This morning, I sat at the PC figuring out a sudoku problem, simultaneously sipping a milky coffee and eating a jam doughnut (I promise I brushed out the sugar from the keyboard afterwards).

The day was mine – with Akra Jr at school and Li’l Bhaji at his one-day-a-week nursery visit, Friday is my much coveted “day off”. Of course, there is the ever present mile-long to do list, but I wasn’t particularly motivated to start any of it.

The sun is streaming through the windows, a slight breeze stopping it becoming oppressive – the quintessential perfect day. It’s my little mundane microcosm of luxury… I love it.

I’m painfully aware though that it’s almost at an end. Oh, I know today is almost over – I’ll need to pick up Akra Jr from school in a little under an hour and a half (and the to do list is only half done, argh!), but my Fridays off are also in their final days.

In just a few short weeks, the summer holidays will be here, and while I’ll enjoy having Fridays as my sole Akra Jr/Mummy time, I’ll sneakily miss my coffee and doughnut (even though it’s admittedly rather rubbery and tasteless – well what do you expect for 10p from Tescos?!) and the chance to have an uninterrupted thought for a moment or two.

Once September starts, Li’l Bhaji will be starting at a sessional nursery for a few afternoon sessions a week – I’ll still get some “childfree” time, but not that regular luxurious stretch of a whole day, probably never again.

It’s the end of an era. Nothing stays the same for long. I’m enjoying the changes, I’m looking forward to the next milestones, but I’m going to miss this little island of solitude at the end of the week.

I’m going to miss the luxury of time.

An overheard snippet of conversation while on the way to pick up Akra Jr from school today:

Bloke 1: … was 23 quid
Bloke 2: 23 QUID?! That’s half a day’s wages, mate!

Not a particularly exceptional conversation, I grant you, but it did get me thinking.

I don’t know what the purchase in question was, but what a great way to view money! I think most people have a cut off point, below which a spend is off the radar – the cut off varies in life and among different people – £10, £20, £30… below which the transaction becomes an impulse buy without it registering as “real” money.

So – if you started to view purchases in terms of the hours or days it actually took you to earn it – would your cut off point be much lower than it is now? It certainly makes a £10 takeaway feel a lot more expensive and extravagant…

… are all in the same house together?

Yes, we take pictures of each other simultaneously, of course. Notice that Akra Jr and Li’l Bhaji wisely stayed out of the way (actually they were probably completely blinded by flash!)

In case you hadn’t worked it out, we had the great pleasure of Wintermute‘s and Famous Amy‘s company at the beginning of this week.

They’re currently visiting the UK catching up with family and friends and we were part of the whistlestop tour (although I strongly suspect that Wintermute at least was only here to play with the kids’ toys – there could be no child in the room and he’d STILL be on the floor, laying out new train track!).

I know Wintermute from my long-distant Croydon role-playing and pub quizing days, and he is also one of Akra Jr’s sponsors (secular equivalent of a godparent).

Bizarrely, though – this was the first time they’d met Li’l Bhaji. Which (given that Li’l Bhaji is 2 years old now) gives some indication of the last time we saw them. Li’l Bhaji was a bit shy at first, but soon learned to compete with his brother for the high quality attention they were bestowing – a lot of fun was had by all.

Let’s just not leave it another three years, eh guys?

… there’s a new logic puzzle in town.

It’s very addictive too – 3D Logic – a great little shockwave game in which you have to link up the coloured squares. Starts off easy and then gets fiendishly difficult.

Prepare to waste a few hours!

Do my children actually eat the cheerios we give them for breakfast?

Or do they spend the entire time on their hands and knees, spot-welding the little whole grain O’s to the floor?

Enquiring minds need to know.

I don’t normally buy insurance – well, I buy house and contents insurance, obviously. I even have a life insurance policy (Akra… don’t get ANY ideas). But those extra-long warranties you get when buying goods? I normally avoid them like the plague as an obvious rip off to the consumer.

Two years ago, I needed new glasses. At the time, Vision Express was doing a deal – a Grand Advantage card which cost extra up front, but offered a 2 year no quibble guarantee on the glasses and 3 year discount on any new products bought with them. As Akra needed a new pair too, and both our prescriptions are fairly costly, we worked out that we actually saved money by purchasing the insurance (using the discount part of the card). So we got one then promptly forgot all about it.

This would probably be a fairly short blog post, if it wasn’t for the fact that I chose rimless frames. Highly fashionable, suited my face – hopefully less intrusive and lighter to wear than the full-framed variety. The only thing I didn’t factor in was the new baby who was instantly fascinated by them even at a young age.

The first time they broke (just a few months afterwards) was partly my fault, partly their design. I was pulling a jumper over my head, forgot to remove my glasses first (as my previous pair had been a lot more robust and taken a fair amount of abuse). The pressure on the arm put pressure on the lens which then sheered in half. I was relieved Li’l Bhaji wasn’t in my lap at the time as he could easily have been cut by the pieces. Still, with the Grand Advantage card in hand, it was a fairly easy procedure – they fitted a new lens within an hour of me returning them.

Time went by. Several times I had to return to the shop to get them adjusted as Li’l Bhaji had bent the nose piece or the arm by grabbing them, making the glasses wonky. I was getting more and more fed up with the whole design. Cleaning them was a pain, as there were holes drilled into the lenses to hold the arms and the nose bridge, they were forever getting gunky. They never really fit comfortably since the first repair.

Then last night, Li’l Bhaji grabbed my glasses at bedtime and wouldn’t let go. It was a wrestle getting them back; I managed eventually but some damage must have been done. This morning while sitting at the computer with my morning cuppa at my side, I adjusted them slightly to push them further back on my nose. They disintegrated on touch. The screw had come away.

So, back off to the optician again. Akra had to drive me as my depth perception was completely off while wearing my old pair. I dug out my Grand Advantage card once more and expected a 30-second fitting of a new screw then we could go home. Nope. The screw had sheared away completely.

The optician gamely tried to see if he could repair them in another way, but snapped the lens in the process. Apparently they didn’t stock these frames anymore (what a surprise!) and would I like to choose a new pair to the same value? Needless to say, I chose some PROPER rimmed frames, they put brand new (but identical) lenses in them for me (a not inexpensive prescription, remember) and I now have a brand new set of glasses for nowt!

I feel slightly guilty though, that I’ve somehow conned them – even though they knew that my next sight test is only a month away (and I’d probably have ended up buying new frames then anyway). Still, I’ve certainly had my money’s worth.

I think I’ll be reusing these new frames even if my prescription has changed – will save me a fair amount.

I’ll be getting the insurance too.

I notice that salmonella in eggs is back in the news again (apparently due to imported EU eggs).

Published recipes and Food Standards Agency advice have always warned vunerable groups (such as pregnant women, very young children and the elderly) against eating raw eggs for as long as I remember (completely taking the joy out of licking the bowl out after cake-baking).

I always look for the Lion Mark before buying an egg, but apparently we still virtually have to treat raw eggs as a toxic substance, so why are we not falling over aisles worth of pasteurized eggs in the supermarket?

After all, you can’t buy unpasteurized milk for love nor money these days – supposedly too risky for the average consumer. I know that pasteurized eggs don’t just come in powdered form, because I’ve seen lemon curd with the ingredients “pasteurized egg (fresh)”. A company in the US has started marketing pasteurized eggs in their shells, so it’s obviously possible, but nothing on the shelves of my local Sainsburys.

Anyone know how they actually pasteurize an egg? Is it prohibitively expensive or difficult? Is the flavour/quality radically affected by pasteurizing them? It just seems such an obvious solution to the problem, to me.

I have recently been asked to be a (hopefully regular) contributor to Chocablog – if you can’t guess by the title, it’s a fabulously tasty blog about all things chocolatey.

If you’re interested, then I’ve just completed my first review: Cadbury’s Fudge.

We’ve just returned from a very mini-blog meet (otherwise entitled “getting together with weirdos from the Internet”). We met up with Tangerinecath and her beautiful little girl again and also got to meet up with Apple (of Babies Everywhere fame) and her other half.

A good time was had by all. Food at the The Observatory (Beefeater) was very good, and we even managed to eat a desert this time (although I still think only five maltesers in a maltesers icecream is a bit of a swizz!). Li’l Bhaji in particular enjoyed the extra attention, slurping his melted icecream very noisily as soon as he realised it raised a laugh.

After the meal we got to retire to the pub garden with a pint. Apple looked on with amusement (or could have been abject horror at what she was letting herself in for – being in the final, uncomfortable stages of pregnancy with her first child) while Cath and I chased after escaping children, snatching conversation in the brief moments we got to stand still.

A great afternoon though, must do it again soon. Only next time, don’t let me be the one to work out the bill – Apple, I’m really sorry – I can’t add up just after a big meal and when I’m all sleepy in the sun – I think I owe your other half about £4. Settle up next time?

No, not an impassioned plea for comments (although comments are always very welcome, hint hint) but Li’l Bhaji’s latest party trick.

Ages ago, we gave the boys one of our old mobile phones as a toy – far more satisfying for a child to play with the “real thing” than a multi-coloured plastic lump that looks nothing like Mummy’s or Daddy’s mobiles.

Li’l Bhaji has become fascinated with the concept of a telephone, crawling up onto my lap if the landline rings shouting “‘LO, NANA!” at the poor unsuspecting caller (usually Akra’s boss – I’m sure that goes down well). Today, however, he’s discovered the aforementioned old mobile and has begun a peculiar ritual.

He starts off sat down in the study, purposefully presses a couple of buttons on the phone and lifts it to his ear. “‘lo? ‘lo?”. He then gets up, moving to the window at the front of the house, still saying “‘lo? ‘lo?” then ends up in the hallway by the front door. He then presses a few more buttons with a very serious face and comes back to us looking smug and self-satisfied.

Can you tell his father has problems with mobile reception in our house?!!