Winter is fast approaching out here and I'm beginning to see how miserable winter can be when you're living in a country that's geared up towards being baking hot for eight months of the year. Technically, it's not even winter yet, but already the temperature is dropping daily, the sky is a miserable grey and when it rains it's just an unpleasant, English-style drizzle and nothing like the epic thunderstorms we had in January/February.
By UK standards it's not even that cold - 14 degrees today apparently although I dispute that - but I'm living in a house with no central heating, no fireplace and no double glazing. In fact, in the bathrooms and in our dining room have louvered windows that are permanently fixed open, which is great at keeping the place cool in 30 degrees but not so pleasant at this time of year.
Fortunately, we're coming back to England and Ireland for three of those weeks so hopefully the children won't start pestering me for something interesting to do until the end of July, by which time we will hopefully have several suitcases full of books, toys and games to keep them quiet until we can get them back to school at the 8th of August.
As you can probably tell, the honeymoon is over. I was told that between six and ten months would be the hardest time. For the first six months, you're too busy to stop and think. You're spending each day learning how to do stuff, you're meeting new people and doing new things for the first time. But six months in, and unless something has gone disastrously wrong, you're settled, you understand how everything works, you've made new friends, been round to their place and invited them round to yours. Things calm down, life goes on and you finally have time to stop and take stock.
Anyway, that's my complaining over and done with for now. I'm sure some Marmite buns, a pot of coffee and a second fleece will soon work their magic. Off now to give some thought to James' 10th birthday that's coming up next week...