It's been six weeks of stirring, opening half an eye, and then lying in bed for a disoriented minute or two wondering where on earth we are. It appears that it can take a little while for the brain to catch up with the body when moving house. It neither smells nor sounds quite like our home yet but each and every day, it feels more like where we're meant to be. The nights are a different matter, though ... the creeks and groans of an older house are going to take a bit more time, and waking up in a cold sweat, to get used to.
Picture the scene.
It was approximately 6.03am in a sleepy North Wales village. A bleary-eye mother had been woken from a deep slumber, probably dreaming of a night in the wilds of New Zealand with Aragorn son of Arathorn, by her excited 4 year old waving some sort of comic in her face.
'Mama, can we paint mountains?'