Review: Peter Pan, Edinburgh. Or, Allan Stewart makes my life

It's been our tradition in recent years to go to the Pantomime at the King's Theatre in Edinburgh, which always stars comedians Allan Stewart and Andy Gray and Grant Stott from Radio Forth. Usually I book the tickets at the last moment and get a seat up in the gods. However, last year I was a bit more organised and got what I thought were good seats in the stalls. If I'd read the seating map properly, I'd have realised that they were THE front seats at the end of the row.

We loved being there, so close to the action,  last year, so as soon as I had the chance, I booked the same seats for this year's show.

Well, the first thing that happened was that we were sprayed with water from pantomime dame Stewart's bosom. We thought we were fine after that.

The show itself was probably not the strongest or most topical script I've heard from that team, but it was good. Grant Stott's effectiveness as a fiendishly villanous Captain Hook was offset by the fact that he kept getting the giggles. I'm also not sure whether Allan Stewart fluffed up his exit at one point, or whether that was part of the script. The song Blurred Lines has not made my feminist heart beat faster this year, but its panto equivalent, Slurred Lines, made me laugh.

My favourite character was Shona White, an accomplished performer from the musicals who played a very feisty take-no-prisoners Tinker Bell. The Peter Pan/Wendy love-interest thing was only slight but creepy nonetheless given that the first scene had had Wendy being tucked up in bed with a story.

The on-stage chemistry between the principals is so strong after so many years of working together, but still it's fresh every year. And there is just no getting away from Allan being the best panto dame in the business. We normally go on the very last day but couldn't get tickets for those seats. The cast is demob happy and just having a laugh, by then, so we did feel we missed out a little bit on that. Until just before the end.

I probably should say at this point that my lovely husband Bob doesn't really take kindly to either surprises or being put on the spot. I've learned this the hard way over the past 27 years of living with him. So, when Allan Stewart came off the stage and stuck a microphone in his face and asked him to sing a little ditty in the style of Elvis Presley, I did fear a little bit for my Bob. He was brilliant, though. I was so proud of him. Knowing there was no escape, he just got on with it. Maybe Allan has shown me how to get my way more often... Anyway, singing is not his strong point, and these words will probably haunt him for some time to come:

 Nickety Nackety Nickety NooNickety Nackety NayRum, tum, tickle your bumEveryone sing Hooray

Given that his musical taste is if it's not playing in the hippest clubs in Ibiza he doesn't listen to it, you can imagine how exruciating that bit of trash must have been for him.  And, bless him, singing isn't exactly his strong suit.

He did so well and, if you asked him if he enjoyed it, in his heart of hearts, he would, I think, say that he did. People were coming up to him on the way out and telling him he did great.

I had a minor moment in the spotlight as well. I should have said that Andy Gray was filming all this from the stage and it appeared on the big screen. Allan asked me where we were from and I said Livingston. He said that the town was famous for beautiful women and rugby players and then asked what position I played.

Afterwards, Anna and I were talking about when exactly we should let Bob forget about today. We agreed never. And given the absolute look of joy on her face while all this was going on, I think that's a wise choice.

Allan Stewart, you made my life. Ta for that.

The next exciting thing in my life comes tomorrow when I'm covering Alistair Carmichael's keynote speech. Al, you have a bit to live up to, here. No pressure, though. You'll be fab, too.

Laura: 21 moments for 21 fabulous years

I love my wonderful niece Laura. 21 years ago today, she appeared on the scene 6 weeks earlier than expected, in the middle of a Liberal Democrat Conference. So I have to nip home this evening from a Liberal Democrat Conference for an early family dinner, before heading back for the Liberal Democrat Voice Awards (Castle 2, Crowne Plaza, 10-11:30 pm, host of stars, dress code imaginative, you know the drill by now).

We never found out about her birth for two days. They didn't have mobile phone then, or the internet.

I thought I'd share with you, not in any sort of order, not even chronological, 21 delightful snippets of life with a cute baby who grew up into a wonderful, if opinionated, but highly intelligent, kind and compassionate young woman. I am not going to post any current photos of her because she deserves her privacy, but this was her as we first knew her:

1. That first view of her in her incubator, wearing just a nappy, and sometimes not even that as she had jaundice and was getting phototherapy. That was pretty much it. Auntie/niece bonding took place before I even noticed.

2. A toddler. In pink pyjamas. Singing "Can you feel the love tonight?" from The Lion King

3. Snuggling with a very snuggly 6 week old baby while watching Bill Clinton win the 1992 election.

4. It was crazy, but necessary, for the only member of the family who hadn't had chicken pox to look after Laura when she came down with them. She had been going to start nursery that day and got the Chicken Pox and her lunch box confused. And, yes, she shared them with me. She had 42 spots on her entire body. I had 42 on my right shoulder. But those were special days filled with ice cream and fun. 

5. Her Uncle Bob pretty much did her bidding. He played whatever part she demanded, and the parts she demanded were not in any way glamorous. He was her prisoner, or her horse. Funnily enough, Anna and her friend Molly, years later, used to make Bob be their horsie and put blankets over him and confine him to a pen.

6. A curious 6 year old asking an elderly aunt if her husband of almost six decades had been "sprinkled yet" at his funeral tea. Said wonderful elderly aunt thought this was hilarious.

7. The "Fook Nick Clegg" incident. Exactly one year ago. Strong drink had been taken. I heard giggling from the kitchen and realised that my phone had disappeared at about the same moment as a voice asked me who was the most famous name in my contacts. I was there in a flash, but that question was a red herring. She'd already put up a Facebook status that read as follows:

I love that my friends knew it was nonsense.

8. Heading into Edinburgh with her a couple of days after the above for her first day of Freshers' Week. She was pretty nervous, but made friends almost immediately and flew through her first year. I am a very proud auntie.

9. 2009. Nightmare year for both Laura and I, both independently catching Glandular Fever. Both of us were horrendously ill in different ways. There was that day when she lay on one sofa, I lay on another and we both just groaned. But we both got there in the end.

10. Mill Farm, Livingston, later that year. One of my first trips out following the Glandular Fever. Except I am not the steadiest person on my feet at the best of times. So I slid. In some mud. And ended up on my arse. My family still laugh about this, compassionate bunch that they are.

11. Earlier this year, I got the funniest abusive comment ever on Liberal Democrat Voice. It never saw the light of day, but the gist was "I can't tell your gender, your cheek bones are too wide set apart......(about 1000 words of gratuitous abuse).....It's just dawned on me what you are - a one tonne fresian cow. All you need is a ring through your nose and I'll sell you at market." So I put the edited highlights up on Facebook. Within seconds, my Laura replied "Can I have some milk". Hah. Cheek. And I bet Lord Greaves would be disgusted that I censored that comment, just as an aside. But believe me, I can never forget it because my family thinks it's hilarious.

12. A lovely dinner on the eve of an exam. Steak and mussels were consumed. The exam - she smashed it.

13. A vision, in teal, in a tiara with hair, unusually, curled, skin blooming with first encounter with a tanning gun, following her mother down the aisle as chief bridesmaid in April 2012.

14. I know my lovely husband gets scared whenever he knows that Laura and I are going shopping. But I have not taste and she does. And if you like what I'm wearing it's because she chose it. And she will always make me go out of my comfort zone.There is no choice. She's like a mini tornado round the shop. I get a pile of stuff to try on, she approves, she disapproves, I buy what remains. It's perfect.

15. This year, she's like a lionness with her baby brother. Nobody else was ever going to be godmother, but she can make him laugh with delight. He's only 5 months old, but he's going to idolise her in future years. And when he's a young lad, he's going to love having a cool older sister to stay with.

16. Trusted enough to be left in charge of Granny and Grandad's doggies last year, they took all of a few hours to end up in bed with her. Just as Granny and Grandad would have wanted. I remember a chilly day in the park throwing frisbees for Maya as Magan explored.

17. The day of Russell Johnston's memorial service in Inverness, sitting round my sister's table talking with Laura, just back from Belladrum.

18. Facetime. Laura travelling in a hotel in Lyon, chatting over the wifi. Then I realise what she can see is me in my pink pyjamas looking hideous on my sofa.

19. The worst snowstorm in some years in Paris. Laura is stuck there and it's nearly Christmas. She's supposed to be going home. Chatting over Facebook.

20. Cafe Paco, Perth. Family fun. Fillet steak. And she's only 4.

21. 20 December 2011. Echo Arena, Liverpool. Paul McCartney comes on stage. Laura's face. Beatific doesn't even begin to describe it. One of the highlights of my life. A happy girl seeing her (and my) idol perform. It was two days of fabulous BeatleMania, with my sister as the Responsible Adult making sure we got to where we needed to be. We did the Beatles Museum, and the Magical Mystery Tour with its Strawberry Fields and Penny Lane and everything. Two days in heaven.

I love my Laura. That is all.

Thirty memories to celebrate thirty years of Lib Demmery

Today is my birthday. I can barely bring myself to say the great age I've reached, but it does mark a significant milestone for me. Three decades ago today, I joined the SDP.

I hope you'll forgive the narcissistic indulgence, (and if you can't, don't read any further, because it'll be five minutes of your life you won't get back),  but I thought I'd share with you 30 brief snapshots, significant moments of my life as a party member. I'm grateful for the wonderful friends I've made and the battles we've fought together and am raring to go for decades to come. Thanks to all of you who've been part of the story so far, celebrating the joys and supporting through the heartbreak. I hope they'll trigger good memories for you, too.

In no particular order, although I'll start at the beginning:

1. Walking into Alliance HQ in Wick as a 15 year old during the 1983 election for a manifesto and leaving with a bundle of newspapers to deliver. Almost the very first one was thrown on the bonfire by an irate looking woman who turned out to be the local Tory Chairman. It didn't put me off. In fact, in that campaign I ended up getting detention for skipping school to go canvassing...

2. The 1983 election result - what was that about? At least someone close to my age was elected in the neighbouring seat, but, really, only 23 seats when Labour had 2% more and had 186 more. And the Tories tightened their grip on power with fewer votes than 1979. But we won well in Caithness.

3. That first day, in May 2008, leafletting in sunny Cowdenbeath with Andrew Reeves, Elspeth Finlay and Willie Rennie. Andrew had only moved up to Scotland the day before. There was a lot of laughter involved that day. We didn't know we'd only have him for 3 years.

4. A dark Friday night, all of us on the Shortlisting Committee were tired and grumpy after a gruelling schedule of interviews. We had to wait for another hopeful to arrive. His CV was the most boring thing I've ever read that wasn't a phone book. He was worth waiting for. He blew us away. His name: Nicholas William Peter Clegg.

5. My first council by-election in Aberdeen in 1986. We won!

6. My first ever hangover. The day after #5.

7. #puppetshowincident

8. Doing front of house in Chesterfield, as apprentice to the mighty Paul Holmes, during the 1997 election. Huge amounts of fun, progress made and we were well looked after by the Italian restaurant next door. Lovely meals on proper plates with actual cutlery.

9. Meeting the legendary Pat Wainwright for the first time at the Littleborough and Saddleworth by-election in 1995. We spent our Summer holidays there and met lots of people who are still friends now.

10. First ever conference - Paisley 1986. I made a speech, on drugs, which was quoted in the Press and Journal. I think the headline described me as an all-over problem.

11. First ever UK conference speech - Torquay 1993. In favour of allowing Cabinet ministers who weren't in either Lords or Commons. Lots of people said it was good, but it would be almost 20 years until I tried it again, on secret courts this Spring.

12. Seeing a notice up at conference in Harrogate 1992 asking me to go to registration. My mother had been trying to contact me for 2 days to tell me that my lovely niece Laura had been born 6 weeks early. Her 21st birthday is on the Saturday of Conference this year.

13. 1997 election night. Two people watching tv at the count in Chesterfield. One was Tony Benn, who was eating a white chocolate Magnum. The other was me, blubbing tears of joy because we'd get a Scottish Parliament.

14. Being part of the Cix online community of Liberal Democrats, which has given me lifelong friends. I even posted in there when I was in the early stages of labour.

15. My contribution to the last stages of the 1999 Euro elections? Driving home from hospital with new babyAnna on polling day in a car emblazoned with Liberal Democrat posters.

16. The following  Sunday night, lying in bed with said snuggly baby, finding out that the East Midlands had elected its first Liberal parliamentarian since 1931.

17. Winning a by-election in Deepest Bolsover on an otherwise sad day, when John Smith died.

18. Gathering with many others in the sunshine to celebrate Jo Swinson's election in East Dunbartonshire in 2005.

19. The Dunfermline by-election in 2006. Willie Rennie winning in Gordon Brown's back yard was truly spectacular. It was a great campaign, sharing an office with Ed Maxfield, getting through piles of casework. Four years later, we lost, which was horrible, but getting an 8% swing towards us when everyone in Scotland was clinging to Labour like a security blanket was pretty significant. I think we made a difference to people's lives in 4 years and will always be proud of what we did there.

20. The rollercoaster of emotion in May 2010. Heartbreak at losing Dunfermline, Chesterfield and not winning Edinburgh North and Leith and South. Our parliamentary party would have been so enriched by the presence of Willie. Paul, Kevin and Fred. Reeling from that, there was the tension of the Coalition negotiations. Surely we weren't going to end up in Government? I couldn't quite work out how I felt about it all, but was overcome with pride when I saw Nick walk into Downing Street.

21. Thinking that I might try out this blogging lark - my first post in 2006.

22. It was 3 years before Liberal Democrat Voice let me loose on its pages, though. My debut covered the Church of Scotland's debate over gay ministers, which involved a good friend of mine.

23. The slippery slope led to a day's guest editing, a weekly gig and, finally, to my great surprise, being asked to be co-editor this March. My thanks go to the long-suffering team who put up with my ditsiness and frequently save me from myself.

24. Being made the first ever honorary life member of Liberal Youth Scotland. See, I am still young. It's official. And to be a small part of an organisation that is so awesome makes me very proud.

25. My first ever live TV interview, at Scottish Liberal Democrat Conference last year. Very scary, but enjoyably so.

26. Still no idea how it happened, but being elected to the Federal Executive last year. It's been an illuminating experience and has given me more ideas than I have time to put them into practice. But I'll have a go anyway.

27. The Livingston by-election, 2005. A busy campaign where we were the story - the BBC's Brian Taylor pointed out that we had held on to our General Election vote in the face of a squeeze from Labour and SNP. And two of our helpers ended up getting married.

28. All my life, LGBT equality has been important to me. Seeing our people deliver equal marriage, and Willie Rennie and Nick Clegg support it with enthusiasm has been special.

29. The heartbreak of 2011, the worst year so far by a long way. Seeing many friends losing their seats in the Scottish Parliament was very tough. The only bright spot in a horrendous day was sitting on Buchanan Street in the late afternoon sunshine, having just done a BBC Radio Scotland interview, finding out that Willie Rennie had won in Mid Scotland and Fife.

30. Fast forward to polling night in the Eastleigh by-election. Scottish Liberal Democrat HQ was packed to the gunnels, as it had been through the campaign, with activists phoning. The best thing about this party is that when there really is a crisis, we work together and we deliver the goods.

How exciting can one weekend get?

I am sitting on my bed during a brief lull in Doctor Who convention proceedings sipping Earl Grey & marvelling  at how many exciting things are going on this weekend.

On the Liberal Democrat front, Portsmouth Councillor Gerald Vernon-Jackson and his partner John have their civil partnership today. I hear that there was gridlock in the city as guess made their way to the ceremony. Best wishes to Gerald & John for a long & happy life together. 

Then there's the British Grand Prix at Silverstone. I so want Mark Webber to win his last race here but he'll have a tough job. A Mercedes win would be nice, but I would much rather it was for Nico.

Wimbledon continues with British interest into the second week.

Just as my parents leave France after their first joyfully successful motor homing expedition, the Tour de France starts. Let's hope we see our Cav continue his current good form.

And then there's here at Starfury's Return to the eleventh hour convention, based around Matt Smith's tenure as The Doctor. It had a controversial start after convention organiser Sean Harry disengaged brain & keyboard while, in his words, feeding some Internet trolls. In so doing, he insulted Sixth Doctor Colin Baker who responded on Twitter. I think it will take a hand-written, sincere apology to get over that one, not just a simple tweet. We all screw up online - it's how you put it right that matters.

Anyway, it is fantastic to have Neve McIntosh & Catrin Stewart, who play current irregular companions Madam  Vastra & Jenny Flint. They had a fun talk speculating about their characters' pasts and future and suggesting that the Doctor might have a child with them. Catrin revealed that Matt Smith kissing her and her slap in response in Crimson Horror were not in the script. Matt added the kiss, she responded accordingly.

I just love Simon Fisher Becker, who plays Dorium Maldovar. Apart from being very funny, he provided lots of real, practical insights into an actor's life. He said he spends part of each day reviewing work he's done (as he put it, ringing his agent and seeing if the money has come in) and looking for new work. Both he & Christina Chong made much of the idea that you don't just say you want to be an actor, you behave as though you are. You have to be quite strategic about learning the craft and knowing the industry. 

And that is all I have time for now - autographs & photos to collect! Then fancy dress, with Anna as Rory Williams, tonight. 

Sunshine and pandas. Is Summer really here at last?

So, I bunked off on Tuesday. I'd always half intended to, especially as it was a school holiday, and an opportunity to spend some time with Anna, but the fantastic weather meant that the laptop stayed firmly switched off and we headed off to the zoo.

Earlier, I'd woken with a start. Maybe it was the unfamiliar surroundings. I'm not used to waking in my parents' spare room, seeing as we live just a few minutes' away, but we are staying here with my wonderful niece Laura, who's down for her uni exams. Anyway, I woke up thinking I should have been in London the day before for Federal Executive. Once I'd hit the roof with horror, it slowly dawned on me that not even someone with Tim Farron's work ethic would summon us on a bank holiday the week after the elections.

It was lovely sitting outside on my parents' patio having breakfast. We don't get a lot of sunshine up here - and what little we've had this year has been accompanied by a goosebump inducing chill. This was real hot stuff, though. Anna and I decided to go to the zoo while Laura was sitting her exam. We hadn't been since last Summer so we hadn't seen the new penguin enclosure.

We were surprised to be offered panda viewing tickets for half an hour after we arrived. You normally have to book them online in advance, but there had been a cancellation, apparently. So, after checking in with the flamingoes - we both love their chilled out pinkness and when Anna was little I made up a series of stories about the adventures of one of them, Florence - we headed to the panda house. We weren't full of expectation - when we've seen them at lunchtime before, they've always been asleep. We've never had much from Yang Guang. He was sitting with his back to us the first time. The second he was asleep on his little trolley thing. He woke up, saw people there and turned over in a very grumpy manner reminiscent of the way I pull the duvet over my head in the morning, in futile denial of the need to get up. The third time he had his wee bout of man flu.

On Tuesday, though, he was very lively and the picture of charm. He ate his bamboo, he moved around and even went outside, where he treated us, if that's the appropriate word to a panda handstand. This is not as cute as you might think. Not when it involves him doing the toilet when he's in position.

Tian Tian was sleeping when she went in, totally starfished on her pile of bamboo, showing off the shaven patch on her abdomen from her recent artificial insemination. She then woke up and gave herself a rush of blood to the head by hanging off the platform.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with penguin watching and ice cream before we headed home. I hope we have more Summer to look forward to as it's clouded over and become a good deal colder since....

Easter holidays: Black Isle bliss in a Boathouse - and a beautiful baby, too

So, I said to the Liberal Democrat Voice team just before I headed off for a week in the Highlands mostly sans internet signal "Don't let anyone do anything interesting while I'm away." That worked out well.

A wee bit of insight into how normal people live, though. When I found out about Margaret Thatcher's demise I was in the car en route to my sister's for some baby snuggling. On arrival, I told my niece. In my own house, I'd have switched onto the News Channel and kept that on in the background all day. They were watching the Simpsons Movie. And they kept doing so. When it ended (a blessed relief, let me tell you), I asked if we could see some news. After just ten minutes, they got bored and put something else on. I always new that my political geekery was weird, so this wasn't a revelation

We stayed in the Boat House on the Rosehaugh Estate near Avoch. I've loved the Black Isle with a passion all my life. Rosemarkie beach is one of my favourite places on earth and my Great Aunt Vera and Great Uncle Sandy lived in Fortrose for over 20 years. 

The Boathouse itself is beautiful. It's very well equipped and decorated inside. I wasn't so keen on the evil spiral staircase, but I loved the view from the bedroom -  even though I wasn't quite to wake up to this on the first morning:

It wasn't a particular surprise that it could snow on the Black Isle in April. It did last year, just a few weeks before my sister's wedding. At least this time the power didn't go off, although we did scurry off to Inverness to buy a couple of torches just in case as there were none in the house.

The Boat House has a lovely terrace and I'd envisaged spending lots of time out there reading, but although the weather improved, the temperature only really got higher than Baltic on the last day.

Here is the house itself:

When it was originally built over 100 years ago, it sat on the middle of the lake, not at the end of it and was only half the size. The Estate restored it and added the extra wing which contains the kitchen and one of the bedrooms in 2006.

There are lots of walks round about. Just down the road is a very pretty waterfall.

The lovely people in the photo are my lovely brother-in-law, niece and sister. I'm on the nice safe path with the baby.

I'm not good at anything that isn't a nice path - but fortunately my husband and daughter are much braver than me.

One disappointment was that we totally mistimed our visit to Chanonry Point, arriving at high tide, so we had no chance of seeing the dolphins.

We enjoyed exploring the Estate. I just wish we could have been there in its heyday. It's so sad to think that all that's left of this magnificent house is its terraces.And the wine cellar.

We found these cute pixie houses, too.

The real highlight of the holiday was meeting my younger nephew Baby Ethan for the first time. I spent lots of time snuggling him and looking at him in utter awe and amazement. He's such a perfect wee thing. Not that I'm biased or anything. And he clearly adores his Auntie Caron. All my nieces and nephew are perfect, of course. And they all adore their Auntie Caron too.

I hate being away from the wee one, though - I saw how much he changed just over the course of a week and he'll be all grown up before we know it.

It was a lovely week away - and I coped better than I thought I would with the social media and internet deprivation.

Now I'm back and my to-do list is very long and scary. I'm sure there aren't enough hours in the day for it.

Baby Ethan is here!

How gorgeous is my lovely younger nephew, born at 12:20 am today? Unlike the rest of his siblings, we knew his name and what he looked like before his arrival due to the wonders of technology.

He may have been due last Sunday, but when he decided the time was right, he didn't hang about. I got a text from my sister saying she was off to hospital at 11:18 pm.

Next thing I knew, his photo appeared on Facebook. He is the second of my parents' grandchildren to have been born on a Saturday. The others  have all been born on Mondays or Fridays. And they have all been gorgeous too. And still are.

He is an enormously lucky little boy. Apart from his parents, he has five sisters and a brother to dote on him, two sets of grandparents, two aunties and uncles and 3 cousins to spoil him. And did I mention how cute he is, even though it's blindingly obvious:-).

I've had Anna's baby photos out today. She is unimpressed at the number of dresses I made her wear as a baby. She's only worn one in the last 5 years or so and that was for my sister's wedding last year.

So, welcome to the World, Baby Ethan. Hope you find it as full of love and hope as you find yourself surrounded by today. And well done to my amazing sister, too.

Who's been messing with my blog?

Yes, I know it's been a while - over a week since I last wrote anything here. Trust me, it's been no fun.

I thought I was coming down with a cold last Thursday. By Friday lunchtime,I was in bed, emerging on Tuesday afternoon after a pretty vicious bout of Flu from which I haven't yet properly recovered.

I do appreciate that having no appetite isn't going to do me any harm. I have plenty in reserve, after all. I still feel pretty wiped out,though.

And while I've been quite literally sweating it out, I discover that my lovely blog has changed beyond all recognition. What happened to my lovely orange layout with Anna's banner? Why has it gone all grey and boring? I hate it and it hasn't happened with my permission.

You'll know that I'm pretty technically useless. Google hasn't helped me. So, can any geeks tell me what's happened and how do I restore my lovely blog to its former glory?

Wahaca - smile inducing Mexican street food

Last week I read a mouthwatering review of the Mexican street food restaurant Wahaca over on Katy Riddle's Feel-good Foodbook blog. Her photos and write-up looked so enticing and as I had to go to London for FE on Monday, I decided I had to try it out.

Well, the first thing I have to say is that Katy can write a cracking review. She was bang on about the quality and flavour of the food. It was absolutely delicious. I went to the Covent Garden branch which is about 15 minutes' walk from Westminster. You can't book a table, but, although the restaurant was busy, I was served straight away and the staff were very friendly. Nobody looked at me oddly for being on my own.

After an interesting and intense 3 hour meeting, I wanted to relax with one of these:

 I think I must have been drinking the wrong kind of tequila before because this had a much richer flavour than any I'd had before.

I decided to order Chicken Taquitos - spicy chicken in deep fried tortillas with salsa, sour cream and cheese on top. It looked very pretty and, like everything else I ate, had an almost perfect balance of flavour and texture. The crunch of the tortilla, the spicy heat of the chicken with the sourness of the cheese and the coolness of the  cream with the crispness of the lettuce. It was the sort of food it made me happy to eat.

I'm not a huge lover of beans, but Katy had gone on so much about the Frijoles that I really had to try them. They gave a warm, carby hit that would keep me feeling full and satisfied for a good while and I loved how they looked when the cream was all marbled in with the beans.

I can't ever turn down guacamole. It's one of my favourite foods and I've tried many different versions over the years. Wahaca's stacked up both in looks and flavour. A good amount of spice with cool avocado, sour lime and flavoursome red onion.

After all that, I was quite full. But after a few minutes I decided I could fit in another dish Katy had recommended - the salted caramel ice cream. Again it was perfectly balanced. Often when I've had salted caramel stuff before it's been a bit too salty, but this left in a bit of balancing sweetness. I also liked the fact that they gave me a spoon that matched my Kindle. I doubt it was deliberate but it appealed to me.

 The decor kind of makes you feel like you're eating with the sun on your back. I liked the white brick walls, the metal shutters, the faux stone banquettes and the brightly coloured tiles.

The atmosphere was not a million miles away from the Zumba class I need to work this lot off. The music was loud enough to cheer but not too loud to inhibit conversation.

One thing that struck me was that children were clearly welcome - not just from the stack of high chairs which were not in use at 10pm on a Monday night.

 The menu marks off which dishes might be too spicy for kids and recommends you ask your server for advice. That was a good touch.

All of that  delicious food and drink cost me just £20, which for central London wasn't bad, I thought.

One thing I would have liked to have seen was a statement on tipping policy. There's no service charge if you're in a party of less than five, but I'd still like to know that any tip I give is going to go to the staff and not the pockets of the owners.

I'm half tempted to go the Canary Wharf branch next Monday night when I'm down again. Any of my London friends fancy coming with me?

In which Grant Stott scares my daughter...

We've made it a bit of a thing to go to the pantomime at the King's Theatre, Edinburgh for the second last performance, the Sunday matinee, of its run. Normally, I don't bother booking until a couple of weeks before and end up with some awful seats in the gods that give poor Bob vertigo.

Last year, I decided I was going to book some decent seats in the stalls, so as soon as they went on general sale in February, I took the first row I could get three seats together in, which was Row C. So I assumed we'd be in the third row. Actually, no.We were in the very front row, right at the end, right next to where quite a bit of the action happens.

It was great to be so close - although I got to see up Allan Stewart's skirt a bit too often. The lady sitting next to us was at her third performance - she had two grandchildren dancing in the show.One of our reasons for choosing a performance on the last day was that by that time the cast are relaxing and having fun. She told us that the last evening performance has to stick rigidly to the script, so all the japing would be concentrated in this show.

Anna has a bit of a passion for ridiculous hats and she was wearing a tiger themed all-in-one hat, scarf and gloves thing. This attracted the attention of the cast and a few of them patted her on the head as they went by her on their way to the stage. Grant Stott, playing the Dolores Umbrage of villains, clad in a very pink and sparkly outfit, roared in her face at one point, simultaneously scaring the life out of her (and me) and delighting her. Grant was pretty brave himself, though, making  a couple of appearances on the hoist and wire, floating way above us. Mind you, the cute little baby goose had to do the same thing at the end. Inside said cute goose was a child of maybe 10 or 11, so I was very impressed with her courage.

I'd never seen Mother Goose nor was I even familiar with the story which was actually quite good - and unusual for a pantomime. I loved how, as ever, they had fitted in very up to the minute topical references to the script - from horse burgers to HMV.

Apart from the most irritating fairy in pantomime history, it was  very funny, lively show with the usual comforting panto cliches and double entendres. Tickets for next year's Peter Pan go on sale on 18th February so I'll be first in the queue to try to get the same seats again.

My booty has been well and truly shaken...

I do apologise for any distress the image in that headline may have caused you. I can assure you that no foundations of buildings were damaged as a result. At least not to my knowledge anyway.

I have been back at the gym. It's been a long time since my last visit. Too long. Yesterday I did some bike and treadmill and was knackered after half an hour. Today I went for a Zumba class. Sadly, the instructor's computer wouldn't work. After some hanging around, he put on a CD from 2010 and he and the rest of the class worked on remembering the routines. It was good fun to hear some of the old tunes. 

My fitness regime fell to bits last year as my workload increased. This year I must make the effort to tell the Liberal Democrats to sod off when they encroach on my gym time. I know that regular exercise makes me feel better and I should prioritise it. 

Oh, and by the way, I've thought of everything this year. Just in case it gets too snowy to go to the gym, look what I have here:

The first of you to laugh will be made to do this with me....

Anyway, it's getting pretty vital that I get myself fit. I'll never be thin, nor do I want to be, but I want and need to be healthier. 

Am back at gym at 9am tomorrow to get my new programme. My ambition is to get to the stage where I've not only had it upgraded once, but twice by Easter. Watch this space. 

Travelling companions

So I'm back after a hectic trip to London, made more chaotic by the inevitable rail delays because of the awful flooding in northern England. Getting there a few hours late is nothing compared to having your home or livelihood threatened or destroyed by rising flood waters.

On Monday I left Edinburgh at 11:30 in order to get to London at 15:54 and on to my meeting at Westminster at 18:00. The weather was dark, wet and gloomy and by the time we arrived in  Newcastle, the conductor's announcements were becoming increasingly pessimistic. Twitter had tales of replacement buses and being decanted off one train and on to another after much hanging around on cold, dark, wet railway stations. It seemed only chaos and misery were ahead.

Very luckily, our train was the one that people were decanted on to. Sadly, there weren't enough seats or luggage room for everyone who joined us.

My seat was at a table with a guy who spent most of the journey going through his iTunes library and ignoring what was going on. Opposite was a very bright and smiley 8 month old baby boy called Cooper, travelling to see  family with his Mum and Granny. They live four doors down from the shop on the Black Isle where we buy our groceries when we're on holiday so it was great to chat about the area and all sorts of other things. Little Cooper was a delight and showed a great deal more patience than many of the adults on the train. I found myself getting riled at one woman who kept telling this toddler she was with that she was going to smack her. The toddler was not even making a noise and was being pretty good, considering. I found the threats of physical violence towards a child much more irritating.

As I was getting ready to leave the train, two hours late in Kings Cross,  I saw a friend of mine, known to some as the Minister for Sinister, slumbering at the other end of the carriage. I thought I'd have a wee bit of fun, so rang his mobile. When he answered, he was completely freaked out by hearing my voice next to him and coming through his phone. He really jumped. I am quite proud of myself for out-creeping him for the first and probably only time ever.

We arrived at 17:54. My meeting was due to start in Parliament at 18:00. I reckoned that I'd be about half an hour late. I didn't reckon with a queue to get into Parliament that was about half an hour long so I arrived far too late. However, some good chat took place in the pub afterwards so not all was lost. I had never been in St Stephen's pub across the road from Parliament, on the same side of the road as the Westminster tube station. It's lovely - and the very nice young man behind the bar now knows how to pronounce "Glenmorangie" correctly.

I left King's Cross yesterday at 10 am ( having been up till nearly 2 at a fantastic party). On that journey, I was really lucky to have really lovely women to chat to. The three of us seemed to click and were soon putting the world to rights, talking about politics, religion, kids, all sorts. You're not supposed to discuss these controversial things, especially with complete strangers,  but I'm all in favour of it - the more people try to understand each other, even when they disagree, the better, in my book. One was heading up north for work, the other to see family with her gorgeous, dimply, smiley 7 month old, Lennox, who delighted us all. Again we were delayed, by an hour this time and he was just such a sunny, cute little thing who was completely unfazed by his confinement. It also turns out that one of them may have been at Braemar Youth Hostel in 1985 when I had my Summer job there. Small world, or what? Anyway, I am extremely grateful to my travelling companions for making the journey so pleasant.

By the time we arrived in York, there was only one train per hour being allowed in each direction. We were very lucky in that it was our train, with quite a slight delay, which was that one. The people from the 9:30 train had been left on a freezing cold platform to await for our arrival and they then faced a three hour journey north with no seat. I have to say, though, they were

The train fell silent when we passed through the areas worst affected by the flooding in Yorkshire andnear Darlington. Seeing buildings and trees half submerged made us all think about the lives affected. It really was devastating. The Government really has to get a deal on the flood insurance sorted as soon as possible. Going through it is bad enough. Making these people face the prospect, possibly the inevitable prospect, of it happening again without insurance is unthinkable. Our delayed journey is over. Their ordeal is far from it.

I'll tell you some more about what else I got up to in London later. Those who were also at the party can rest easy - what happened at the Ministry of Sound stays at the Ministry of Sound.

The Singing Kettle will never be the same again

Spout, handle, lid of metal, what's insiiiiiiide..the singing kettle?

When Anna was little it used to be obligatory to make twice yearly visits to see the Singing Kettle. We would dress her up as a pirate or a fish or a cowboy, whatever the theme required. For two hours we'd sing along to songs like Little Bunny Fou Fou (hopping through the forest, scooping up the field mouse and bopping them on the head), You cannae shove yer Granny off a bus and my personal favourite, The Week Kirkcudbright Centipede.

Now the show's stars Artie Tresize and Cilla Fisher, who founded it 30 years ago, are retiring. They will be really missed but the show will continue without them. They are auditioning this weekend for one woman to replace them from next year.

The Kettle is changing for good and the Happy Gang is no more. Let's just hope that they keep the same team at the panto in the King's Theatre in Edinburgh for a bit longer or all of Anna's live action favourites from her childhood will be gone.

And, just so you can see what I had to spend hours watching, not just in the theatre twice a year but on video in the house, here is the brightly coloured and devlishly infectious. Oh, and there were CDs for the car too. For a while, there was literally no escape. I guess I really should say a big thank you to Artie and Cilla for the many hours of enjoyment they gave my daughter and thousands of other children. I hope they have a relaxing retirement.

What a difference 20 years makes, Laura

Almost exactly at this moment 20 years ago, Bob and I were at Liberal Democrat conference in Harrogate. I just happened to casually glance up at a screen and see my name there - with an instruction to go to the front desk. It had been there since the day before.

I assumed, as you do when you're at Conference because, clearly, the rest of the world ceases to exist outside that whirlwind of debates and fringes, that it was something Conference related. The instruction, to phone my parents, scared me witless. There had been no reason to assume imminent danger. My dad had had recent surgery, but was fine. My sister was pregnant, but the baby wasn't due until Hallowe'en. My biggest fear was for my 90 year old Granny.

This was, of course, in the days before mobile phones. It seems strange to remember that such times existed. I had to get out of the Conference Centre and cross the road to an old fashioned phone box where I spent the next half hour.

Granny was fine, and so was Dad. And so was my sister, and my new baby niece who'd put in an early appearance and was in the Special Care Baby Unit in Perth. All I knew was that she was called Laura and weighed 4lb 6.5 oz. I didn't even have a photo as you just couldn't do that in these olden days.

We decided that as soon as Conference was over, we'd head straight up to see her and spend the weekend with the family. Here she is encased in bubble wrap.

Just a few weeks later, we were back up north and Laura was home. I remember sitting up late with her snuggled up on my shoulder watching Bill Clinton win the US Election. Here she is in her pram.

We were looking through all the photos last night at my parents' house where we were gathered to celebrate her 20th birthday. This one was taken on her first meeting with her Great Granny Annie.

It kind of mirrors an earlier photo taken 25 years earlier with me.

Twenty years on, the sweet and snuggly baby Laura is about to start university. I'm not going to put up a photo of how she is today - at least not without her permission because she deserves her privacy. Today, she's a feisty, brave, loyal, kind, generous (she gave me Chicken Pox once), fearsomely intelligent young woman and I love her to bits. Despite what she did to me yesterday, the mischievous little minx.

It's basic security practice that you don't go anywhere near my family without putting a security code on your phone. They simply can't be trusted. I must be getting better at it because it only took my daughter 4 attempts to guess it before handing it to her Uncle Jamie so he could put up a Facebook status about how I loved Android phones. I'm so glad people know me well enough to realise it was clearly a joke.

Before that, though, I had started to receive a stream of texts giving me facts about cats with instructions on how to subscribe. It was fine until they said they were costing me 25p per hourly text and gave me a way of unsubscribing. I sent the code, only to be told it hadn't worked and I was now subscribed for a year. I didn't take it that seriously, and Anna said she's heard something about such a prank over the internet and told me how to make it stop. A quick Google search verified that. I may have had confirmation that it was a prank, but I still didn't know who was responsible. There are four potential suspects with equal amounts of motive and opportunity. And Laura, with her boyfriend John, is top of the list.

She did try to kid me on that she hadn't see the actual texts and I, after the strongest gin I have ever had in my life (I think my Dad forgot to add the tonic), blithely and naively handed her my phone. What appeared next, was a Facebook status intimating that I'd joined the Scottish Tories, loved Maggie Thatcher and included the words "Fook Nick Clegg." It was such an obvious prank that I'd have left it up had she not actually tagged Nick Clegg in it so it would appear on his wall. I'm sure it would go unnoticed, but it's not the sort of thing that I could allow, in all conscience, to be there.

They say laughter is the best medicine - and there was plenty of that last night, along with my Mum's delicious Lasagne, birthday cake and very cute puppy dogs. What more could you want?

And, lovely Laura, revenge is a dish best served cold. I'll get you back. Someday.

Gruffalo author reminds me of my Granny

I don't need anyone to remind me of my Granny, Annie Souter, who died 17 years ago today. She was a delightful, kind and loving lady and I miss her so much.

However, Gruffalo author Julia Donaldson's open letter to Maria Miller asking her to intervene to make sure children have access to local libraries and the events they organise reminded me of something else Granny did. She took me regularly to the library in Inverness, fuelling the passion for books that's marked my life and developed into the wee bookshop/Amazon habit I have today.

We didn't have a lot of spare money when I was growing up, nor did my Granny, but she (and my parents) ensured that I always had access to lots and lots of books, something I'm very grateful for.

Yuck! Normal life resumes.....

That first day of normality after holidays is always awful. Last night when I set the weekday alarm on my phone for 6:25 am, my heart sank.

This Summer has been, despite the weather, one of the best ever. We've done loads. First of all we had the first week of July up on the Black Isle, which surely has to be one of the most gorgeous places on earth. I mean, look at this:

Bob also had the last two weeks of the holidays off work. While we didn't go away, we had some great fun at the Festival, seeing Alan Davies, Sandi Toksvig, Toby Hadoke, the Comedy Club for Kids, a very amusing debut show by comedian Hayden Cohen called Age of the Geek and a fabulous production of A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Botanics. The three links are to reviews I've written for Festival Journal and to the booking page for the Geek show. I will review the others when I get round to it.

We also had days out at Dare Protoplay in Dundee. Again Anna was a junior judge in the video games competition and again the gender balance of the teams was a cause for concern. There were only two women out of fifteen members of the winning teams. This s a problem because you then get the industry developing games that girls aren't interested in, or which show rape as a way of building character, or other violence against women. I wrote last year about the need to address this. 

We had our night away in Bearsden where Anna took over my Twitter account and we went to Jupiter Artland in West Lothian and the Scottish Deer Centre in Fife. 

It was all pretty blissful, really. I even managed to read a few books - the Hunger Games Trilogy and Stieg Larsson's Millennium Trilogy are both brilliant - and, of course, there was the small matter of Olympics addiction. London put on a spectacular show and gave a good account of the UK as a fabulous place to visit. And Team GB showed us the benefits of the UK working together to produce excellence and support our sportspeople properly.

One thing about not going away, though - people tend to think that they can still expect you to do stuff which means that you don't really get to properly switch off. And sometimes you end up doing it because it's quick and you might as well. 

Today came as a huge shock. That 6:25 alarm was most unwelcome, especially when it was accompanied by torrential rain. Mind you, it's really irritating going back to school in bright sunshine, so I guess we can't really complain about that. 

To add insult to injury, the first thing I saw in my inbox was an email from Amazon emblazoned with the words END OF SUMMER SALE. Just rub it in, why don't you? I know it was for a sale, but I don't really need any more encouragement to buy any more from them. 

I really missed Bob and Anna when they went out this morning. 

Now I have an eye-watering To Do list to get through and I don't think we'll stop again until Christmas. At least I'm sufficiently recharged to tackle it.

My daughter's Twitter "reign of terror"

Weeks ago, I got an email from Premier Inn advertising very, very cheap rooms. I decided to book one for a quick night away during our two week holiday. We're spending the time at home mainly because we wanted to do the Festival seriously.

I hadn't realised when booking that 12th August was the night of the Olympics closing ceremony, but you can't change the date with these cheap offers so, off we went. As it turned out, having some exploring to do the next day made the ending of the Olympics a little more bearable for us.

After a delicious dinner in the Burnbrae pub in Bearsden,we went back to our room and watched the ceremony. We were all laughing and joking about it. I can't quite remember how, but Anna started typing my tweets for me. I then told her she could be my official Twitter correspondent for the evening if she wanted, a challenge she embraced with relish and her customary quirkiness.

She loved it - and I was very grateful to those of my friends who chatted to her through the evening. At one point, I did actually utter the words "tweet what you want". So, for the avoidance of doubt, I want to make it absolutely clear that I can't stand Justin Bieber and I feel many emotions towards David Cameron, but love is most definitely not one of them. Oh, and I never said Twilight was better written than Doctor Who, but I am quite happy to admit to liking it. In fact, I even reviewed it here. It's a bit embarrassing that I said the books were essentially chaste before I'd read Breaking Dawn but never mind.

Oh, and, yes, I did blub my heart out when the Spice Girls came on. I love them and am not embarrassed to admit it. Those tears were nothing to what happened when Gary Barlow came on, though. How incredibly brave for him to tackle a pretty emotional song at the end of the ceremony, just before the flame went out, just 8 days after his little daughter Poppy was stillborn.

We'll never forget the 2012 Olympics, but Anna's tweets gave us an even more special reason to remember the closing ceremony. I had to save her self styled reign of terror for posterity, so here they are in a Storify thingy.

Nikki Thomson, 30 December 1967 - 28 June 2012

Many of you will know Nikki Thomson, a lifelong Liberal Democrat who fulfilled many roles in the Party. If you're in Liberal Youth and you've enjoyed Activate weekends, it was Nikki who first set them up way back in the 80s.

It's barely a week since Nikki told us the devastating news that her Cancer was terminal and that palliative care was the only option. That in itself came little more than a week after the official diagnosis. You will understand, then, how shocked her friends and family are to hear that she passed away at 2am this morning. It's been a devastating few week which Nikki dealt with much better than I ever could.

She was a warm, funny woman who did so much for her community and to help other people. I first got to know her on Cix in the mid 1990s. We found ourselves on Training for Trainers together and hit it off in person as well as online. In 1999, Nikki successfully proposed a motion to Liberal Democrat Conference condemning Nestle for the way they marketed their baby milk in Africa and committing the Party not to using their products in HQ.  Nestle put up a fight and took a room in the nearby Sheraton Hotel, determined to put their case to Conference goers. A crowd of us, including Nikki, James Graham and I, went to pay them a wee visit and put our views robustly and politely to them.

After she moved up here from London in 2002, she took a leading role in organising the annual Meadows Festival, which is a superb and busy event. As well as that she studied for an MBA as well as having a really stressful job with the Edinburgh Tenants' Federation where she helped make sure tenants' voices were heard. She worked all hours with groups, advising them and helping them develop the skills to do what they needed to do - which at one point involved them rejecting a housing stock transfer.

In recent years, she'd been seconded to the Council where she worked as a Project Manager making council houses more energy efficient, saving both the environment and people's bank balances. She lived her radical, liberal values in everything she did.

She also sang with the Edinburgh Festival Chorus and was a real help to me in encouraging a reluctant Anna to continue with her choir when she was having problems with motivation.

She also blogged occasionally at Nikki's blog. I'm updating what I wrote earlier because something had stuck in my mind about her writing about her choral work and the pleasure and pain it gave her and I couldn't find it. No wonder, cos I'd forgotten the main bit of the piece - it was written about gang culture and how long term investment in group activities for young people in creative and cultural activities could really help young people develop and grow up with a sense of purpose.

Apart from her Nestle triumph, there are another couple of memories I'd like to leave with you.  The first was that 2 days after the devastating 2011 Holyrood elections, she sent me a really intelligent, wise, brutally honest vision for the way forward which I absolutely appreciated. She saw with real clarity exactly what needed to change and was able to express it in exactly the right way at an emotional time.


The second, much happier set of memories was a couple of shows we went to see at the Festival a couple of years ago. The first was stand up comedian Toby Hadoke's Moths Ate My Doctor Who scarf. We were both big Doctor Who fans and we laughed ourselves silly that night - and enjoyed it so much that we went to see Hadoke in his Now I know my BBC show the week after. Two fun filled carefrree nights.


Stephen Glenn has also written beautifully about his memories of Nikki.


Her local Tory councillor has also written about her on his blog, which underlines her position in the local community.

And, finally, Liberal Democrat president Tim Farron made me cry this morning with this touching tribute.

"Very, very sad news. In the days when young Lib Dems and Lib Dems students were separate entities she was an enthusiastic and effective link. I was very fond of her. A proper radical. The party is poorer without her."

We all are. We miss you, Nikki.

A phone call to strike fear into my heart......

This week has been pretty rubbish, really. Nothing serious for us - although people I care about are going through pretty hellish circumstances which makes what I'm about to write so trivial. But then what would this blog be if it didn't have its minutiae of moans and trash?

I was very evil last week and made Anna go to school when she had a cold. My rationale was that if she had the energy to argue about whether she should go to school, she was well enough. I'm sure that sort of attitude in the Middle Ages that would have made me the person who said something like "well, I can't tell if she's a witch. Let's just throw her in the water and see what happens." I'm not proud of it.

This week has been a different story. She's had a hell of a cough, a sore throat and been completely wiped out by the bug that's going round the school on top of her cold - and she's kindly passed that on to me. I was fine Monday morning. Monday afternoon, I'm sitting with her on the sofa and suddenly I get all shivery. Cue an hour and a half's total zonkedness and since then I've felt varying shades of pathetic. Feel free to give me your sympathy. I seem to be on the mend now, though, although I thought that on Wednesday and ended up going to the supermarket. It took me till this morning to recover from that exertion.

We also have from time to time two extra children to take and pick up from school and the like. When I say take, the younger one most often goes with my lovely friend who lives up the road and I take the older one to a different school with Anna. My lovely friends have been taking her this week too while I've been ill and Anna's been off.

So, this morning I phoned a friend, got distracted for longer than I meant and then realised that the school had texted me to tell me that Anna wasn't in and there had been no explanation from me. I had phoned in every other day this week but had forgotten today. Just as I was about to phone, my mobile rang. It was the other child's mother, from work, beside herself because she'd had a similar message about her daughter. She'd phoned the school and they were clear that she wasn't there.

Now, I hadn't actually seen her get into my friend's car this morning, but I was sure she must have done. And these are not just random parents, these are some of my best friends and I'd trust them with my life. If she hadn't turned up at their house, all of 20 seconds away, I'm absolutely sure they would have told me. Even though you know all this rationally, the panic just imagines all kinds of scenarios. In my mind, she had either run away or been kidnapped. Her mother, understandably, was in just as much of a panic.  Just a few years ago, a wee boy was murdered after being dropped off at school by his mum on her way to work. After that, they put in a GroupCall system which alerts parents automatically by text if their child isn't at school.

Anyway, what seemed like an age later, but in reality was less than 10 minutes, the school had phoned again to say that she was there after all. Her mother and I have never quite been so relieved in our lives. She'd just been late for her first class and hadn't been marked in. It was a heart-stopping moment that probably took 10 years off my life, but I'd rather that they made that error than something had gone wrong and we didn't know until the end of the day. It's also good that they register the children in every class these days so you couldn't get away with what certain of my year used to do - get marked in at registration and then disappear.

Anyway, that all caused a bit of an adrenaline rush from which I'm rapidly crashing now. Must be time for another cup of tea.

Fathers' Day

If they gave Olympic medals for falling asleep in front of the television, my Dad would have a bucketload. That explains why, completely independently and 150 miles apart, my sister and I both bought him the same Father's Day card. It depicted a man lying on the sofa with the caption "Dad was an expert at watching tv with his eyes closed". Certainly once I'd seen that card, no other would do. Nevertheless as we set off to visit my parents this afternoon, I rather apprehensively hoped that the bottle of Remy Martin would be enough to atone for my cheek. I burst out laughing when I saw my sister's identical card already on the mantelpiece.

I should add that if they gave out Olympic medals for being lovely, kind, hilarious, wise and brave, he'd have a fair old haul of them too.

The other dad in my life is, of course, Bob. He is such a brilliant dad to Anna. The bond between them was sealed when, less than an hour old, she grabbed hold of his finger and wouldn't let go. He brings the creativity and originality that she so desperately needs and I lack to the parenting table. He takes her on adventures. The Summer I was ill with Glandular Fever, he presented her with a box with 50 or so cards, each depicting an activity, for the Summer holidays.her challenge was to use them all within the 7 weeks. Some she was literally able to cash in because they were for things she wouldn't like, such as going to the burial site at Cairnpapple Hill. She was paid for doing them! They had a whale of a time.

For her birthday this year, it was his idea to get her an underage driving lesson as he had learned with his mother on the disused airfields in Easter Ross as soon as his feet could reach the pedals.

I am incredibly lucky, too, that we agreed on how we wanted to bring her up. He unquestioningly supported my hippy, attachment parenting ideas. I could not have wished for a better companion on the parenting journey and I'm incredibly grateful for that.

I recognise how lucky Anna and I are to have our Dads around. My Facebook and Twitter feeds are full of loving messages from friends who are missing their dads. I'm thinking of them tonight.