One moment, we were going though all the names in our respective families, and laughing at monstrous possibilities of names like Albrecht, which abound in H’s Swiss relatives. The next, we were saying, ‘Oh, Albrecht’s on the move,’ or, ‘What colour shall we paint Albrecht’s room?’
I have a confession to make. No, not the sort of confession you’re used to reading from me; quite the opposite in fact. Since I’ve been pregnant, we’ve more or less given up on sex. I know; it’s disappointing, isn’t it? We really ought to have a better handle on such matters. But the thing [...]
I had been warned: strange old ladies leaping out from behind the racks at Marks and Spencer to grab you in the middle. Inappropriate advances from colleagues. But then, it happened to me.
‘You do not have your antlers, Mama Reindeer, so we must fill you up with soup instead.’
‘I’d say the chance of seeing the lights tonight at 80 per cent,’ says Anna, our host for the evening. I try to fight a sense of disappointment at this; after all, the sight of the Northern Lights over Tromsø made the news on Sky in the UK last night. ‘It’s a very good chance,’ [...]
I am not really the kind of girl who owns a wardrobe full of practical, sturdy outdoor wear. In all fairness, even if I did, this probably wouldn’t have helped me much when heading to Tromso at the end of this week. I am getting the distinct sense that no-one expects you to cross the Arctic Circle at 23 weeks pregnant.