Please Look After This Bear

What was written on Paddington Bear's label when he arrived at Paddington station from darkest Peru?

Would you have known the answer? We went to a pub quiz in our village a couple of weeks ago, and this was the ONLY answer that I got right. Our team-mates (and my hubby) were amazed with my Paddington Bear knowledge.

'Please look after this bear - thank you.'

When all the nasty-therapies are finished and the world record for the amount of champagne to be drunk has been broken, I want all my family to be Delhi Bears.

I've found the perfect break - it is 10 days of adventure, excitement, culture, wow-factors and fun. It is exactly the holiday that will help delete the darkest Peru bits of the last few months for all of us. I am desperate to do it, and I have the funds saved to achieve it.

All I have to do is convince my lovely husband. He wants to go too, but I know he'd rather bid for it on ebay and get a bargain. Admittedly, he's bloody good at bargains, and he probably could cobble this holiday together himself for about 14 pence, but I can't be bothered - I just want to pay someone a wad of dosh and say - 'hey you, Mr. Travel Company - My little family deserves a break - sort it please.'

The kids are with me on this one, but they know how much their dad prides himself on 'deein it himsel,' and they love having a dad that never needs to call out a plumber, or a sparky, or any other bloke - their fab dad can fix bloody anything!

But he couldn't fix me when we found out I was broken. And I know it absolutely did his head in that he couldn't just read a manual, buy a few tools and make the necessary repairs. For once, he was beaten. All he could do was chop half of Kielder Forest down to keep me warm.

The kids, meanwhile, set off round the village yesterday selling eggs. The 9 year old has worked out that our 5 hens need to lay 920 eggs to give him and his sister enough money to go up in a hot air balloon as an 'added extra' on the trip...

Its hubby's birthday the day after my last chemo. I'll have to have a flick through the Screwfix catalogue and see if they sell blue duffle coats, floppy black hats and marmalade sandwiches...