dead brains don't dance

In future, don’t drive from Bristol to Norwich, and back again on the same weekend as the British Grand Prix at Silverstone. It didn’t help the journey that the Thaab overheated as we arrived in Norwich, having decided to develop a rad leak. A sachet of RadWeld courtesy of the AA seems to have fixed that, though.

That aside, ramtops and I had entirely too short a time with Harry and Clare, arriving Friday afternoon and driving back at lunch time today. There’s not much to report, aside from Harry being Enormous, and Utterly Wonderful, and Clare foiling our plan to secrete him away in our bag.

We (kalunina, Grandad, ramtops and myself) ate lasagne together on Saturday night, and Harry slept with Mac and me on Saturday night, in theory to give an unbroken night’s sleep for his mum. We suspect that she actually spent much of night awake listening in case of a Massive Grand Parental Supervisory Failure that didn’t happen: Harry slept until 1:30, scoffed the first part of the minski provided, slept another couple of hours, scoffed more, had his nappy changed (the first I’ve done for over ten years), gruntled a bit, and slept till morning. It went very well indeed.

So. We’re home, and missing the boy already: there ought to be some way to move Bristol and Norwich closer together.

[cross-posted from bubbamoose]