So the papers are all up in arms because Gwyneth Paltrow says that England is a dirty, rainy country with shocking customer service.

I'll give her rainy (she said, as the rain battered her bedroom skylight) and I'll give her atrocious customer service, but I really don't think that London is any dirtier than, say, New York.

I had a mini-epiphany this afternoon, when I was outside on guard duty making sure that Sophie didn't pogo straight through our kitchen window.

(Conversation this morning in Tesco's :
Her : "Mom! A pogo-stick! I've always dreamed of having a pogo-stick!"
Me : "Well, you have enough money saved up ..."
Her : "Well, that's easy then."
And so it was.)

Anyway, the sun was shining (it does that, briefly, every now and then, just to taunt us and prove that it can if it wants to) and I had a cup of coffee in my hand and the combination of caffeine and vitamin D made me realise how lucky we are, that we are all together, and happy, and doing and seeing all these new things. I'm glad we weren't too nervous to take the plunge and leave Durban five and a half years ago. We would have missed out on so much if we'd just stayed put.