Faith

Mine has been restored somewhat by the overwhelmingly generous offer, by a mere acquaintance, to loan her car for the week. Having geared up to go to the Isle of Wight tomorrow (booked the cheapo Night Flyer tickets and everything) the car (lo and behold) has started playing up already – is seriously overheating on even the shortest of journeys. I'd noticed previously that there was a suspiciously strange rumbling noise, emanating from under the bonnet once the engine had been switched off. On closer investigation it turned out to be the water in the expansion tank more or less at boiling point – seriously hot after only a 9 mile run to Gwenver.

Great. Yet another headache to be dealing with.

Having paid Matt to tune it only the previous day, and mentioning at the time my concerns about the post-drive gurgling, as soon as it happened again I rang again from the cliff car park for advice. He agreed to have another look, but couldn't find anything obviously wrong with it, other than the fact that the radiator's definitely shagged and on it's way out. Typically, such a prognosis has to occur at 7pm on the Saturday before easter Sunday and bank holiday Monday – really useful in terms of sourcing parts etc... Not.

So I was left with the agonising decision as to whether to risk the long journey with a strong possibility that the car wouldn't make it; or try and book train tickets instead, even though there'd be no chance of discounted seats, and knowing that it would involve two changes, plus two bus interludes where line works are taking place; or to cancel the whole trip altogether. I also toyed with the idea of asking someone if I could borrow their car but couldn't think who off the top of my head, and thought it highly unlikely as the school holidays is exactly when people do actually want to have use of a car.

And then last night, whilst having a natter to Jo from the choir, who was in the Acorn with her partner Lisa to see The Hummingbirds, I mentioned my tale of woe and dilemma vis-a-vis IOW travelling arrangements. At the end of the show, Lisa came down to say that she wouldn't be needing hers for the week, and I'd be welcome to it if I wanted to borrow it. Now how amazing is that? I was at a loss for words (not really like me) and felt so humbled by their kindness. Blew me away, so big thanks girls – appreciated!

So I'll be popping round the corner to pick it up early tomorrow morning, followed by a whirlwind pack, and then we'll be on our way. Yippee! Its not that I'm incredibly excited about the prospect of island life per se, but it'll be good to get away – leave behind some of the crap, and come back refreshed and revitalised (I'd better be – I've still got an awful lot of work to wade through yet).

And its always lovely to see our friends again – our annual catch-up/get-together. We may not keep in touch during the interim, other than a Xmas card, but when we do see each other, it's as if we only parted company the previous week. It's a very easy, natural friendship, which I really value, and the fact that we seem to have nothing in common, other than a shared history of being friends in Leeds sixteen years ago, isn't a problem.

So this first week of kids off school has flown by. Have been enjoying the weather, and the spate of birthdays, parties and various other social occasions immensely (too immensely almost). The 'Stitch and Bitch' night at Helen's on Thursday was a hoot – actually managed to get quite a lot of my backlog of mending cleared, in spite of (or perhaps because of?) the copious amounts of Martinis consumed at the time. Trouble was, when I'd staggered back to mine shortly after midnight, I remembered that I was planning on re-redding my hair again – wanted to be all fired up for Friday's gig. Decided to go ahead with it, even though I was desperate to lie down, but then by the time I'd washed my hair and lagged the Pillar Box Red goo all over it, I couldn't face staying awake any longer for the dye to take. Cunningly wrapped extra cling film and plastic bags round my head, as well as the oldest, tattiest towel I could find, and duly went to bed. In the morning, my ears were bright red, and even scrubbing with a scourer didn't manage to shift all of the scarlet stain!

What was worse, the kids blagged a day at the beach again that day – all of them keen to get in and catch a wave. But because I was really worried that the new colour would dramatically bleed if I went for a surf – might freak the other surfers there had my face been covered in what would've looked like blood (didn't want to have the search and rescue helicopter hauling me out of the water with 'suspected head injuries') I chose – yes, chose – to wear a black latex swimming cap in the sea to keep my hair water free.

Bad enough to be wearing a swim cap in the first place (not exactly the epitome of cool) but my ponytails also created a pair of lumpy, alien bumps on either side of my head that just looked ridiculous. The kids were mortified – and so was I, having to do the long walk of shame (low tide) from our little spot to get to the sea. An unbelievably embarrassing moment, but had to be done as far as I'm concerned. Vanity and confidence booster comes first before pride. But fair point – I really did look like a complete twat.

Honestly, the things I put myself through?