The Space-Being and the Iron Man

Chaos HQ is currently preoccupied with giants and robots. There are more of these creatures about urban world than you might expect. So we scour the city for them.

Giants and robots generally don't camouflage well. But grown-ups are usually too busy to notice them.

Ana's fascination with robots goes back a long time. She has been constructing robots from foil and empty boxes for months.

But her fascination with giants is newer. It began last week when a nice man showed up to install fire-proofing stuff around our door-frame at the behest of the local residents' association.

"Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, and that."

 Her eyes grew wide as the man explained his task.

Then she exclaimed: "It's not for fire, it's to keep out the giant robots!"

You see, Ana may be four but she is no turnip.

And of course the nice man did nothing to dissuade her of this notion. Nor did I. In fact we both did our utmost to egg her on.

Since that fateful moment she has become like the neighbourhood watch, only cuter. She is a curtain-twitcher at home, and remains vigilant when out in the big world. She sees robots from her bedroom window on a regular basis, and has an eagle eye for spotting them all over London.

Occasionally we hit the jackpot and locate an awesome giant robot like this one, thus killing two electronic birds with one virtual stone.

This guy happens to live at the British Library, where a continual stream of deep-in-thought people flows by him, unblinking, unnoticing.

Amazing how the human eye can miss the giant in the room. Which makes me thank my lucky stars for doorway fire-proofing stuff. Were it not for that, I might now have a household giant metal man infestation on my hands.

This week at Chaos HQ

We are boldly going where no short person has gone before: the interdisciplinary world of alien mechanical engineering. Luckily we are aided by Q Pootle 5 and a trusty tin of cat food.

Earth to Moon Unit: Do you read me?

Isil, the talented virtual pen behind Smiling Like Sunshine, is highlighting Children's Book Week over on her home planet. There you can discover short person books on alien mechanical engineering and everything else under whichever sun you happen to live by.

This week at Chaos HQ

We are investigating alternative forms of transport. Our research mostly consists of watching E.T. and Star Wars.

She's got it where it counts kid.  

Thanks to the lovely Auntie S, we now have a fabulous Millennium Falcon operations manual to hand.

This week at Chaos HQ

Both Ana and I are dragging our feet to school. Ali and I are skipping off to the zoo while we can.

Heather has just reminded me how lucky I am. My family is looked after by angels.

Two of them delivered my babies. Several saved my youngest from newborn illness and again from Calpol enthusiasm. A nervous trainee-angel looked after my eldest when she decided to go foraging for woody nightshade.

And the snail said: 'I feel so small.'

They were always just there when we needed them. Which is why I love the NHS.

My homeland is abundant in angels, but access is expensive and inequitable. Many other places are not even that lucky.

Everyone should have the NHS. All kids should be looked after by angels. Don't you think?

Back to chasing pixies and fending off nightshade attack.

This week at Chaos HQ

We are surrounded by an abundance of warmth and food. I'd blag on about abundance more, but it's two months till Thanksgiving and the global economy continues to be in the toilet.

From Bedfordshire with love. 

We are currently munching on these green beauties courtesy or our favourite chili farm. And we are scheming up delicious plans for some lovely NoCal reds from Truffle.

All this, and we are still feasting on chilies sent by my lovely mama, who turns sixty this month.

I am roasting the Bedfordshire greens under the broiler. Skinned and bagged, they will live happily in the freezer for the next year, crucially getting Chaos HQ through the dark winter months via the trusty medium of enchiladas.

Doctors in Britain don't tend to prescribe capsaicin for Seasonal Affective Disorder, which I just find sad. So in the wacky homeopathic self remedy department, I've taken to blathering on about the heavenly qualities of chili at all times and to anyone who will listen. It's my own clumsy, gluttonous form of The Secret. Judging by this week's catch, my strategy has born fruit.

September sees fiestas in Santa Fe and a chili harvest in Hatch. Home is on my mind.

You can't easily get there from here. But the worrying black cloud of chili smoke wafting in my kitchen makes me feel closer to there. I can almost taste the fry bread and feel my hips magically balloon with each imaginary bite. And if I cock my head towards Camden, I can just about hear Zozobra groaning tiredly as a troupe of camp fire dancers yap at his toes for the umpteenth time.  

Of the twelve months to be there, this is the one. It is hard to beat calabacitas and yellow aspen leaves - covered in an early dusting of snow if you're lucky - under a harvest moon.

Happy birthday Mama.

This week at Chaos HQ

We put away our childish things and went back to school.

Poor reflection. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We are making tea, not war, with street art.

Wallflowers. 

Next week we will move on to more serious matters.

This week at Chaos HQ

Noted from the underground. 

We are bothering pigeons and annoying strangers. Please check out my post over at In The Powder Room on just that.

August has very nearly handed the reins over to September. School is around the corner and our museum days are numbered. So we are riding the rails while we may.

Today we discovered that the Keats House doesn't cause boredom-induced narcolepsy in small children. It's actually kind of a fun place. Ana reckons it's a lot like the bathhouse from Spirited Away.

The end of summer always feels a little sad. Especially if you're a kid who's been munching on a continuous supply of popsicles courtesy of your slave mama for two months.

But time stops for no man, not even a short one.

And this mama is pretty tired of foraging for popsicles and would quite like a nap. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We are picking blackberries.

Crumble dreaming. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We are donating the title 'Chaos' to the leaders of our fine city and instead going by 'Really Quite Chilled Out HQ.' We are wondering if pillagers are powered by mozzarella, because they looted the local Dominoes.

Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store?

We are comparing the Camden of this week (above) to the Camden of last week, which was magical sort of grown-up Disneyland.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops. 

We found ourselves there on a sunny summer's afternoon, chasing the rainbows that exist between generations.

Pots of gold. 

We suspect Camden will have a cup of tea be back to its old tricks in no time. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We are fingerprinting culprits.

Motive? Chaos and world domination. 

Some of them are not as short as we initially suspected them to be.

Caught pink-handed. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We are counting our blessings as per some old bit of Lutheran wisdom I just made up.

Our blessings are as numerous as stars in the sky or flowers in the urban field.

Especially this week, as we wait for three of our beloved ones to land.

They are crossing a cold sea and braving the perils of Heathrow as I type.

Without our beloved ones, we would only be wandering stars or flowers lost in the urban field. 

As any sufficiently lapsed Lutheran will tell you, it pays to count your blessings. 

We welcome them in out of the cold swim with open arms: Grandma, Uncle Rice, and Auntie A. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We are cooking up mischief.

Sugar, spice, dynamite. 

And poking penguins in the eye.

Take that, smug chick.

Babyzilla and Kid Kong are preying on London.

All your museums are belong to us.

 And pushing all of Mama's buttons.

Where is the 'eject to outer space' button, boss?

This week, last week, next week, and onwards, we find ourselves deeply lost in the belly of the summer holidays. And we are feeling rather less optimistic about the prognosis than Jonah did. All bets are off.

Stay tuned for more civilised weeks to come. In the meantime, duck and cover.

This week at Chaos HQ

We have been seeking out sources of splash.

Flying fish. 

This being England, splash has consisted of two parts paddling pool to five parts mud puddle. 

This being two under-fives we're talking about, all parts have been taken in leaping stride with purest joy.  

This week at Chaos HQ

Spoon full of sugar for the medicine. 

We've been dreaming in bi-cultural cupcakes and munching on Transatlantic flags. I've been humming one of my favourite American tunes. 

As the founding mama of this great modest house, I have been stubbornly clinging to the self-evident truth that all humans are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights.

The right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 

Be they young or old. Unlucky or lucky in the lottery of life. 

Woody Guthrie, one of my favourite patriots, says it best. 

The Dust Bowl Troubadour spent his strange and fascinating life showing fascists what hillbillies can do. This July marks the centenary of his birth. 

The timing is fitting: where their parents had job and housing opportunities, young people now have ample time to cultivate their folk music skills in the great outdoors. Fortunately, a folk music kit is pretty cheap and folds up easily for storage in a leaky bedsit, or under a park bench.

Happy birthday Woody - you are still the man for your time and place. 

This week at Chaos HQ

Two years ago the world's cutest little boy was born and I became an auntie. I've always wanted to be one of those.

Chain gang. 

Now when I see my girls play with their cousin I remember that old line from Ecclesiastes: "Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." 


I love to watch them grow up together. 


Happy birthday, mi hijito. 

This week at Chaos HQ

We've been living under a Charlie Brown cloud, jumping puddles and stopping to smell the roses.

Raindrops on rosebuds.

How is your week?

This week at Chaos HQ...

...we are thinking about papas: those wonderful guys who make the world go round and carry us home when we fall over exhausted.

You'll never walk alone. 

They do this and a hundred other things without Entonox, an epidural, or a decent night's rest. They ask for nothing in return, and they never stop.

But we notice. And even if we are sometimes too tired to remark upon it, our heart's are filled with joy and gratitude.

Thanks Papa Bear, we love you.

This week at Chaos HQ

My favourite picture from recent days.

Feed the birds with bread and gusto.

This week at Chaos HQ

My favourite image from recent days.

In the mighty concrete jungle.