- So you need to go and check this out for the first reason. I can not even begin to express how proud I was of her for these weekends. It also has had a big influence on the person she is today.
2. My daughter told me yesterday that her friend at school (older by one year), with an incredulous look on her face, did not know who Barack Obama was.
3. Iona (nee Mollie) was delighted to see the Donald Trump toilet paper I had put in the bathroom. I had to tell her that she was rationed to one sheet per visit.
4. She was up for drawing pictures of Trump based on this (although I had not mentioned any Trump mistresses to her). We had a really fun evening.
5. Iona also has a much better hit rate for countries visited to years of age than I have. At 57 years, I have 80%. At eleven years she has nearly 240% (26 countries for 11 y.o.).
6. She has always understood, even from when tiny, when our wanderlust is kicking in…
Iona (nee Mollie -she now uses her middle name) has grown into a beautiful young lady, as Tash’s photographs attest:
She also loves her doggie (PHOTO BY NATASHA):
Here are some of my favourite moments with Iona:
And read the full story… with the ending completed.
Sometimes you write just to get things off your chest. So I write this now because yesterday my chest was very nearly an ex-chest. Somebody inflicted GBH on Peaches. And damn near killed me.
I stay at work in a quiet corner of the car park next to a field on the edge of Exmoor during the week. It’s too far for a daily commute, until I start my new job in Plymouth. But this week we have our old buddies Eric and Ivana in from Bratislava for a couple of days home here in Totnes. They were going to come to work with me to see a British school – until they clocked Totnes (and realised it would mean leaving at 6:30am) and decided to spend the day here. Cooked us a meal for when we got home – nice house guests! So I was at home Monday night…
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Updated/edited a little
Essaouira is fantastic. A surfer paradise come summer and a step down from the madness of Marrakech. The people down there were friendly and the old harbour is a pleasure to mill around. I have travelled through Morocco a few times now, and it never fails to deliver: the amazing Ait Benhaddou, the film set town of Ouazazarte or driving up across the Atlas mountains to get there. Aït Benhaddou is an ighrem (fortified village in English, ksar in Arabic), along the former caravan route between the Sahara and Marrakech. Most locals, attracted by the tourist trade, live in rather more ugly modern dwellings in a village on the other side of the river, although there are a few families still living in the ancient site. Inside the walls of the ksar are half a dozen Kasbahs or merchants houses and Aït Benhaddou is…
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My post reblogged for Remembrance Day.
I never knew my Great Uncle Ron. He was killed in Malaya (as it then was) in 1941, serving with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. But the very mention of his name, by any of my generation or younger of the family to any of the older members of the family would automatically elicit the same response. Verbatim. “You would have loved Ron.” He had become a sort of family saint. Ronald Joseph Baxter had suffered from TB in his teenage years and was considered infirm, so was delighted to be accepted for active service at the age of twenty five in order to prove to himself, as well as to other people, that he was fighting fit. He was to die before his 26th birthday. Soon after training he was sent to Singapore. Ron was a staunch Christian and a member of the Oxford Group, or Moral Re-Armament, a…
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