Mama

Lucy can say Mama. Or more specifically - "Ma", "Ma...ma" or "Ma-mo". Which is marvellous as she says it all the time to me - and the dog, the cat, her Dad, the lady at Sainsbury's, the pushchair and the recycle bin.

She actually has great conversations with me and Daddad but I have no idea what she is saying although I pretend she is like Elvis telling me what he has been up to since death. She talks to Mr Spoon on Button Moon too. She talks to the TV...

Hurry up nice weather.

So you think you know who you are...

Who am I? This is a question Lucy should be asking herself as she turns...oh...9 months old....

I can't give her US status because I never lived there past the age of 14, but her Grandma can. However, in order for her Grandma to give her nationality Lucy has to be in the country and in order to do that she has to have an immigrant visa anyway.

Entering the USA as a spouse or baby of moi is not easy, despite the squeeky clean beauty of our family. Nevertheless, it is reassuring to know that unless you have an IQ of 912 you can't fill in the forms anyway. So the only hurdles between Lucy and a new swimming pool / yearly warm weather, a red, white and blue life are - a job, many cati, parents, grandparents and an exchange rate.

If the great Saddle-Up West fails we will be heading North West.

Cheadle Hume mount yer horse....