22AA

Noni needed some bras. Her breasts had grown, making her life uncomfortable.

So we went to our local M&S where a very friendly assistant promptly measured her up and declared her a size 32C.

I was hugely impressed -- but not for long, because as it turned out, our local M&S did not have a single pair of teenage 32C bras in stock.

We were kindly advised to try our luck at the Kingston M&S, which must be the biggest bra shop in the whole wide world.

Everywhere you look, there are shelves loaded high with brass. And an impressive display of the stuff hanging from millions of hangers. This is surely the place, we said.

However, the teenage section was almost completely empty... and we were told that adult design bras would not fit her, so we should stay clear.

Well, me being a no-bra person -- except for my running -- I was pretty much puzzled by that instruction but I didn't dare to argue. I know nothing about bra sizing but I think a 32C should be a 32C, no matter your age.

Anyway, the teenage shelves had next to nothing in Kingston, so we needed help ... Another friendly staff was found and asked about the whereabouts of teenage bras. "Oh, didn't you hear?," came the answer, "we've had an unfortunate incident here". "???" "Well, there was a fire last week, and all our stocks were destroyed ...luckily it didn't spread to the adult bras."

A day later, accompanied by a recalcitrant Dan on his scooter tram , it was back to our local M&S.
I told the staff that we must buy some bras this time, so another helpful assistant measured Non up again, just to double check. And surprise, surprise, this time she was found to be a 30B ... and there was teenage 30Bs galore at the shop, so we bought four pairs and left in a state of considerable relief.

But not before Daniel also had himself measured. He was found to be a 22AA of which he proudly informed everyone on our way home. Complete strangers were stopped to listen to his boasting of "Do you know, I've just been measured up, and my bra size is 22AA."

Holes for baddies

Dan's been digging holes in the front garden lately. He says it's for baddies to fall in if they come to our house. If good people fall in by accident, a vehicle with a grabber comes up to rescue them.

Half marathon

I'll be running a challenging mountain track -- the Silvretta half marathon in Austria on August 30.

It is a tricky one -- especially a steep, 460 meter climb in a three kilometre stretch, early in the run.

I suppose it could be worse -- if it was towards the end, it would be even nastier.

The usual advice is to start your racing career with a shorter distance. And a flat course. But I love stretching myself, and I feel fairly confident about this.

Also, I'm very practical, and there are three pretty sensible points to consider here:

1. August 30 in Galtur is perfectly timed for our drive back from Budapest to London -- and we wanted a different route for our return journey anyway. By contrast, the Budapest half marathon on September 6 -- which I was briefly considering -- would have involved an awkward flight back to Bud four days after arriving back in London.

2. I've always wanted to go to Galtur.

3. There's a children's race for Dan and a junior race for Non -- not that she's eager to run it. But Dan's interested in putting his hands on a trophy.

So, Silvretta half marathon it will be.

What do you prefer?

It's one of our favourite new-ish games with D. Yesterday, it went like this:

Me: What do you prefer, strawberries or raspberries?
He: Both.
Me: Boiled eggs or scrambled eggs?
He: Boiled.
Me: Trains or buses?
He: Both.
Me: Mushrooms or tomato soup?
He: None of those. They're disgusting, yak.
Me: Your turn.
He: What do you prefer, snuggling up to me or going to Bush?
Me: What a silly question, snuggling up to you, of course.
He: But you go to Bush so much...
Me: What do you prefer, snuggling up to me or going to school?
He: Both

Good answer.

Camping nr St David's

Beautiful Caerfai Bay in north Pembrokeshire.

Clifftop camp site, right on the Coastal Path. Ten minute walk down the cliff to a spectacular sandy beach. Steep cliffs full of daisies, foxgloves and butterflies. The sun was out, and it felt like the Mediterranean.

Camping was exciting. We didn't get much sleep though. First night, it felt cold, strange and very new; we were tossing and turning for ages before falling asleep. Then I woke up in the middle of the night feeling a bit rough. No wonder -- two of out of our three Tesco quality air beds deflated and we were lying on the floor.

The next day we bought some self-inflating mats in lovely St Davids's, so slept more comfortably... until we were woken up by the wind. It sounded scary; we thought the tent was about to take off. It didn't. But it could have.

The third night turned out to be the scariest, though. At 3 a.m., I heard an animal's paws pouncing around the tent. Then I heard a man's harsh voice: MAX! GET BACK INTO THE TENT. RIGHT NOW! YOU NAUGHTY!

I envisaged a blood-thirsty bull terrier ready to dig its way into our tent and attack Daniel. Nothing less. So grabbed two torches to prepare for the onslaught. I was lying wide awake for a very long time, listening out for funny noises that continued into the dawn. Eventually I dosed off, clutching the torches.

I should not have worried. In the clear light of the morning, I spotted the near-invader: it was a tiny black spaniel.

All in all, it was a fantastic break. The kids took to camping like duck to water. They loved everything about it: pitching the tent, cooking the sausages, cleaning up. There was even a fight about who should come with me to wash up the dishes!

Daniel spent most of the time on the beach, working on complex engineering projects in the sand. There was a fair amount of mud throwing, too, and playing "you can't catch me" with the waves. It was brilliant.

Noni loved kayaking, swimming and walking the coastal path. To much of her delight and surprise, we discovered nearby St Non's Bay which was extremely beautiful.

Just busy

David often says I'm the busiest person in the world.

I don't think he's right. But Non says for women with two kids and a great job, in my age group, I'm probably THE busiest.

Since late February, it's been crazy. My to-do-list is just getting longer. It's not chores I'm talking about. It's big issues like Dan's school place (lost appeal, now writing to ombudsperson to get the decision reversed due to a cockup in the way the council administered the process), getting prepared for a board (yet another failure, although a sweet one) and sorting out finances (a bad one).

And the moment I tackle one issue, another three pops up in its place. It's like the dragon in a Hungarian folk tale -- you cut off one of the seven heads, only to see three others sprouting out straightway. Or is it not a folk tale?

So big issues with never ending chores -- 24 hours never feels long enough.

On a positive note, I've stepped up a gear in my running, and feeling very fit. I now do 45 mins twice week, and love it. My first semi-marathon is in sight!

The tree

My daughter's school had a horse chestnut tree in the middle of its grounds for over a hundred years.

It was a magnificent tree. Everybody loved it, and it became a symbol of the school.

Unfortunately, it contracted a disease, and last autumn tree surgeons decided it was too dangerous. So a decision was made to cut it down.

The tree was removed -- at a cost of £4,000. Soon afterwards, a mature magnolia tree was planted in its place -- at a cost of £13,000.

I pay 1,000 a month for my daughter's education, and I keep being told there are no scholarships available for bright students with parents struggling with school fees.
So the figures nearly gave me a heart attack -- what a waste of resources, I thought.

And the new tree doesn't look good. They say it's quite normal after the trauma of being re-planted ... I don't know. Its leaves are brown, shrivelled up and falling to the ground in alarming quantities.

Hope it recovers soon...