End of an era

No more assemblies and end-of-term-plays
No more singing at long choir days

No more oversized T-shirts for messy, fun art
No more paper mache in the shape of a heart

No more reminding of PE kits and packed lunches
No more squabbles and tearful playground punches

No more weekly spelling tests or dreaded learning logs
No more writing about ponies and dogs

No more giving your teachers a gift and a card
No more sports days where you tried really hard

No more birthday cakes to take to your whole class
No more playing handstands on the freshly cut grass

Primary days are now over for you both
I wonder who exactly will miss it the most?

It must be summer

The cicadas are screaming.

The cats loll about on the tiles hoping for a reprieve.

Schools out and the Playmobil is up.

Siestas happen daily.

We ride before 8 in the morning or after 8 at night.

Clothes are optional.

Sundowners compulsory.

The festival of San Juan celebrated the official start of summer, a couple of days after the solstice. Lights, candles and lanterns were scattered over the beaches of Mallorca and wishes were floated onto the sea - not always in the most environmental way. At midnight, we rushed into the dark waves, to wash away any winter-ness and sins - except it was too cold for me and there have been many sightings of jellyfish, sea snakes and great white sharks. The kids enjoyed it though, and shivered their way into summer in the early hours of the morning.

The beginning of the summer stretches out in front of us; all sweaty and lazy, all unstructured and bare-footed, all hectic and wild - it's what we look forward to all year. The build up has been slow, the school term never-ending with frazzled kids getting hotter and sweatier by the day. To be dumped excitedly into 10 glorious weeks of freedom that is summer, at last.

Cats of Mallorca

Our fattie catties are approaching old age, sleeping plenty and looking a little haggard around the edges. Spring sunshine encourages them outside for a roll on the warm terracotta tiles and a mooch around the garden. They have plenty of cat spots on our mountain hideaway in Mallorca, places to snooze, in between gecko hunting and keeping the locals out of our property. I think they are pleased with their move abroad, having fitted in well to the customs and differences on the island, although I doubt they have learnt the language or got used to the foreign food - I wonder if they remember their Sussex beginnings.

And then there's the strays in our lives. They all live down the stables. There's Podge who turned up without a tail and full of tapeworms, there's Hairy Cat and Flash. There's the black and white one who is an irreguar but welcome visitor. Lavender who died. And our favourites - Teegy Babes and Jazzy Poo. They all hear the sound of my loud deisal engine and come running, demanding food before school and almost tame to cuddle.

Podge without a tail

Tiger Lily / Teegy Babes

Jasmine / Jazzy Poo

And because we feed them they have settled into the yard as though it's their own - despite the owners minor protestations. I therefore felt it was my responsibility to spay the girls and castrate the boys - if I could catch them. Teegy Babes was tamed by my youngest daughter who spent the entire summer with a piece of straw, playing with the curious kitten, slowly gaining her trust until they were the best of friends. The others were wild - but liked food.

The morning of the operation was upon us - the kids were apprehensive, the cat cages ready, the meat for enticing and some good thick gloves for me. Like a ninja cat catcher I got the two girls and shoved them unceremoniously into the cages and flung them into the back of the car - them yowling and leaping around their prisons with furious indignity. I did feel a bit bad, maybe they would have liked to have been cat - mamas. And off we drove.

"Mummy, the cat is out of its cage!" squealed the eldest.

I peaked a look in the mirror and the grey kitten was sitting on the back seat before flying around the car and landing on the dashboard. Indicators, mirror, break, pulled over - hazard lights on. Calm down kids please, Mummy needs to think here. Cat piss was going to happen any time soon. I hauled my stiff old body onto the back seat and prepared the cat cage for the second time that morning. By luck, Jazzy Poo was sitting, terrified, on the drivers head rest. Preparing the kids for some cat screaming and bleeding arms, I leapt on the kitten and hurled it into the upturned cage and locked it for sure this time.

All before dropping the kids off at school.

That time of year

Anyone who knows me also knows that I'm not a fan of Christmas. The magic is lost on me, amongst the shopping, the wrapping, the cooking, the Christmas fairs, the teachers gifts, the cards, the marketing madness, the organisational stress. I could go on.

I see magic in the everyday. The lambs that were born last night on the mountain with their umbilical cords swinging as they hurried to keep up with their mother. The vibrant sunrises and sunsets, a technicolor show every day for free. I see magic in the oranges and lemons which are abundant on the trees and the almonds which lay, uncollected, on the ground. The smell of my horses sweet breath and welcoming nicker every morning fills me with wonder and huge feelings of gratefulness. The frosty side of the field, the ever expanding tummies of the stray cats, the donkeys ee-aw and the wobbly hedgehogs who cross the road.

Magic in the morning

We are lucky here in Mallorca that the Christmas build up is less intense. There are a few Christmas markets, a carol concert or two, some pretty lights in Palma and a Christmas jumper day at school. I have managed all with little more than a deep breath and a good slug of rioja.

Magical balloons in Palma

With 5 days to go, you could almost say that I am calm.

Feliz Navidad a todos

Flying free

She hinted she didn't want to ride.

P gets stressed at the thought of homework building up, forms that need to be signed and bags that need packing for the next school day - which is a sad state to be in when you are 9 years old. I knew as soon as I saw her, as she wearily left the classroom, that she was unhappy; there were 50 multiplication sums and 10 spelling sentences to do for the next day. P can't think, or process, or have fun, until the pesky school work is completed.

I persuaded her to trot around for 10 minutes on Spot who enjoys a little jolly. She rides well, little P, but I can see she doesn't always enjoy it. After a cajoled canter, I built a teeny, weeny, tiny jump.

Go on I said. You can do it. And she did! Quite spectacularly. Twice in fact.

She grinned, I praised her and hugged the pony for being so honest.

"How was that?" I asked

She thought for a moment and considered her answer.

"When you go over the jump it was like there was a big hammer, hammering down my homework into the jump!"

Wow I replied. How does that make you feel?

"Like an angel lived inside me" she said, flooring me with her reply.

My 9 year old daughter had just explained how horses made me feel. No matter how life is turning out, how blue my day has been or desperately unhappy I felt; when I am near horses, it's like an angel lives inside me and nothing else matters.

To the horse who put the angel inside me:

Rest in Peace Mr Fletcher, thank you for teaching me, for allowing me to feel, for your free spirit and wild ways. I will never, ever forget you. Run free you crazy ginger beastie and I'll see you on the other side for a mad gallop.

Fletch, who rekindled my love of horses, put to sleep this week

My family and other animals

I awake, aware of a ginger cat staring at me, willing me to open my eyes. As soon as I do, I am pestered to feed the first hungry mouth of the day. The fattie catties enjoy their routine and branded cat food, still sticking up their pompous noses at the 'foreign muck'. The kids pour cornflakes in a bowl and munch on magdelenas but forget to hydrate themselves and he enjoys a coffee if I'm making one.

Oy, feed me

We roll down the mountain in new school uniforms and holding chopped carrots, ready to feed the horses, who wait patiently for the sound of my car to arrive. Breakfast is wolfed by Spot and lingered over by Kira. The stray cats and kittens skirt my feet gingerly, asking for food but careful never to get too close. Three kittens, one mother and a cat-with-no-tail are fed and watered, relieved that they found such a nice place to be wild in. They lick their paws gratefully, I like to believe, and wonder off for a snooze.

She's wild, tiny and full of worms or kittens again

Spot - the hungriest pony in the world

I drop the kids in their school and shove a pastry in my mouth before heading half way up the mountain to two horses, two ponies and one tiny lamb. All with rumbly tummies. Feeds are fed, haynets stuffed and a bottle of milk made.

And as I watch with wonder as the little lamb gulps down his milk, shoving his pink nose hard at the teat willing more milk to flow - I can't think of a finer way to start my day.

Nurturing 

Sports day

Great whispers and shocked chatter started the school sports day this morning, over coffees and behind Gucci sunglasses.

"Did you hear? About the lady who fell, she had 6 stitches and knocked out her teeth! She sprained both wrists and her child was hysterical at the sight of his mum..."

Sharp intakes of breath ensued, this was obviously a dangerous subject. The mothers race on sports day.

Oh how I giggled and remembered my spectacular crash in front of the whole school a few years ago in Sussex. The adrenaline that coursed my veins as I thought I was going to win, the feeling of flying and impressed my body could still run so fast made a hilarious story. And it seems there were plenty of stories to share, everyone had a calamity to report; of vicious competitiveness, of weeks of training for the event, of boobs flying and torn muscles.

I looked down at my shoes and wandered if I could do it.

Nooooooooo, my kids shouted. Pleeeeeeeeease don't do it, they chorused, not wanting the mother with a smashed up face.

So I settled for cheering on my daughters' efforts in the egg and spoon race - which she won of course.

Competitive? Us?

Sports day in Mallorca - the same all over the world!

Singing it like the Spanish

It's not her favourite subject which is a shame really, seeing as we intend to live in Spain for the foreseeable future. A loves learning Spanish, rolling the new words around her tongue and picking up the language easily. P, like myself, has to rote learn the vocabulary, the verbs make no sense and she looks blankly when our neighbours talk to her. Poor P, I know that feeling.

But we have a found a way to make a difference. Singing, P loves to sing. We spend many, many hours in the car driving to school listening to our favourite radio station Cadena 100. I listen to the adverts and chat, the kids squeal at the uncensored English pop songs and try to sing to the Spanish ones.

We all LOVE Sofia.

We blast the nonsensical words out and make up what we can hear. Until this:

After a Sunday morning practice, over and over again, singing karaoke to this fabulous pop song...we can all sing it like the Spanish.

With P being the loudest and most Spanish of us all.

10 lessons in 10 weeks

1. Mallorca is a hot place. Really hot. No I mean absolutely stinkingly, searingly hot.

2. There is no use for the inside lane on a roundabout in Mallorca. If you use the inside lane there is a chance you may be on it forever as everyone else is in the outside lane - even if they are turning left. I am now an outside-lane driver too.

3. Google maps and google translate are rarely correct. It does not take 35 minutes to get to Magaluf. At 8 o'clock in the morning it takes 1 hour and 10 minutes. I now have a 1 hour and 45 minute school run - twice a day.

4. They say the beaches in Mallorca are better than the Caribbean - we have yet to test that theory as I have never seen so many tourists in my life. Not one inch of sand or one droplet of sea was spare this summer.

5. It is very hard not to drink alcohol to celebrate the sun going down. Or a good barbeque. Or because it is the weekend, or a week night. Beer tastes better in the sun and we are surrounded by vineyards.

6. Palma is the prettiest, cleanest, smartest and most manageable city I have come across - we are looking forward to getting to know it better.

7. Avocados, limes, lemons, almonds and olives all grow in Mallorca - and in my garden.

8. Administration in Mallorca is one confusing nightmare. I have the Spanish version of the MOT next week, I have no idea what to do and which papers to take.

9. Bread lasts one day. If you cut it up it lasts half an hour before it stales. Best eaten fresh and quick.

10. Life is life wherever you are. It follows you around, it's boring and mundane in parts, stressful and sad at other times. But one thing is certain - it is a nicer experience in the sun, with a little tapas, some friends and a beer. Mallorca is a very nice place indeed, I hope we stay for a very long time.

New school

I am ALONE! For the first time in 9 weeks.

The girls went to school today and I forgot to take a picture, I don't know why. Maybe I was worried we would be late, or that it felt like a normal day at school - except this was their first day at their new school in Mallorca. An International school at that.

The school playground was full of tans, multiple languages, excitement and uncertainty. Their shoes were shiny, the hair short and neat and their uniforms unbelievably new and straight from the packet. The heat was starting to get intense already at 9 am as I waved goodbye, and they filed one-by-one into their new school lives. I felt proud, excited and alone. For these two wonderful little people had been attached to my side all summer, as we discovered the island and its ways - together.

On the drive home I reflected how far we have come since moving here. How settled we all feel. How much we all love it.

And once out of the maze of Palma motorways, I used the time to listen to Radio Mallorca and tried to decipher the chatter. It all feels so normal, so home, so right. Especially as I turned on to the country road to our house, hearing the sound of the sheep bells and waving to the shepherd - I knew I had a little while to wait until I got home.

New school haircut - it didn't look quite like this, this morning