Africa Vive - by Theo

My first night out without Kate and Rosie. As I waited for the metro the sense of guilt at abandoning my girls to go have fun threatened to over-power, so I turned to text to try to distract me, messaging my friend Aboubacar to tell him that I was go to Africa Vive and we should meet up. All of ten seconds later he and his brother Ibrahima were greeting me on the Metro.

Kate had insisted I went; the Africa Vive concert last year had been amazing, but definitely not for babies, especially after our experience with Rosie at WOMAD and the Planeta de Madrid. And I really, really wanted to see Konono No.1. Especially as it was all free.

As the three of us alighted at Cuidad Universitaria we became caught up in a whooping, excitable crowd of African expats - Senegalese, Malian, Congolese, Ivorians, and more - full of glee at the prospect of seeing some of the continents mega-stars for free. We were all early, not wanting to miss the beginning, and it seemed like we weren't the only ones with that idea. The queue for entry snaked for a good 500m as the security confiscated booze and food at the gate. However queuing with the Senegalese contingent was a lot of fun, as they weren't going to let being the wrong side of the fence stop them from getting involved in their compatriots, Da Brains, performance.

We finally got in and, after collecting some beer and water and glancing round the few stalls set up at the back, grabbed a shady spot on the grass near the stage. The event was very much a mini-festival with market, bars and an African tapas restaurant, albeit with just the one stage, but the change-overs were extremely quick given the number of performers in some of the bands. The first few acts - Don Bigg and Njaaya - passed by pleasantly enough as I hung out with Ibrahimah, Aboubacar and their Spanish teacher Carmen.Then Cesar and David showed up, sporting their back-stage wristbands and band-rider beer. Naturally, Cesar knew the organiser (of course he did!), and of course they hadn't queued! We hung out a bit more on the grass, before Cesar managed to snag the organiser, Mario, and blag a wrist band for me off him. Very kind. It turned out that AnneTerese, the american girl who had stayed with us in January, was now working for him. It's a small world. Especially when you know Cesar!Back-stage was pretty groovy - a free bar and tapas, plus an elevated viewing platform to the side of the stage. Definitely the best festival back-stage set-up I've ever come across, and I've been back-stage at a fair few in my time. It was from here that I got to witness the awesomeness of Konono No.1's hypnotic mbira and percussion playing, and the equally awesome crowd response, with some exuberant Africans leading a 50 strong group of equally exuberant Spaniards in a mass formation dance in the middle of the now swelling crowd. I was surprised there weren't more members of Konono No.1, though the six that were there did make a awesome racket, and while I still think they'd make for better sunrise music, watching them at sunset was pretty cool too! Their set seemed way too short, but it was excellent nonetheless. Sadly I forgot my camera, but David obliged with his blackberry!
Afterwards, we chilled out back-stage, chatting with a load of Cesar's old friends and taking advantage of the free beer. Sidy Sambi, the next act, was pretty good, but, though I love his music, I decided to leave during Salif Keita - the journey home would take about an hour and I had been up since 6am. But, more importantly, I was missing my girls!

The Invisible Baby By Kate

I've mentioned before that one of the really endearing things about Spain and the people who live here is how ready they are to lavish admiration on children. Babies especially get a lot of attention and Rosie, with her intensely blue eyes and tied-to-Mummy-or-Daddy mode of transport, is already a big favourite in our barrio. All the staff in the local supermarket and at least one of the neighbourhood cafes know her by name. Shopkeepers wave at her through their windows as we pass by. People continually stop me and ask after her or do the Spanish version of "coochie coochie coo" to her directly. I continually hear people saying "Que cosita!" ("What a tiny thing!") to each other when they catch sight of her.

To be honest, it's like being out and about with a diminutive celebrity. Rosie, of course, accepts all this adoration with equanimity - most of the time she doesn't even deign to so much as notice her many fans. A more persistent admirer might be rewarded with a smile, but mostly Rosie retains her air of blissful ignorance at the sensation she causes as she and I walk down the street.

As a Stay At Home Mum, this attention, although occasionally a little disconcerting (well, I am British, after all) is mostly very welcome, as days could otherwise pass without me exchanging words with anyone apart from Theo (or coos and gurgles with Rosie). Humans are naturally social animals and anyway, it's always good to have an opportunity to try out my bad Spanish.

So when we were back in the UK last weekend for Theo's sister's wedding, the change couldn't be more pronounced. Oh yes, the state visits to Mrs Berry's Nursery and the HRH wedding caused a definite stir among the friends and relatives assembled, to be sure. No, it was the stroll around Cirencester where the difference between Brits and Hispanics was most conspicuous.

It took me a moment or two to work out why it felt so strange walking down Cirencester's main street compared with our barrio in Madrid (it was even hot and sunny that day). Then I realised. It was as if the purple-wrapped bump tied to my chest with the little curious face sticking out simply didn't exist. It wasn't that people glanced at her then glanced away without comment. They just didn't see her at all.
I was starting to wonder if I was imagining Rosie's presence myself - of perhaps we had inadvertently crossed over into a parallel dimension. But no, eventually a mother of a toddler did say: "Look at the baby." I smiled at her in relief. My maternal vanity doesn't require copious amounts of adoration for Rosie, but I thought the motto in England was "Children Are Seen And Not Heard" - but Rosie might have been invisible, for all the passers-by noticed. I bet if I'd had a dog on a lead we would have invited more attention. Rosie, on the other hand, didn't seem overly bothered - although she got a bit fussy towards the end of the walk. I wonder if she's as impervious to all the adoration as she makes out.

HRH's wedding - by Theo

So, just over 2 years after Kate and I tied the knot, my little sister Hermione and her boyfriend Richard (who have been together the same amount of time as Kate and I) followed suit in style.

As my sister works in the wedding trade, as a jewellery designer specialising in bridal wear, they know all the ins-and-outs of organising a wedding. They also realised that one of the worst things about weddings, from the point of view of the happy couple, is having all your friends there but no time to talk to them! Their solution: hire a wedding venue that can double as self-catering accommodation and invite people for three days rather than an afternoon. Genius!

So Friday afternoon we arrived as Eastington Hall in Gloucestershire to find red carpet being rolled out (they had scavenged it from a wedding fair) and the bar being stocked. We made ourselves comfortable in our lovely en suite room over-looking the courtyard and pitched in. Most of the work had been done (though I did a stint of washing up after dinner) so we were largely able to hang out chatting with friends from near and far - Stu and Sam from Bristol, and Marit, Alf and Solfrid from Norway. I also managed to get in a game of cricket, which was fun, even though Richard's sister Jo gave the boys' bowling some serious punishment and I was out caught for 14 - by a tree! Dinner - a small, intimate affair for 50 - came courtesy of the Thali Cafe, Hermione's long-term part-time employer, and was absolutely delicious. Somehow Rosie slept through all the hubbub in a borrowed pram - we stuck her in another room and left the door open so we could see her. (We repeated the trick the next day - by parking her on the grass outside the dining room window!) Most people headed off to bed early, aware that there was a full programme the next day.

It began with breakfast. Orchestrated by my Dad it was mammoth, heroic affair of scrambled eggs, mushrooms, sausages, haloumi, bacon, beans, toast and 4 helpers, including myself. Delicious! More friends and relatives began to arrive, some in sumptuous clothes - Marit's traditional Norwegian garb, Jim's Kilt and Audrey's sari were particularly awesome.When spent a lot of time catching up with Tom and Claire sipping champagne under a shady tree, somewhere we seemed to gravitate to constantly over the weekend.It was perfect weather, only in the 20s but thanks to the cloudless skies and humidity, seemingly a lot hotter. Thank goodness for all the shade! We also got to show off Rosie to various relatives, including her little second-cousin Phoebe (with whom she got to practice her Spanish.)Then, suddenly, it was ceremony time! I was technically an usher, but I was viewing it as more a courtesy title than an expectation that I actually do anything, though I found myself having to step in and seat some of Hermione's old class mates who were standing at the back giggling like school-girls and too shy to take the spare seats. Then, after some suitably lame attempts by those on the front bench to make Richard nervous, Hermione arrived on my Dad's arm.Jewellery: model's own. It was a civil service, but nonetheless extremely moving, with my Aunty Monica the first to go, followed swiftly by my mother and I. Before we knew it, they were man and wife, signed, sealed and delivered.Champers, photo, strawberries in chocolate, a delicious buffet dinner, speeches, the arrival of Kate's sister/Rosie's babysitter Becky, and a Berry/Garrity football team getting a real beating all passed in a blur as Rosie slept happily in her pram.The speeches were particularly good - my Dad just about made it through his BAFTA award to Richard for Best Supporting Role, while the best man's speech had Richard reaching for the booze. Example:

A couple of weeks after the first Hollyoaks episode featuring Richard had aired we were walking along when I said to Richard " I think those people are looking at you." To which he replied "To be fair, people always look at me."

Quality embarrassment.Our friend Natasha turned up to DJ, only to discover she had forgotten the adapter to plug her headphones in with and, after her assistant Lucy made a round trip to Bristol to get one, it turned out it was broken. Still she soldiered on!In the end she did a good job of getting people on the dancefloor anyway - who needs beat-matching! In fact she did too good a job, as when she finally knocked off at 1am, a hardcore (including the bride and groom - you'd have thought they would have other things on their mind!) wanted to carry on, so they plugged in an ipod and danced til 5am! Great! Except for the fact that, due to the gorgeous weather they had moved the PA from the ballroom to the small lounge that opened onto the patio. A wise decision, except that the PA was now directly below our bedroom. Between Rosie and the thudding bass Kate got exactly 2 hours sleep, and Becky and I didn't fare much better.So the following day we were pretty much zombified and thus I eschewed the rather too energetic games of badminton being held. Instead I stuck to croquet, which was won quite emphatically by Marit's boyfriend Andreas. The Norwegians were also looking resplendent in their vintage gear, the garden party having a vintage theme. My effort was to wear the same shirt as the night before - kind of vintage!
All things come to an end though, even mammoth weddings like this one, especially when you are constrained by Easyjet's schedule. So after another delicious buffet, this time held on the lawn, we headed off with Becky to Bristol airport extremely pleased with the new addition to our family. And Richard.

Congratulations H & R!

The Royal Visit - by Theo

My parents are proud parents (my sister is very successful and accomplished) and even prouder grandparents. As a result our reception for Rosie's first visit to Cirencester last weekend was somewhat akin to that more usually afforded to Royalty or, at the very least, a former Big Brother contestant.

My mother runs her own Montessori Nursery from the ground floor of my parents house and, as her first experiment in childcare, she was keen to show both me and my daughter off to her current class. "See, this one survived and managed to breed" seemed to be the message. The children were fascinated with Rosie, all crowding round and poking her, so I quickly had to institute a queuing and viewing system.The kids had been hard at work. I suspect the nursery school may be a front for sweatshop based on child labour, as they had all produced lovely cards for Rosie, which Kate received on her behalf along with a charming bouquet of flowers.
We were then serenaded with songs as Rosie dozed peacefully in her borrowed pram under the shade of a tree, which is basically what she did for most of the weekend. After the presentation, however, it was time to visit the true Queen of the Berry/Boulton clan - Rosie's Great-Grandmother and oldest living relative at 93. It was wonderful to see them both smiling happily at each other.

Going airborne By Kate

Okay, so I admit I am petrified of flying. In the past, the only thing that would get me inside a jet and up in the air was a generous dose of Valium. Given the choice, I would rather travel any other way except off the ground. But sometimes it just can't be avoided. An important family wedding and work-related time-constraints meant flying between Madrid and Bristol was the only sensible way to travel on this occasion. Unfortunately, because I'm breast-feeding, Valium is out of the question. Oh, and did we mention that we would also be bringing a 16 week-old baby, somewhat prone to over-tiredness and not always inclined to feed to order? I viewed the coming expedition with something akin to terror. A shame, as that rather overshadowed the pleasant anticipation I felt about attending Hermione and Richard's nuptials, but there wasn't much I could do about it.

So I duly dosed Rosie with a little infant paracetamol to hopefully help ease any pressure-change headaches, timed her penultimate feed so she would be ready for the next as we took off, put her in the sling and joined Theo, plus bulging rucksack, backpack and baby-bed, in a taxi for Madrid Barajas. Rosie fussed a bit in the taxi, which didn't bode well. I gritted my teeth and told myself it would all be over in just a few hours time.When we arrived, the man at the check-in desk cheerfully assured us the flight was on schedule. He was wrong. With sinking hearts we watched the red strip blinking on the departures board. Damn.
With Rosie still in the sling I set off on an extremely tedious walk involving repeated circuits of the boarding area. She was disconcertingly awake. My plan involved her at least having a reasonable nap so she wouldn't go into the long dark tunnel of overtiredness on the plane and be impossible (or at least, very difficult) to calm down.

It worked - eventually. By about the fifteenth circuit, Rosie had got bored of the lack of scenery and nodded off. I kept walking.After an hour, our plane came in and we lined up to get on board.

At this point Rosie woke up and let me know she was hungry. That was a nuisance, to put it plainly. The Flight Plan had involved her feeding during our ascent (and descent) so the swallowing would protect her from the discomfort of the pressure changes. But Rosie was threatening to make A Big Noise if her hunger wasn't satisfied and soon. I hesitated for a moment, then sat on a window sill while Theo kept our place in the queue and allowed her to start to feed. As it happened, she had to curtail her eating almost immediately as we were called to board. Fortunately, the distraction that involved meant she forgot to protest too vigorously about her interrupted meal.Once ensconced in seats near the front, we fiddled with the infant seat-belting arrangement and got ready. We didn't have to wait long. With my flight-fear adrenalin shooting through me I felt the jet lift off and Rosie was able to resume her feed. Whether it was the calming hormones released by breast-feeding or my overriding concern for my daughter, I soon forgot to panic as we climbed to 38 thousand feet.

Once we were up and Rosie had finished feeding she started to fuss. "Here we go," I thought with sinking heart. As Rosie's wails started to reach a crescendo, a kindly member of the cabin crew took pity and suggested I take her into the galley area. With Rosie swaddled, dummied and hugged close into my chest I stood looking at the neat rows of aircraft snacks while rocking and shushing Rosie in my arms. Whether it was by these efforts, or the effect of the sound and motion of the plane, it worked. Within five minutes she had fallen asleep. I let out a breath and returned to our seat. Rosie then obligingly slept for the rest of the journey.
In fact, I had the devil's own job to rouse her sufficiently to get her to feed on the way back down - I joggled her and massaged her feet and ears in an effort to encouraging some sucking, feeling increasingly desperate as the pressure began to build up in my own ears. Just as I was on the point of giving up, Rosie suddenly got the idea of what was required of her and started to drink. Behind us another youngster started screaming. Rosie remained calm, sleepily sucking every few minutes as we flew over the Clifton Suspension Bridge and finally came into land.

Back in the sling, Rosie went straight off to sleep again as we collected our baggage and went out to our little welcoming committee of Theo's parents.

In fact, Rosie proceeded to calmly sleep her way through the car journey to Cirencester and after a brief awakening for a nappy change and feed, had a pretty decent night of it - as Theo and I gratefully grabbed some snoozing ourselves. Now I could look forward to the wedding.

...of which more in a later blog...

Having had one flight that was so much better than I could have hoped, I wasn't optimistic the second one would pass as tranquilly. It was bang in the middle of "evening fuss time", never an easy part of Rosie's and my day.

After an unsuccessful attempt at getting Rosie to sleep in her baby bed in the airport (we were ridiculously early - one of Theo's annoyingly over-efficient habits!!) I put her back in the sling and started doing circuits of the refreshments posts in Bristol's new terminal. The pattern at Barajas was thankfully repeated and after a while Rosie took a decent nap while I stopped off to chat to a couple of former work colleagues, who were awaiting a flight to Amsterdam and a pair of friendly middle-aged women who were about to go to Budapest.

Once again, we sat near the front. I almost blew the take-off feed when Rosie wanted to start supping ahead of schedule then, when I tried to buy a bit of time, roared her displeasure. Luckily (and this is a first) I managed to persuade her back on the breast where she obligingly stayed until we had reached our cruising altitude. So far so good.

Rosie was a bit too wakeful to be encouraged to sleep again so Theo and I distracted her with a nappy change on the spare seat in our row, then by waving a teddy at her and generally passing her back and forth between us until she started to fuss in her familiar "I'm tired now, Mother and Father" way.

Not feeling too hopeful, I swaddled her and repeated the dummy/rocking/shushing routine, this time in my seat. After ten minutes she was asleep. I felt cheered and distracted myself from my own flying anxiety by cuddling her, generally admiring her, feeling a bit pleased with myself and wishing I didn't have a streaming cold.

Once again, Rosie was very sleepy when I tried to get her to feed going down and once again she took a few swallows just at the critical moment. I wished I had someone to breast-feed me as the congestion I was experiencing with my cold meant my ears and head were feeling like a plunger was being gradually and painfully applied to them.

In an almost carbon copy of our previous landing, Rosie remained placid and dozy while we grabbed our stuff and put her back in the sling ready to head for home. I, meanwhile, had gone deaf. But given my fears - on my own account as well as Rosie's - I have to say that I passed the too least stressful flights of my life. Valium? Huh. Looking after a sixteen week-old baby is a far better way to get airborne without damp palms.

the Circus has come to town, to town... by Theo

As well as free concerts, San Isidro weekend also brought free Circus fun, to be found in a small park just off the Ronda de Toledo. Meeting up with our friend Rebecca, we arrived slightly late for the first event to find ourselves at the back of a rather large-ish crowd. The only way to get any kind of view at all was to stand on a little climbing frame!There were two events taking place. The first, the Kawa Circus, was straight out of Rajastan, a combination of silent story-telling, acrobatics, music, dance and magic. From the bemused faces on the Spanish crowd I could tell that the story being enacted - two rival suitors for a beautiful girl guarded jealously by her pantomime villain father - really wasn't getting through.
It didn't really matter however, especially when the story reached its pinnacle (literally) as the two suitors were challenged to ever more spectacular feats on the tight-rope and a top a 20 ft pole. Impressive stuff.After the grand finale we, along with Rebecca's friend Mel and her two children, quickly moved over to where the second Circus was set up to grab a spot. Unfortunately the girls spent so much time standing up chatting away, that they neglected to actually sit down and thus lost the spot I'd bagged for them. We ended up having a our view obscured by a tree. Careless talk not only costs lives apparently, it also costs viewing privileges at leafy amphitheaters.

The second circus was much more modern, a one-man show about a tramp in his shack, with loads of ingenious, self-made modifications, like a unicycle powered dynamo. It was a witty affair, aimed at both parents and children, with plenty of slapstick to keep the kids amused and a satirical attack on estate agents got a lot of laughs from the adults. There was also an excellent take on juggling which I hadn't seen before - instead of throwing the balls in the air he was bouncing them off a table. It struck me as potentially far more difficult as there are more things to go wrong. It was well done and a great little show.

The weather had thankfully stayed dry, so we popped round to see Bianca, Stefan and their newborn son Oliver in nearby Puerta de Toledo, persuading them out to a late lunch on a nearby terrace. A lovely end to the day.

Prams, dummies and detachment

A baby you can put down to sleep is a marvellous thing. But strangely, over the last few weeks I've found myself missing those early weeks when the only place Rosie wanted to be was in my (or Theo's) arms or at my breast. Despite having a few precious hours to myself to read, write, do a little housework or grab some sleep, I felt a little bereft. I fully accept that the main function of a parent is to ultimately teach your child to be an independent being who can sally forth into the world brimming with confidence and (hopefully) bonhomie. But under four months of age is a bit early for that sort of thing.

Facing a plane journey back to the UK made me realise why I was feeling this way. We were stressing because it wouldn't be practical to take our pram along. The stress was because it had become the one sure way of calming Rosie if she was "going postal" and a magical way of swiftly rocking her into sleep. How the hell would we manage without it? Sometimes in the evening she gets so agitated that she won't even take a calming feed as a prelude to bedtime. Pram rocking had become the only way to soothe her.

That went hand in hand with the dummy. I gave her one after realising she loved to suck for hours on end, but my nipples just weren't up to the job without doing inconvenient things like bleeding. But swiftly Rosie got hooked, until going off to sleep without her mouth being plugged with a silicone or latex approximation of a human teat was out of the question. Not such a problem, perhaps - except the damn thing would inevitably tumble out of her mouth as she dozed off, immediately waking her up again - which in turn would awaken ME as she mouthed frantically for the lost pacifier, whimpering loudly.

I decided I would have to wean Rosie from her dependence on the pram as a soother and the dummy as a necessary sleep aid.
In the end, the former was surprisingly easy. With the help of Dr Harvey Karp, I tried the 5S calming technique on Rosie - swaddling her, holding her on her side, shushing manically and loudly in her ear while energetically rocking her. After a few tries I have to say it now works like a dream and I can transform Rosie from a scrunch-faced, inconsolable screamer into a relaxed and dozy baby inside a couple of minutes. Unfortunately, the 5th S stands for sucking, so the dummy comes back into play if shushing and rocking doesn't complete the job. But she doesn't seem to mind it being removed once she's quiet and sleepy.

Operation Remove Dummy has had its successes, but it's still too useful a calming tool to abandon entirely. However, strategic removal of the damned thing (known as "The Dreaded" in our household) shortly after Rosie's dropped off seems to be helping the situation and she seems to be able to settle to sleep without always having The Dreaded stuffed in her mouth. I've taken to feeding her more often as a way of getting her back to sleep and overnight, it's much more effective than offering the dummy. Tiring for me, yes - she's currently waking up about every two hours. But at least she tends to go straight back to sleep afterward instead of wailing for The D.

But the main benefit of all that is I feel I've got my cuddly baby back. I actually prefer rocking Rosie to sleep in my arms or feeling her drift off at my breast to manically pushing the pram back and forth or shoving a piece of latex in her mouth. Once again I can comfort and calm our daughter, instead of relying on other pieces of machinery to intercede. Today she slept on my lap for almost an hour as I sat on the sofa holding her. Yes, I couldn't get anything else done. But no, this time I'm not complaining.

Planeta de Madrid

It's San Isidro week and, like last year, this means a flurry of free events taking place across Madrid to celebrate their local saint. One of our favourite events of last year's fiesta had been the Planeta de Madrid, which was held again this year (though only for one night this year - I guess 'la crisis' has taken its toll) and despite, or perhaps in defiance of our experience mixing Rosie with world music at WOMAD, we went along.

The crazy weather we've been having meant black skies and cold winds, though we're not sure if it was this or the skronky jazz of the Chop Suey Quartet, who were playing as we entered the arena of the Matadero, that upset Rosie. Anyway, we retreated to the Fair Trade tent to give her a feed and pop her in the sling, which seemed to relax her a bit.
We had met up with our American friend Anne and Senegalese friend Aboboucar, who was there proudly wearing an laminate for the next act, his compatriots Jac et le Takeifa, a fun family band mixing traditional Senegalese rhythms with Western instrumentation. They were good, and we had fun dancing to them at the back - we felt we couldn't get too close with Rosie's unprotected ears!
However the undoubted star of the show was the interactive children's area, though the kids were nearly out-numbered by adults (us included), fascinated by the sound sculptures it contained. From percussive devices that were a mix of abacus and catherine wheel and massive xylophones to amazing organs that involved squeezing a wellie or rubber glove to force air through a recorder (some operated by a barrel-organ style handle to play a simple tune) these were great fun. All clearly made from salvaged or recycled materials, it was a wonderful play park for young and old alike. Such a shame it was temporary - a permanent area like this in a local park would definitely prove popular.

New parents and the First Weekend Away By Kate

It was with a mixture of pleasant anticipation and dread (OK, probably slightly more of the latter) that Theo and I embarked on our expedition to Caceres in Extramadura to take in the sights and sounds of the WOMAD festival. It's been held in the city for the last nineteen years and as well as boasting quaintly picturesque streets and plazas as a perfect way to set off the festival stages, the added attraction is that it is completely free. Theo and I went last year and had a wonderful time watching some fantastic world music being performed in the May sunshine. So we decided to make the journey again this year, but with an obvious alteration to our entourage: we had a baby in tow.

Because of a long-winded problem involving our car insurance which I won't go into now, we elected to take the train from Atocha Station in Madrid to Caceres. Accordingly, we boarded two buses on Friday morning (one at a time) carrying a gigantically stuffed-full rucksack (Theo) a flowery backpack with essentials for the journey (me) and pushing a pram containing our Precious First Born (Theo, mostly).

Stage one went well. We got to Atocha horrendously early and although Rosie remained awake for the journey from our flat, she sustained a cheerful countenance. We killed some time by having a cuppa in a cafe - with a waitress who was so slow fulfilling our modest order (orange juice and a Colacao) we started to fear we might never get our drinks before we had to go.Getting on the train with our baggage was challenging, but we managed it and after Rosie decided she didn't want to stay in the sling (she tends to protest if whoever wearing the sling isn't in constant motion), we put her in her car seat/pram seat where, following a feed, she obligingly fell asleep (with a little help from a muslin providing some strategic tenting). Rosie slept for well over an hour, awoke and enjoyed looking around the train carriage and watching the passing scenery, then after another snack from Mummy, dozed off again in her seat. We felt cheered - this was proving to be an unmitigated doddle!Rosie only woke up again when we alighted at Caceres station, but was quite content to ride in her pram to the hotel where, once ensconced in room 608, with a clean nappy and another feed inside her, she took another nap. Our spirits continued to rise. A well-rested, contented baby was nine-tenths of the battle for winning an enjoyable weekend. Anticipation started to win over dread.

Our first hiccup came when we sallied forth to check out the festival under suspiciously brooding skies. Theo decided we should keep Rosie in the pram, despite my disappointment at not being able to be a proper hippy mum and have her in the sling (plus I was dubious about negotiating narrow, deeply cobbled streets and crowds). But after only ten minutes, it started to chuck it down and our unwaterproof pram and lack of rain cover suddenly seemed like a bad idea for baby transport. In the shelter of a doorway, I hastily donned the sling, popped Rosie inside and stuck up a brolly. After ascertaining that the rain and wind (which was gusting pretty strongly and called for some serious jockeying of our bucking umbrellas) had momentarily postponed the WOMAD entertainment programme, we turned tail and retreated back to the hotel to dump the pram in the dry and make a second attempt at our trek into the historical centre of Caceres.This time we were more successful and actually managed to catch bits and pieces of some of the acts, do a little shopping (purchasing some Indian-style head-wear made by our friend Rosie) and eat some home-baked pizza while Rosie (our offspring, this time) was snugly tied to me in the wrap. Impressively, she proceeded to sleep through an incredibly loud Spanish ska band in Plaza Mayor, only waking to the more modestly-volumed folk ensemble, Spiro in Plaza St Jorge (which also featured a Bristol acquaintance of ours, Jon from The Wraiths).But all good things come to an end. Rosie started to lose patience with her situation after a few hours so we rushed back to the hotel while she wailed loudly at us to hurry up because clearly she was about to starve to death.We constructed a tent over Rosie's babynest in our room and after a feed and change, she was content to go off to sleep with minimum fuss. By now it had stopped raining, but there was a distinct chill in the air and although Theo and I both offered a babysitting service to the other, none of the acts was sufficiently captivating to tempt either of us away from the warmth of the family bosom (which must be mine, I suppose). We did the rock'n'roll thing and had an early night.Saturday dawned dank, overcast and, well, crappy. Rosie gave us an unwelcome alarm call in the form of a spectacular poosplosion, which leaked out of her nappy and went....everywhere. After dealing with the excremental crisis, we took it easy in our room, munching on fruit and croissants while reading and babyminding until afternoon came and we decided to venture out again. This we did, to find almost nothing going on, so after scrutinising the market, downing some food and having our photograph taken while chatting to trilingual Eduardo (Spanish, English and Hindi...oh, and he was also busy learning German) with his strapping 9 month-old daughter, Anouk, we went back to the hotel.

Back out again and this time we took part in a dance workshop led by an exuberant Kenyan band - something that Rosie seemed to enjoy (or at least, tolerate) in the sling with Theo. He was also voxpopped by Spanish TV and made a pretty decent fist of it, in my opinion.After some veggie curry, the rain returned in earnest so we took shelter under a stone archway, gave Rosie a feed and rather glumly surveyed the situation. The downpour, depressingly British in aspect, showed no signs of abating. Although it was only about 7.30pm, we decided we'd had enough. Perhaps without the responsibility of a three month-old baby, we would have shrugged off the inclement weather, downed a few sidras and kept ourselves warm by dancing to some of the more lively bands. But Rosie was showing signs of getting fed up and the charms of the meteorological conditions had long worn thin. Back to the hotel, then.This time Rosie was more cantankerous about bedtime, despite our attempts to mollify her with a relaxing bath (which she enjoyed) and it took much swaddling and un-swaddling plus several attempts at feeding and pacifying before she finally gave in to sleep. Unfortunately, she then woke up wanting a comfort feed every two hours after that, so by morning I was feeling somewhat jaded, to say the least.
We packed up and took a cab to the station, deciding against walking once we had observed the horizonal rain outside. And guess what? We were three quarters of an hour early, so once again we holed up in the station caff with orange juice and Colacao while Rosie gazed in fascination at the screen pumping out Spanish MTV above her head.

The train journey back to Madrid was nowhere near as easy a ride as the one to Caceres. Rosie fussed and cried and having had her routine disrupted for three days now, had obviously decided enough was enough. In desperation, I fed her while standing up in the train corridor, hoping the white noise and motion would help calm her. It did. She finally consented to get some sleep in her chair and we breathed a sigh of relief. It was not to last. Another poosplosion abruptly woke her out of slumber and Theo and I had the joy of changing a baby, whose lower half was liberally coated with her own excrement, on a train seat. Thankfully, teamwork won the day (and Rosie, thankfully, treated the whole thing as a grand escapade put on for her own entertainment) and with the judicious use of babywipes and travel changing mat, we had the situation back under control.

Unfortunately, that was when Rosie's patience, such as it was, ran out and I spent another half hour trying to calm her down (including a second breast-feeding sojourn in the corridor) and persuade her back to sleep. Ironically, it was as we waited in the press of passengers to get off at Atocha that she finally consented to doze off. Impeccable timing.

So, what with one thing and another, it was a relief to make it back home. All things considered, we figured we'd mainly got away with it from Rosie's point of view. She could have been much less tolerant of the venture but as it was, only the minimum of time was spent baby-calming and we were impressed that we'd managed to keep her generally good-natured throughout. No, the main drawback of the whole affair was the miserable, un-Spanishlike weather. But you couldn't blame that on the baby.

May Day In Madrid By Kate

As a new parent, going out for a jaunt with the baby can be a tentative affair. On the one hand, you desperately want to show off your pride and joy to the (hopefully) admiring public and it's great to escape the confines of home, pleasant though they are. On the other, it can be a tad scary because of the impossibility of predicting how the offspring will respond to the outing. Last week I had to abort one journey to an English playgroup with Rosie when she decided she really wasn't happy and made no bones about expressing her displeasure in the loudest possible terms.

At the time I blamed it on the baby being overheated in the sling, or maybe she didn't like this particular one (different from the usual sling we use) or perhaps it was the type of carry she objected to. It wasn't hunger - a feed (rather uncomfortably executed on the Metro) only temporarily stemmed the flow of her objections and being taken out of the sling was also a fleeting panacea. On reflection I now believe it was simple tiredness. Observations have taught me that Rosie needs a lot of naps and if she hasn't had sufficient, she tends to throw a wobbly. Often she naps in the sling, but recently she's also needed the application of a pacifier to get her properly in the mood for sleep and that was the one piece of baby soothing armory I didn't have with me on that occasion.

This time Theo and I took no chances. Rosie was snoozing in the pram when we decided it was time to go so we left her in it, but packed a sling as well. In fact, Rosie snoozed off and on for the entire journey on a packed bus to the Retiro Park where we had arranged to meet a friend and do some book-crossing. We opted to get off a few stops short of the park when we realised one of the city's main streets was in the throes of a May Day demonstration. We contemplated joining it as a show of solidarity for the Spanish unemployed, then thought better of it. Maybe another day.

When we found our rendezvous in the park, Rosie remained happy in her pram while we laid out the books we were "releasing" into the unknown and perused the other offerings to see if there were any we fancied "capturing". Theo picked up a book of Spanish poetry and a Spanish translation of an HP Lovecraft story. Being less highbrow, I lassoed a crime thriller and an Inspector Morse. Typically, both had been released by my pal Florrie, so I could have just taken them directly from her, but where's the fun in that?!
After the book-crossing excitement, Rosie woke up so I put her in the sling where she seemed content to doze while we wandered around the gorgeous Retiro rose garden, a riot of hot pinks, reds and yellows as the dozens of flower varieties made the most of the Spring sunshine.

After we all (including Rosie) enjoyed an al fresco drink at one of the park's terrace cafes, Theo and I opted to draw the family outing to a close, said our goodbyes to Florrie and wended our way back home again. A simple trip, perhaps, but at this stage of early parenthood, it still feels like a bit of an achievement. Next weekend we're off to WOMAD in Caceres - wish us luck...