Stories and Songs Meme

I absolutely love hearing the stories behind the songs that people love; the places it reminds them of, that moment in time that that song will forever bring to life for them. Obviously I have more than a mild obsession with Desert Island Discs and the Inheritance Tracks that they do on Saturday mornings on Radio 4 but I also harbour a secret dream that for my 40th birthday (years to go, people, note the plural) my Mum and Dad will do their own Desert Island Discs for me. I long to hear of the songs that they love, why they love them and what they remind them of and to have those moments bought to life for me.

Anyway, here I am in a blogging blah and needing inspiration. So I thought I'd start a meme. If Tara can goes the reasoning... What I'm after is a song that reminds you of something, that has a story for you. Not necessarily your favourite song or a even a song that you love, but a song that instantly takes you back to that time and place.

To start the ball rolling, I'll show you what I mean:

The year: 2004.

Dave and I were moving back to England from Bosnia, driving back across Europe with our worldly belongings stuffed into the back of our little Renault Clio (this being the pre children era we could get away with a small car). It was April, but still cold. We'd been camping all the way along the coast of Croatia, and had been rained on constantly. The previous night in a campsite across the water from Korcula, we'd put the tent up in a howling gale and Dave had insisted upon cooking dinner on the campstove. I'd been up for a local pizza, but camping mush it had been. The next morning everything was wet. Everything. Tent. Sleeping bags. clothes. The duvet was starting to smell damp and distinctly unpleasant and the car had that musty smell mixed with wet garlic and onions. It was cold. It was chucking it down with rain.

We packed up and set off on our drive in the pouring rain again. About 10.30 I ventured that I would quite like a coffee please. Dave, who well knows what happens if I don't get some caffeine early in the day, concurred and immediately turned the car right. I was impressed. The man obviously knew where a coffee place was. It wasn't looking promising, the Croatian inland was looking pretty bombed out and not like there would be a suitably marvellous coffee place, with sofas, fresh coffee, papers. You know the kind of place I was thinking of. But he had confidence so I believed.

Oh, foolish, foolish girl. We pulled over beside a wall on a very exposed hillside and Dave leapt out, lighting his trusty camping gas stove. The rain was sleeting down, the wind was howling, but that was not to deter him, out came the gas stove windbreak to ensure the flame didn't go out. The water duly boiled and a cup of instant coffee (with powdered milk for good measure) appeared just as a single lonely ray of sunshine hit the car. There was really only one song that could be the soundtrack for that moment and Dave started to sing it. Those of you who remember the Maxwell House Advert in the 1980s will not be surprised to know it was Johnny Nash's - I Can See Clearly Now The Rain Has Gone.




We sang it the whole of the rest of the way from Croatia to Calais. I had to laugh, there was no other option even being the coffee and cafe snob that I am. As Dave said, I do remember this rather disgusting coffee for far longer and with much more fondness than any other cappuccino in any other Croatian cafe.

I married the man for a reason. His addiction to the windbreak for his calor gas stove.


I know there are a few memes going around out there at the moment. But I'd love to read the other stories people have behind some of their favourite songs. Hopefully one or two of this lot, my very favourite bloggers, are not too memed out and have the inclination to take it on and then pass on to a couple of others.

Fanciful Alice
Insomoniac Mummy
Diapers and Dragons
A Modern Mother
Sticky Fingers
Nappy Valley Girl
Not Wrong Just Different
Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em
BabyRambles
Not Supermum
Paradise Lost in Translation
You've Got Your Hands Full
Home Mum of 2 (3 if you count their Dad!)
Perfectly Happy Mum
Motherhood - the Final Frontier
Is there a Plan B?
Moaning Mum
Angels & Urchins
The MadHouse

I keep thinking of more people to add but the list is getting out of control. If you fancy taking on the meme then consider yourself tagged! Just leave me a comment so I can come and read your post.

Overexcited in Zagreb

Much as we adore Bosnia, we do find that every now and then we need to have a bit of time out. Sometimes it is just nice to go somewhere where you can pay with plastic rather than always having to have cash. Sometimes we like going somewhere which has explicitly child orientated activities or even a cinema. Sometimes we like to go for a walk in parks that aren't covered in broken bottles, rubbish and graffiti. Every now and then we like to get in the car and drive faster than 50mph on a road that has more than one lane each way. So this weekend, we made a break for it, making a dash for the delights of the city of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia.

We weren't really sure what to expect. I've been to Zagreb before but only to spend an hour or so whilst waiting for a bus out. It's nice. Really nice. Looks and feels a bit like Paris, beautiful European buildings, squares with parks and tree lined avenues. Roads of cafes and some really nice looking shops and bookstores. There's a well developed tram system (hello activities for small boys for the day) and plenty of statues of men on horses with swords (yup, more activities for small boys).

The highlight of my weekend was a trip to Costa Coffee. I'm obviously easily pleased, but there was coffee that I could take away. Look Bosnians, and learn. Coffee, to take away. See? You put it in a cup and take it out of the shop. You could do it if you wanted to. You could also make coffee with hot milk which would be really good too, but I'd settle for a take away coffee venue to start with.

Then there was also the cinema. So good that we went twice. First with the boys to see Ice Age 3 (think it was pretty good but it was in Croatian so I didn't follow it all). It was their first visit to the cinema and it was a good cinema, a proper cinema. With huge seats and popcorn and places to put your drink and everything. They couldn't believe their eyes. The sound was even turned down a bit so it wasn't quite so overwhelming for small people, which is a trick that some English cinemas would do well to learn. In fact the cinema was such a hit that we went back, later in the evening for another film followed by some Thai food. Suffice to say that it was gooooooood. Bosnia doesn't really do Chinese, Thai or Indian food, so this was a taste explosion of the massive scale. The boys were placated with their first ever trip to a McDonald's. They thought the food was ok, but the toys that came with a Happy Meal were too exciting for anything. They are keen to go back to McDonald's as soon as possible. Fortunately for me, Bosnia is the only European country that doesn't have one, so we will not have to suffer the whinges for a McDonald's every time they spot one.

We also found the Zagreb Puppet Theatre, with shows especially for children. We couldn't resist a trip to see the 3 Little Pigs, which was in Croatian but that didn't really matter. The boys loved it; laughing hysterically as the pigs whacked the big bad wolf with sticks, booing and hissing at the wolf whenever he appeared and really enjoying the spectacle. It was rather wonderful, a great first theatre experience for the boys too.

Back home now and time to reflect. We loved Zagreb, found it to be an engaging city, with plenty going on and we'll be keen to squeeze in another visit before we leave the Balkans. But it did highlight how far Bosnia has to go to before it will feel like a country that is about to join Europe. The Croats are almost a part of the EU, the Bosnians haven't even started talks. The Croats feel closely linked in to Europe, the Bosnians don't quite. Bosnia is unmistakeably European, but it really feels like it has some way to go before it feels like the rest of Europe.

PS - if anyone fancies a trip to Zagreb (which I would highly recommend it and I know BA fly direct for about £60 which isn't bad!) can I recommend the AB Centrum apartments right in the centre of town, who are not only child but also pet friendly and pretty good value to boot.

Our holidays. An almost wordless Wednesday

On our holidays we went to the Croatian Coast

Photo Credit: Oranges and Lemons

Most of the time we stayed near the sea, but we did also go to Dubrovnik to get some ice cream and a bit of culture.

Photo Credit: Lawrence OP

We spent a lot of time swimming in the crystal clear sea, the odd inland lake on the occasional island and many many pools.

Photo Credit: CC Chapman

Adam discovered what a jacuzzi was. This is the actual jacuzzi that he found. I'm sure that aged 4 the word 'jacuzzi' hadn't entered my vocabulary. Anyway it was fairly difficult to get him out. He is a man who likes a bit of luxury in his life. He is so born into the wrong family!

Photo Credit: Admiral Hotel, Slano

The Grandparents came too and spent plenty of time with their grandsons, talking, reading, swimming, playing and having a ball. Us parents made the most of it by catching up on a bit of reading and idling.

Photo Credit Somma1977


Luckily for us, being September, it was out of season. Got to love a bit of out of season holiday. The weather was cooler (meaning perfect temperatures for us Brits). It means that even in Dubrovnik it isn't so expensive and there aren't nearly as many people so there are much less of this:


Photo Credit: Marcel Oosterwijk


At the end of the day parents and grandparents indulged in a bit of this whilst watching the sun go down. At least, most of us did. My cocktail was delicately sipped with one hand whilst holding my youngest on the loo whilst he did his daily poo. Turns out you can't off load all parental duties onto the grandparents!

Photo Credit: KAZ2.0


A holiday to demonstrate what holidays should be all about.

Back to real life.... sigh

On holiday:

The Croatian Coast: according to local legend its islands are 'teardrops from God' and it contains 'the jewel of the Adriatic' (the stunningly beautiful city of Dubrovnik).

The weather: sunny, warm, light breeze, not too hot but warm enough in the evening to sit outside for dinner.

Activities: swimming, skimming stones, looking into fishing boats, watching very glamorous yachts swan around, sitting in the jacuzzi, sipping cocktails, strolling the streets of Dubrovnik and the paths of the nearby islands, playing with Grandparents.

Ice-cream: amazing.

Place to stay: Out of this world. Merits a post all of its own.


Back home:

Tuzla: 'an industrial town without the industry' (my father-in-law).

Fridge: empty

House: trashed and full of suitcases that need to be unpacked, washed and put away

Weather: Really quite chilly!

Lakes: Shut

Ice-cream: not being sold any more.

Activities: A list of chores as long as my arm.


How do we feel about being back home? Mneh.

What country are we in again?

Caught out once again by the semantics of this country. I was out and about near the east of the Bosnia, very close to the border with Serbia. This part of the country is a part of the Republika Srpska, the Serb half of Bosnia, usually known as the RS. It is very beautiful; forested hills, green valleys and the stately Drina River. This time of year there are cornfields and fishermen. The temperature is cooling to very pleasurable levels, it is really pretty Garden of Eden perfect like.

I'd been having a coffee with some very nice people, who had been more than welcoming and had offered me vast quantities of food and drink leading to us all having a very convivial time. They asked me where my children were, and I had said, in Bosnian, that the boys were at nursery. They asked me how the boys were coping with the language and I had replied that I thought they understood everything and that now they were actually starting to speak Bosnian.

There was a silence and then one of the men looked straight at me and in that sort of voice that says do not even think of contradicting me said that they weren't learning to speak Bosnian, they were learning to speak Serbian.

I forget sometimes about the realities of this country. If I had been to the south or the west of Bosnia, the men would have looked at me and told me that my children were learning to speak Croatian. The fact that these 'different' languages are as different as American and Australian are to English is neither here nor there. Nor was the fact that I struggle to speak any of them well, so to have to worry about who I am talking to and to remember to say Bosnian, Serbian or Croatian is way beyond me. It was important to them that I knew and that I understood that the language we were speaking was not Bosnian.

It is not restricted to the language. If you are in the RS when Bosnia are playing football you would never know it. Noone is watching. Their football team, the team they want to go to the World Cup, is Serbia and they are passionate about that. In the Croat areas of the country, they support Croatia (must remember not to say 5-1 at inappropriate times, the Croats are devastated, their media is imploding with grief in a way that I thought only the English could really do).

It is only the Bosniaks (also known as the Bosnian Muslims) who really identify with Bosnia. They speak Bosnian, they support Bosnia, they understand themselves to be Bosnian. They will do whatever it takes to keep the country together and at the more extreme end of the scale this involves trampling all over the sensitivities of the Serbs and Croats in the country.

The Americans say that they speak English. Chucking the Brits out of their country didn't lead them to insist that their language is American. It really doesn't matter what they call their language, noone is going to get upset about it. But, when the conflict here is so recent it becomes obvious that this tiny thing, a foreigner mistaking the name of the language they are trying to speak, is unbelievably important.

Suddenly I feel that 14 years after the conflict ended, Bosnia still has a long way to go before it can really function as a normal country.