B-Boy wibble dancing, apple splatting cider mash ups and sing-clap malco-ordination issues

Well - last weekend was pretty special. My Sister, her hubbie John and my niece Lula came to stay. Seeing as they live in Bali these days and have been away for the last nine months. This was great. Ten pm on Friday night and we're dancing round the kitchen like lunatics as some funky seventies number blares in the background. Lula is dancing like a dainty fairy (and clearly not asleep), Fintan is breakdancing like a B-Boy legend (I taught him that) and Declan is whirling around in manic circles like some sort of midget dervish.

At one point I get down on the kitchen floor amongst the dead flakes of shreddies and crunchy cornflakes and kids biscuits and attempt to swim across the floor with Declan. It's a small floor and my breakdancing looks more like a stranded whale with learning difficulties flapping on a shiny laminate beach.

Either way - we have alot of fun and sink a fairly substantial volume of red. The next day after 3 milliseconds of sleep I am up. I am being dive-bombed with kids and the attack is relentless. Like the battle of Medway. Brutal. Real brutal.

We go outside and play "apple splat" to kill time. Apple splat is one of the great autumnal sporting past-times. All you need is a tree - apple trees tend to work best for "apple splat" but "plum splat" is equally rewarding. Find some sort of bat-like hitting device. I choose Fintan's bright red digging spade. And then get the kids to bowl you an apple. This can get tricky. It's best to teach them to understand the phrase "Take cover" "Duck!" "Incoming!" and how to dive to the ground in a split second.

The game was going pretty well until Lula recognised the apple supply as the secret stash of apples she had collected just the day before for "fairies that live in the garden. There are four hundred of them." For a short while it looked like I was gonna be accountable for the mass starvation of an entire enclave of rare fairies living in Chester. But luckily I was able to call her bluff and explain that they already spoke to me and were "really full already." Probably hammered on cider if truth be told.

After that - we managed a walk down the canal to the pub beer garden. Pub beer gardens with playgrounds are the best. The sun was blazing down on us, the kids were happy and we actually managed to have an adult conversation for a whole ten minutes before any child fell over and hit it's head. This is truly a miracle.

During this time I learnt that my sister and camping with bears definitely don't mix. Although if you ever get the chance to hear the funniest story about a baked potato, a tent in Yosemite and a bear - talk to my sis and John. Seriously - I nearly gave myself a hernia I laughed so hard.

And then - as quick as they had come - they were off again and there was a little vacuum where we had all been having fun and catching up all over again. No more talk of snake attacks on the way to nursery or walking to five star restaurants through paddy fields. Nope - back to reality.

Still - what with sis and I now being potentially the greatest writing dynasty since the Bronte sisters took up a quill (I look pretty good in a bonnet) - there's alot to look forward to over the next year. Two books out and who knows what next?

And Tuesday - I never even mentioned Tuesday. Sarah and I head out for a hot date to...Rock Choir. When I say this to people - they look confused / bewildered / and generally feel sorry for my wife.

"But singing is cool. And it's like a bunch of people singing rock songs. How much fun is that?" I tell them. I turn up and realise that I am the only bloke there. Even if I was Barry Gibbs they still woulda put me in the Bass section of the choir. It's good fun - but I really struggle with multi-tasking and am thrown by the requirement to sing and move my legs AND clap at the same time. I have new found respect for all the actresses in Sister Act. Sarah is pretty good at it and even seems to know what an octave is. I thought it was a type of olive. We leave and both of us sound like Clint Eastwood after he just smoked a cigar.

Which lead us to Sunday night...Sunday night and somehow I'm watching "attack of the fifty foot worm" on Backyardigans. And the sad thing is. Fintan's not even watching it now. But it's quite a good episode.

Right - I need to surgically remove Fintan from marble run which he has fallen in love with and take him up to bed. It's his third day at school tomorrow and he needs to be fresh and lively for it. I was thinking of breaking the bad news to him - "only another four thousand seven hundred and forty five days til you finish school son..." but I think that might be a tad cruel for his first week...you think?