We are back! Back from the south-west of Turkey, from a lovely villa in a little ghost town named Kayakoy, where there were lizards and huge grasshoppers and tortoises and 38 degree heat and so many ways with a vegetable. And water like this:

And ruins like this:

Hour-long treks up to the top of pointy mountains and back again, causing a few scrambly falls and blackened toenails and much, much sweating like this:

A sneaky tortoise in the garden:

and some grunting camels at the foot of Kayakoy, ready to ride for a few lira:

and a perfect villa with a shady, breezy treehouse and a pool which attracted dragonflies, frogs and bats at dusk:

There was one split lip, appalling behaviour at the airports both in and out, some thieving of gemstones, a little bit of exotic-creature de-legging and random crushing, daily violence and one blocked electric toilet on a boat, caused by some experimental throwing of shells down the loo, which caused the boat owners to don latex gloves and go fishing in it. Daily swims, daily ice creams, too much nutella and cocopops and the children’s first foray into fanta and coke, which of course made them mental.

I did a fair bit of this:

And read Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, Birds Without Wings by Louis de Benieres, May We Be Forgiven by AM Homes and Margaret Atwoods’ The Year of the Flood. And we ate out once a day and I forgot about domestic chores and how rubbish they are.

These guys had a wonderful time, with only a bit of blistering sunburn, water-logged ears, itchy bites, heat rash, some wetting of the villa-beds, sun-cream hysterics and wounds. Casper was very keen to spend the night in the melon patch with this guy, who protects the melons from wild pigs with his stick and his saucepan lid:

His family also harvest sea salt from the rocks, make their own bread daily from the wheat they grow and mill, sell tomatoes, olive oil, figs, peppers, honey from their hives, melons, plums, pickled courgettes and chilli, goats milk, bunches of oregano and thyme from the hillsides. It was all a bit humbling for this incompetent Waitrose snob. They also have a cottage to rent out at their little farm, which is cheap and cute right in the middle of their home industry, and close to the sea. Here’s the link if you fancy it: http://grandpasholidayfarm.blogspot.co.uk.

And here are the melons, and the brilliant bread (good with nutella and dripping butter):

It was awesome. And now we are home, and we have to cheer up, and start getting ready for impending new babies, and get used to walking the dog, and do homework and awful stuff like that. The dog seemed to have a lovely time with our flatsitters, although he did eat our curtains and our Turkish rug, a few shoes, toys, and a baby blanket. And he has learnt to escape through our gate onto the road and into the dog-forbidden-zone of our garden, which has seen me run/waddling after him twice in two days and having to carry him home in my arms, squirming and licking my face while the shock of the run/waddle threatens early labour and much oogling from neighbours.

AND IN OTHER NEWS:

I bought a Clarisonic because India Knight said I must, and Gywneth Paltrow says I must, as does every beauty blogger in the known world, and because through daily use of it, will slough off my mid-30’s skin, only to emerge as beautiful as Grace Kelly in her Hollywood heyday. It must be charged for 24 hours before use, however, and Mark has soundly schooled me in the ways of electronics and battery life and though I want to start using it now, like NOW, so my gorgeousness can emerge a few hours earlier, I know I must heed to the Battery Rules Of Life. So I have had to wait, and it is killing me.

I shall report back.

One more photo of that Turkish water.

Now I must go and pay attention to the small children. It is good(ish) to be home.