Slovenia, ice-cream legs and non-bouncy pork.

Ah, there you are, my chucklebunnies, I was beginning to wonder where you had got to.  You have been remarkably patient in my absence and hardly torn any of the wallpaper off, for which I commend you.  Now, gather close, for I wish to tell you tales of my travels - for I have wandered, my dears!  Oh yes.  And now I am returned once more to your bosoms.. although I can tell from here that some of those bosoms are a little artificially augmented, are they not? Anyway, clasp me to your lumpy bits, for I have such wonders to impart...

Slovenia.  A country with a language which sounds like the pronunciation of a really bad hand in Scrabble, and place names which seem to have been taken from minor characters in a Doctor Who episode.  After a few days in Lublijana  we moved out into the country to stay on a farm called Tilnik, just outside the village of Stopnik - which, I think you will agree sound like they should be evil twins, bested by the Doctor with nothing but a cutting phrase and some quick-thinking.  We ate many, many ice creams whilst sweltering in the 30 degree heat, swam in rivers as clear as swimming pools (and a lot cleaner), visited lakes, castles, goats (although we didn't have to pay to visit the goat, she was just kind of ... there).

Us in Lublijana.  The man on the end is my husband, not Mafioso, and he's not ambitiously over-iced, he's holding mine while I take the picture. It was so hot that my ice creams kept melting before I could eat them and I had trails of vanilla and chocolate all down both my legs for most of the day.  No one else seemed to have the same problem.  Hmmm.

Lake Bled.  My family sit, unaware that on the castle behind them lurks a dragon, shortly to swoop down and carry them off to.. oh, hang on.  That was my day dream.  I am, once more, behind the camera, in a kindness to you all, because by now my hair had acquired a life of its own and was going out in the evening to clubs and things without me, and both my legs were covered in various flavours.  Also my clothes.  Later in the day, when everyone else ate another ice cream, I just sucked my T shirt.

The Wild Lake.  By the time we left it was positively livid.

So.  Slovenia. Beautiful, incomprehensible, architecturally bonkers, extremely friendly and untouristy.  Not unlike me, in fact.  Go, visit.  Stay at Tilnik (not Stopnik, he's the  more evil twin), where Kate will feed your children food that makes them realise that lasagne isn't supposed to hang on to the edges of the plate, and pork doesn't bounce or make a 'ping' sound when you try to cut it.

This is how I eventually dealt with the Ice Cream Problem.  Someone with a hammer is standing just out of shot.