Asses

Mr B and I are still in decision-making limbo. ie, not making a decision. It feels like after a whole year of moving/not moving/moving county/moving country that we should be closer to a new house than this. Anyway, I think we're just keen to not make asses of ourselves (tenuous link) and make the right choice. After all I've had to do with house buying/selling in France, I'm not keen to do it again in a hurry.

Mr B took his turn at the sleepless night last night - endlessly thinking over what we could do (while I snored away in wine-soaked ignorance). I hope that doesn't mean it's my turn tonight. To chase away the depressive demons, we dragged the kids out for a walk in the icy sunshine along an uninhabited valley not far from us. Wandering along the edge of the skeletal vinyards, listening to the elephant grass rustling was therapeutic, I think.

Less therapeutic was Conor's encounter with the fence seen here in front of these unusually long-eared donkeys. I generally feel a bit sorry for donkeys - they often look a bit sad with their lot. But this family group (the other adult was a bit camera-shy) looked in fine health. We couldn't understand their reluctance to come over and get some of the fine lush grass we were holding out to them.... until Conor came into contact with the fence. Then we spotted the electric fittings on the fence... and felt like the most rubbish kind of parents.

So, I have shots of the donkeys with no fence blocking the way, but this is a handy reminder to me to be a bit more responsible. Mr B and I have probably been thinking of the kids' welfare a little too little of late - it's been an unsettling year for them and it's probably time to put them first for a while. Sorry, Conor, that you had to get a sore arm for me to get that message.

To start on my 'making it up to the kids' campaign, I delved first into Nigella Lawson's book for a fine chocolatey pudding. She always comes up trumps with comfort food.

They are very cute donkeys though.