A nice calm week following the frenzy of organising the Europa trip. Except I had toothache from Wednesday onwards, keeping me awake, sending pain into my head, making my gums swell up. I assumed it was just my wisdom tooth making its presence known, but Steve's mum convinced me to go back to my dentist in case they'd caused any damage whilst prodding around in my mouth last week. (I had my first filling ever two weeks ago. It wasn't the most pleasant of experiences. Note to self: avoid the need for future fillings if possible.)

Luckily I got into the dentist's on Friday lunchtime (I certainly didn't want to be suffering over the Bank Holiday), and she prescribed me some antibiotics, telling me about it in her Eastern European accent. Very calming. Until I looked up on the internet what she'd actually prescribed me. Rather strong stuff. It sounds like it will do the trick, but I daren't think about the list of warnings. Scary.

A lazy weekend, a bit of food shopping on Saturday, and Steve cooked Sunday dinner for us. This wasn't your simple "chuck it all in the oven and see what comes out" method, as used by me, but a far more complicated exercise involving roasting peppery tomatoey oniony stuff under the lamb, which had been marinated in yoghurty minty stuff overnight, and making mustard mash with potatoes and sweet potatoes, and doing something involving honey to the carrots and parsnips.

It was yum. I had two helpings. Euan (having stolen roasties throughout the afternoon) decided to eat only the mustard mash.

It also made a rather nice bubble and squeak for Monday, with half a bottle of peri-peri sauce added for a bit of a kick.

Oh, and it was quite a constructive weekend, as I cleared out the rubbish under my kitchen table so that all four seats can now be used, and Steve tidied up the spaghetti of wiring behind my TV, so I don't have to stand up and swap scarts and plugs every time we want to watch something different. And I ordered some bedroom furniture for Euan. I know, I know, he's three-and-a-half, and I'm only just getting round to sorting out his room. Shocking. But at least he has a monkey on his door. Not everyone has a monkey. Monkeys are cool.

So, I went to Germany at the weekend.

As you do.

Specifically, Europa Park.

After an evening of pizza and TV with the early arrivals Tom, CJ and Nicola, then a very early wake-up for the plumber on Friday morning, my house was no longer leaking. I packed a bag, woke Steve up, and everyone else (Mark, Rob, Paul, Dan) turned up, and the taxis arrived on time.

After a hassle free check-in we met up with John, and the ten of us advanced gradually towards security and the gates. I say gradually because by this time our group was quite big, some people needing cashpoints, some wanting a shop, some wanting refreshments, and some disappearing into toilets.

We gaggled our way onto the plane, but thanks to a shambolic boarding procedure from Futura (standing in for Easyjet), we couldn't all sit together. I grumbled and ranted about the injustice before settling in to read and doze my way there. The flight crew politely announced that they were sorry the plane hadn't been cleaned, but this was a budget airline so... tough, basically.

Germany was warm and bright. The forecast had said rain, so I was pleasantly surprised. We wandered dazedly into Basle airport (Swiss sector, apparently) and were efficiently met by our taxi drivers. Twenty minutes later we were crossing the border from France to Germany. We hadn't even realised we were in France. It's the island mentality, we always expect a big difference when going over a border, a change in the colour of vegetation, a subtle shift in the weather, the clouds, anything... nope. Just slightly different road signs.

We were dropped off right by the reception of the tepee village, and after a certain amount of arithmetic and discussion, we managed to pay and find our tepees. Fortunately, they'd put us in three adjacent ones.

They also gave us tickets into the park itself for the remaining hour of the day, so we made our way across to the other entrance, met up with the others (Chris, Wez, Ste and Laura had flown from down South), and went to the local Lidl.

Having bought an impressive amount of alcohol and snacks, we returned to light the campfire and start the drinking. The bucking bronco also provided a disproportionately large amount of entertainment, but tipsy people are not known for their sense of balance... I even had trouble getting onto the fidgety thing, and the sadistic woman controlling it seemed to be having far too much fun.

Then it was down to the lake, before we got kicked out for making too much noise by the tepees. I suggested skinny dipping, and received a limited amount of enthusiasm. Steve was worried that I'd get tangled up in weeds and drown, and he'd have to try and save me, and probably drown as well.

At least, that was his excuse for picking me up and dropping me in the lake, fully clothed. As a deterrent, it worked very well. Unfortunately, I only had one pair of shoes with me, which squelched for the rest of the weekend, and smelled increasingly of swamp. My camera survived, but my phone did not. For some reason, none of this bothered me. No, I don't really know why either. It was only a phone, after all.

It was great fun anyway. We went on all the rides we wanted, it only rained briefly, and everyone appeared to get what they wanted from the trip. Everything was clean and tidy, well-maintained and well-run. In the evening we all met up again and all went for a bite to eat in a nice restaurant attached to one of the hotels that cluster around the park. I fell asleep on the table. I know, very rude, but etiquette sometimes has to give in to necessity. As soon as we got back to the tepees, I curled up in a sleepy ball on my mattress, but apparently the drinking went on until 5am again. I'm just not hardcore enough any more!

(Or maybe it's unreasonable to burn up so much nervous energy organising it all, and panicking, and ranting, and constantly counting heads, and worrying... and still expect to be able to party until sunrise.)

The trip home went smoothly, with a mild feeling of "Already?" We were searched as we passed through airport security, and then I was told I couldn't buy perfume as I was travelling to the UK. It would be pointless arguing the idiocy of this policy - it's not their fault - so for a second I was tempted to take the entire tester bottle with me by wearing it instead, but decided on another rant and a few minutes of grump. We were all searched a second time as we boarded the plane. Daft, if you ask me.

After various people had been waved off towards trains, we had a takeaway at mine, then the last few went home, and Steve and I went to spend the night at his mum's. This meant a nice lie-in on Monday, no washing up to greet me, no hoovering to do, and a day of complete rest guaranteed.

So we spent the afternoon watching Star Wars episodes I, II and (after a quick dash to the shops to re-buy it) III. No, I'd never seen them. Yes, I thought they were very good. Steve kept checking and saying, "You don't have to watch them, you can tell me if you're bored," but I couldn't wait for the next one.

I have the older ones to look forward to this weekend, because it was nearly midnight by the time we'd finished watching them, and my head was swimming trying to keep up with it all.

People have already asked where I'm organising a trip to next year. I'm still trying to work out if it's a good idea!

It's all busy at the moment. Thursday was the only day last week that Euan was with Karl's parents, and I went out for a chat and a few drinks with Andrea. Had a really good night, and the first proper catch-up in ages.

My gas meter was finally changed on Saturday, after four missed appointments. I'll see what kind of compensation I get, but when I asked (after one had been missed) the nice man said it was £20 each time. So I'm hoping for at least £80. Then I went for an eye test, which Euan thought was fun. Then we got Euan's hair cut, by a proper hairdresser, and he managed to keep both of his ears so he must have been sitting nice and still.

Then on to Toys R Us in Chester, because I'd promised Euan a sandpit. He'd been playing with his diggers again, and was looking for anything that could be scooped, from budgie food to mud. We did buy a sandpit and bouncy balls for Euan, but we also got a Artoo-Potatoo (to go with Steve's Darth Tater and Spud Trooper), and an i-Dog, which responds to music with flashing lights and dancing. Oh, and a light sabre. Coincidentally, the same item I'd been very close to buying for Steve's birthday, but had decided against because if he hated it, it would have been an expensive mistake. It is very funky though, and doesn't sit in its stand for long before it's picked up again, for another wheeoowm as it's switched on, and couple of humming swishes, and the clash sound when it hits something. So everyone was happy with their new toys.

Sunday was Uncle Dan's first trip to the Jolly Jungle, and he had fun trying to keep up with Euan in and out of all the padded obstacles.

Today was quite possibly the worst Monday morning of the year. (So far.) It started at 4am, with Euan waking up for a cuddle. Not so bad in itself, and not that rare an occurrence, but when I got back into bed I could hear water running in the tank in the airing cupboard. Not normal. So I opened the window, and the overflow pipe that's been dripping for weeks was now gushing water into the yard, and had been for hours. It's easy enough to assume it's a stuck ballcock, it's not so simple working out to do about it in the middle of the night, in the rain. After padding around ineffectually in my dressing gown in the rain for a few minutes, I lifted the hatch and tried to turn the water off at the meter. It wouldn't budge, and I was being splattered by the overflow pipe, and the axe murderers behind the wall were very probably just about to attack.

So I admit, I bottled it. Had it happened this time last year, I would just have had to go and get more torches, and maybe some pliers, and found a way to sort it out. But Steve did it instead. OK, OK, I woke him up. I feel bad. Very feeble.

At least there was enough hot water for the morning. But when we dropped Euan off at nursery, I picked up a much larger bill than I was expecting. Then we got to work, and my phone was ringing straight away, and the second call I took was a thoroughly unpleasant man who started aggressively and ended up calling me a liar. I hung up (after the usual warning that I was about to if he didn't start playing nice), called the phone a fucking bastard, and burst into tears.

Which was a bit unexpected.

I was OK after that though. I must have needed it.

The rest of the day went quickly, I bought a compost bin at lunchtime and Steve, Euan and I spent the evening clearing up the yard. I finally put my bench together, having given up on trying to sand all the individual pieces. Steve swept, shovelled and shifted all the bark chippings and chicken poo into the composter (they used to be in a neat heap, but chickens have a wonderful habit of scratching things up), and Euan pointed out all the "Wiggly worms! Spiders! Woodlices!"

The chickens just watched. Except that Britney kept disappearing into their house, to sit on the laying box and puff herself up. She's gone broody. Not that there's even an egg there, but she doesn't seem to mind.

Did I mention my job's disappeared? Well it has. In the fortnight I was away, it was decided that all the County Court work would be done in a different office.

So when I went into work on Monday, I had three days of intensive training on my new job, before the person I'm taking over from went on leave. There's work in the pile that hasn't been touched for 18 months. Steep learning curve. Bit of a challenge. Ho hum.

Had a couple of days trying to get used to it - still debt management, but now I'm on Class 2 NI contributions. But they haven't contributed, as it were. So I have to politely encourage them. Ick.

Then another change for two days, preparing a "round" for outdoor calls, then going and knocking on people's doors. No, that's right, I don't drive. But since this was consolidation of training, there was a senior officer accompanying me who did the driving. We bumped another car before leaving the car park. The day got progressively worse from there on in.

I was shattered by the end of the day, and had incidentally learned a lot about cricket. Nothing I desperately needed to know, but it might come in handy one day.

Hello! I'm back! Did you miss me?

(If the answer is negative, I'd rather you didn't answer too vocally. Ta.)

So, I expect everyone's on the edge of their seats waiting to hear all about the holiday. If not, please shuffle forwards now, so that your buttocks are suitably suspended, and you are poised to hear my exciting account of the Spanish sun, sea and... tents.

It's a long one (ooer missus etc) so make sure you have a beverage to hand, and maybe a packed lunch. If you're a slow reader, remember to take a break every two hours to prevent accidents.

We made our way there in a predictable manner, flying from Liverpool, a taxi across Barcelona to the station, a train to Benicasim, a coach from the station and a short trek up a hill to our campsite. It took most of Monday to get there, but I'm glad we arrived late afternoon because the heat was incredible, and would have been worse at midday. The Spanish organisers were trying to allocate spaces for all the tents, but as soon as their backs were turned, everyone subtly shifted a few feet to form more of a camp, and try to avoid being used as a through-route.

There were three girls setting up next to us, all wearing the same style but different colours of polka-dot hotpants. As I sat there sweltering in my jeans, unable to change clothing until we'd put up the tent, I probably directed more begrudging looks in their direction than they deserved. But come on, who's that tanned on day one? They had no mallet for their tent pegs, so Steve kindly offered them the use of his large tool. They accepted very gracefully. Who wouldn't?

It was the first and last outing for our tent - we'd bought it in Aldi a few weeks previously, with Steve intending to leave it behind. I started out saying this was very wasteful, and we should take it home, but I must admit that by the end of the week I gave in to the heat, and it remained at the campsite. Any critics can try out my rucksack for weight and stand in an oven, with sunburn on their shoulders.

Ah yes, the sunburn. No holiday is complete without it, despite the best of intentions.

Tuesday morning appeared with a vengeful heat. We had slept late, because of our tiring day of travel, and woke up all sweaty and hot. Tents turn to ovens in the slightest bit of sunlight. I wasn't really prepared for this, having been a camping virgin a mere few months ago. So I lay there, on top of my sleeping bag (hindsight says we needn't have bothered, but we thought hot countries could be quite cold at night), unwilling to get dressed because I was already too hot.

According to the saying, "Horses sweat, men perspire and ladies merely glow".

Well, I glowed buckets.

I had warned Steve I wasn't really equipped to deal with hot countries, and he was very complimentary about my appearance throughout the duration of our holiday, despite occasional glimpses in mirrors confirming my status as the person who makes everyone else feel better.

Day one we headed down to the beach. Very nice. We put factor 25 on, and splashed about in the sea for a while. We didn't realise it wasn't waterproof. We spent quite a while in the water, and didn't reapply quickly enough.

So we burnt. Badly. I had comedy white goggle-marks from my sunglasses.

Is it not a textbook tourist mistake to burn horribly on day one? And we thought we'd been sensible too. We did manage to use the showers on the beach though, far preferable to queuing an hour at the campsite. And resulting in the same three minutes (approximately) of feeling fresh before the sun warmed through the cool dampness and recommenced our slow grilling.

So days two and three were spent being grumpy. Apologies to Steve, Nicola, Matt and Emma who had to put up with me. It took me that long to accept that sweatiness was a constant, decent sleep was impossible, and comfort was a distant memory. Once I got past this mental block, I was far more sociable, and happily sat there covered in sand, dust and dry grass, all resolutely stuck to my aftersun lotion.

I didn't particularly fancy getting drunk in the evenings either, as I was dehydrated enough without the help of alcohol. And I gradually found that waking up early (9am-ish) meant being able to move before the sun found us, and find somewhere slightly sheltered before being trapped in its scorching gaze. Nicola, Matt and Emma were quite happy to go out and get tipsy every night, but one look at them hanging achily out of their tents the next morning was enough to convince me that I was better off with a proper night's sleep. So Steve and I pretty much did our own thing, returning at least three lunchtimes to our favourite eatery: a restaurant at the top end of town (admittedly quite a trek) that did an all-inclusive festival menu with starter, main course and dessert, with beer or water thrown in. Air-conditioned restaurant! Clean toilets! At least an hour out of the sun for less than a tenner! We loved it. And still went to the beach once or twice to play frisbee, and then have fun on the dodgems on the way home. I freely admit I am quite competitive, almost to the point of violence, but I really love dodgems.

Steve mentioned Bond films as I came splashing out of the water in my white bikini, but my hopes of being compared to Ursula Andress were dashed when he explained he was thinking more of Dr No. Ah well, you can't win them all.

On about the third day (I lost track so easily), Steve was quite pro-active and motivated one morning, and constructed a whole latticework canopy of guy ropes to suspend a sheet from and provide some shade. I distinctly remember him saying, "If only I had a machete..." and thinking to myself how fortunate it was that he wasn't in fact, in possession of a sharp and hefty implement. He might have got carried away.

Eventually, after three full days of adjustment to the sun, heat and dust, the festival started. The Scissor Sisters were the warm-up on Thursday night. I doubt there could have been a better choice. Very bouncy, lots of fun. And Ana Matronic said something about there being a pool backstage, and that she would come back to any festival that got her wet. Gosh, I wonder what that meant?

To digress slightly, I was also a festival virgin. People ask me why I'd never been to a festival or even a gig before, and I usually respond with, "Was I supposed to go on my own?" and they give me a funny look, as if everyone is invited along to such an event by their friends at some point. No, they're not. And as much as I might have wanted to go to live music events, I was not "in the loop" regarding how to find out about them, book them, get there, or even how much one was supposed to spend on such an occasion. Resentful digression over.

After our first evening at the festival, Nicola and I indulged ourselves a bit at the pleasantly-priced bar, having ever-more enthusiastic discussions about anything and everything, sitting on the dry grass with Steve dozing in my lap. He woke up at about 6am, cold and achy, slightly hungry and hungover, expressing his displeasure at finding himself in a field, a couple of miles from the tent with little hope of getting the last coach back. It was a long walk back as dawn broke.

I was glad I hadn't taken Euan along. Prior to our arrival, I'd been mainly worried about the unfamiliar environment and the heat. I was right about the heat, but since so much of our time was spent being quite inactive until it got cooler, His Fidgetiness would have been very difficult to keep entertained. And taking him to see the bands would have been fun but hard work. "We're going to see music, Euan." "Why?" "Because it's fun." "Why?" "Because it's live and loud and bouncy." "It's too loud, Mummy." "We're already three miles from the stage, Euan." "I need a weewee." "No you don't, the toilets are disgusting." Etcetera.

Then Steve mentioned that Glastonbury had Family Fields where the sprog might get a decent night's sleep, find plenty of entertainment in the day, and be babysat in shifts in the evenings if he was too grumpy for music. Picturing Steve's expansively-proportioned tent at home, I suggested dragging Uncle Dan along too. At half a plan, it then stalled on the difficulty involved with obtaining Glastonbury tickets, but could be borne in mind as a potentially fun future outing.

The second night was The Strokes, Pixies, and Echo and the Bunnymen. I'll honestly admit that I can't specifically remember anything they played, but I do have a generalised memory of having had an enjoyable night. And then getting the coach back a few hours before Nicola, Matt & Emma, and having lots of lovely sleep.

So much sleep, in fact, that on Saturday we were up and about early enough to escape to the local waterpark, a couple of miles away, before the sun caught up with us. I'm aware that my descriptions make it sound like a malicious opponent rather than an impartial ball of gas a long way away, but trust me: with so much sunburned skin, it felt like an enemy.

So we splashed around in the warm water, dozed under a tree, and eventually wandered back to the campsite to prepare for the evening. An evening which included The Kooks (plenty of fun) and Franz Ferdinand (polished but fresh). We had sat down on the still warm tarmac in between, and found that when the crowd came back we were quite near the front. Crazy isolated bouncing people kept lurching into me, so I learnt to bounce them off again with a subtle push. Or a not-so-subtle shove if necessary.

I feel I must add that our best discoveries of the festival were the kebab stall (very yum) and the Vodafone tent. It was only a small tent, enough to span the dancefloor, which was underlit. There was a DJ mixing tunes from two mobile phones. Very clever. But not as clever as the dancefloor, which could either respond to stamping feet by playing a four-sided version of Pong, or could do any number of pretty patterns, reacting to the music, and spreading "ripples" from any tapping feet on it. Mesmerising, especially when sitting on the cushioned benches around it, enjoying the temporary comfort.

Sunday was our last full day there. So soon! We saw Coldcut, very clever mixing of videos, music and soundbites, with a bit of rapping as well. Although I think it would have been just as good without, because their rapper seemed to be getting his words from a phrasebook rather than saying anything interesting or original.

Madness were lots of fun. They were mad, in fact. We watched them on one of the big screens for a while, because there was room to sit down. We joined the crowd for Depeche Mode, who were fantastic. I didn't really know the songs, but it didn't matter. Placebo, which I'd been really looking forward to, didn't hit quite the same level. Maybe because I was tired (I'd fallen asleep for a while in between), or maybe because we were too far back. Or maybe they were just a bit pants. Ah well.

Monday was a wind-down until the train back to Barcelona. Our apartment was clean, cool, and had proper beds! And a shower! A fridge! A washing machine! It's amazing how much I miss these things after only a week.

Barcelona was much as I remembered from last year. We shopped, managing to find eggs, bacon, beans and bread. The bacon turned out to be a bit weird, but perfectly edible. We only had four days in Barcelona, so we made the most of it. Tuesday was spent up and down the Ramblas, walking past flower stalls, and animal sellers offering caged chipmunks, chickens and rabbits. Very cruel in that heat. Then in the evening we went for cocktails in Bar Milk - a bit too trendy for me, but yummy food, reasonably priced. Then we wandered on until we found a place called Small Bar. It really was. We thought maybe it was an ironic name and there was an expansive room at the back that we didn't know about, but it was full with ten people in there. Very nice though.

Wednesday we explored the lower end of the Ramblas, and Port Vell. The cinema complex didn't show any original version films, so we opted not to bother with an intensive Spanish lesson, and went up to the Olympic Stadium area instead. It was lovely in the cool evening, with a fresh breeze, and a long way above the smell of drains that the city seems to suffer from. All nicely lit and very quiet. We wandered around and explored, then walked back the long way, just generally heading downhill and assuming we'd find a big road and eventually a Metro stop at some point. Stopping for a coke in a bar that was clearly miles from the tourist track was fun - they looked at us like we were aliens. Nicola, Matt and Emma had been out again, back to Bar Milk, then on to Manchester Bar for the promise of Indie music.

We were up early on Thursday to go to Port Aventura, but between a bank that doesn't do Travellers' Cheques (surely like a bank saying, "We don't do banking") and another bank that stopped just short of taking a blood sample for their security checks, it was a bit late to get the train. So we walked to the Picasso museum instead. On the way we stumbled across the Spanish Prime Minister or President coming out of a building surrounded by serious-looking men in suits or combat gear. I hope they use anti-perspirant, as it was very hot. For a change. We asked what the crowd was for, got bored looking at a closed door, and walked on down the road. When we noticed people being stopped from crossing the road, we paused to look behind us, and watched as a convoy of twenty shiny cars went past. Then after the final car had gone, some walkie-talkie discussion ensued, the people with guns stepped aside, and everyone crossed the road. Including us. Then we said, "Why did we cross? We didn't even want to."

There was a queue for the museum, but we both read our books whilst I discovered the effectiveness of the humble fan. Not just a pretty souvenir! The museum was a large, air-conditioned building, with some pictures in it. And a shop at the end.
Then we moved on to the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's church that has been under construction for over a century, and is just over half completed. I hope I live to see it finished, because it really is breathtaking - even with a large portion of the interior covered in building materials, with people in yellow hats occasionally hammering or welding things. Nicola, Matt and Emma had been to see it the previous year, and had described it as "pretty, but basically a big building site". Strangely, that's exactly what made it fascinating to me: it was religion, but vibrant, shiny new religion, being pushed skywards. It was religion with purpose, instead of old stone becoming more dusty, worn and dated. I can see how inspiring the building of a church can be.

We went up the towers, which I'm sure are higher from the top, and I felt quite uneasy. Heights never used to bother me; it must be the disappearance of adolescent fearlessness. At the very top of one of the towers, the floor was mostly stone, with an oval of sheet metal in the middle, which I wouldn't walk on. Steve jumped on it. Repeatedly. It was only when we started descending the spiral staircase that I looked up and saw that the metal floor was suspended over the entire tower. Every few circuits, I'd look up again at the ever-increasing height, and point out just how far up it was. He'd nod happily, and lean out precariously over another balustrade saying, "Look, we've been walking down for miles and the people still look like ants!"

Once we were back on reassuringly solid ground, we headed back for a doze before meeting the others at Bar Milk again for tea. Home for a bath, a few vodka & cokes whilst commenting on the strange foreign TV, and an early night.

Friday was our second attempt at Port Aventura, but after a substantial breakfast we were a bit late for the train again, and the tickets took forever to obtain anyway. We found ourselves in Barcelona Sants station, with our tickets safely purchased, and a couple of hours to kill. So we hopped on a metro train or two, walked up a very big hill (with the aid of some escalators) and went to Parc Guell, another of Gaudi's projects. He only built a couple of the 70 or so houses he'd planned, but the park is nicely landscaped. We walked through it all, enjoying the views, and found our way to the entrance with its famous mosaic lizard. After the obligatory "tourist in front of landmark" pictures, and a couple of snaps of his wobbly houses, we headed back down and across town, in plenty of time for our train.

We spent the afternoon and evening at Port Aventura, heading back for the last train at 10pm, having been on all the rides we wanted. Very well-kept place, very friendly, and lots of fun things to do. Also the first time Steve's been on rollercoasters for quite a long time, so probably a good warm-up ready for the trip to Europa Park in a few weeks!

It was a nice last day, although on returning to the apartment the last thing I wanted to do was pack.

The flight home was luckily only delayed by an hour by strikes. The airport was manic, and there were plenty of people less fortunate whose flights had been cancelled.

It was raining as we landed. Ah well. Apparently we missed the hottest day ever... since records began. Don't we keep having those? Or is it just me?

So on Saturday night we went to see Superman Returns, which was good. Then on Sunday we picked Euan up and took him to see Pirates of the Caribbean - Dead Man's Chest. He declared that that was a "big telly". And he loved the fight scenes, and the dramatic bits with giant sea monsters. And he thought the tilting chair was lots of fun, and kept getting his foot stuck. And he didn't understand the "shh" rule during the quieter bits, and asked to go to the toilet four times. Not bad really, for his first trip. But we went to Jolly Jungle afterwards so he could wear himself out a bit.