen each other in 6 weeks, we need a period of readjustment.)

- The car started making funny noises. The car promptly exploded - this caused two forms of grumpiness mine in the 'I told you to stop driving it as though you were pulling it through your arse' and the Husband's disgruntlement as the now kaput car was his castle.

- We are now inflicting ourselves for an extended period on our poor in-laws, who I might add, are in the middle of renovating their house (bathroom has no window just large hole through which neighbours can watch acts of defecation - but very good for aeration of said action). As previously mentioned we are also now bunking with four children. This is not improving any romantic feeling. But doing wonders for stopping my biological clock.

- The Great British Summer appears to be rained out - causing a sort of unintentional dual shower/toileting action when tending to ablutions in the bathroom without a window.

- Husband is now looking at a variety of ridiculous cars to replace inoperative VW Polo, this includes a Porsche, a Jaguar, Audi's and a variety of BMW's.

- This combination of events means that every time I look at my Husband I have an overwhelming urge to cause him actual physical harm (again bad for romance, but good for preventing untimely impregnation).

Day improved when we took our 7 year old nephew out for a hot chocolate. He gestured towards my cuppaccino and asked in all sincerity if I was enjoying my cuppa-tea-no. He then slurped his beverage with such reckless abandon that he was left with the best milk tache I've seen in a long while:

And that made me feel a lot better. Tick-tock.