Everything went wrong on Monday. The drain blocked again on Sunday night (after a very lovely evening with Charlotte) and couldn't be shifted even with 4 successive bottles of evil drain-unblocker. The central heating boiler then packed up, leaving us with no hot water on Tuesday morning. Broadband packed up on the same day, and later I smashed my New York glass (sentimental value only) with a fork.

Fortunately there are boiler engineers and plumbers in this world who can sort out these practical issues, or I might have spent the rest of the week under the illusion that I had been jinxed. It cost a fair few pennies though, to sort the drain out, and the very lovely plumber did recommend that we put the waste disposal in the rubbish tip and leave it at that. Narrow English drains, he said, are not built to withstand the gunk that American systems can handle, and it doesn't help that we have 20 feet of marginally uphill-facing drainpipe just outside the kitchen window. So we are using the waste disposal with caution and hoping that we can deal with any further blockages ourselves.

Meanwhile, I've spent the week attempting to get ready for our holiday on Saturday. I seem to have spent a small fortune on mini sandals and swim shorts and sunhats. It's been a while since we've been away for so long and I really don't know what to expect. Plus, the prospect of a day of packing and then a day of travelling (including a long flight on a dodgy ill-equipped airline) does nothing to temper my trepidation. I will not relax and enjoy - as Roj knows too well - until we are able to put our bags down in the hotel room at the other end. And even then, I'm still faced with the uncertainty over how to handle childcare in the evenings. The Hilton website says it has babysitters, but Mark Warner says it provides a listening service. Clearly I'll have to see how it goes, keeping the option open to eat relatively early with the children and then just chill out in the room (especially if we have a balcony) in the evenings (or take turns at the bar!)

I'm certainly looking forward to the first opportunity to read a book in a while. I have high hopes to finish (which unfortunately involves re-starting) the French translation of the Da Vinci Code, but I'm also taking along a recent Amis and McEwan for when I don't feel like putting in so much effort. I'm not sure I'm looking forward to windsurfing - it's been altogether too long and I'm worried I'll have forgotten everything - but I'm sure I'll get my mind changed when I feel that wind in my sail.

I'm not sure either, that I want to spend 2 weeks with the kids in childcare. Obviously we'll benefit from the opportunity to relax a bit, and I think we both need that after the last few months. And the system ensures that you don't abandon them entirely, given that they're with you for 2.5 hours in the middle of the day as well as mornings and evenings, but I have reservations about going on a holiday and shoving them in childcare every morning and afternoon just so we can play our own games. That's not what family holidays are for, in my view.

Still, I'm half prepared - with my low expectations - to have my mind changed and enjoy myself thoroughly, coming back refreshed and renewed with kids who've had a whale of a time.

When I get back I'll be flat out trying to organise Jody's party. A pre-emptive list shows that I'm going to have a hard job keeping invitees down to less than 20. Which is 17 extra siblings and a possible 40 adults. Which means I'll be making sandwiches for days, and having nervous breakdowns the night before. I don't know how much it'll cost either, to use the little garden for such a huge shindig, or even whether they'll have availability on my chosen day. Maybe I should hope that they won't!

I can't decide whether to take my 10d to Dahab, or the slightly less I'll-be-gutted-if-it-gets-sand-inside G2. Either way, I'll aim for some nice photos while I'm out there to make all you folk jealous as you sit in this British rain for the next fortnight.

I just have to hope that the stack of jigsaws, fuzzy felt, colouring equipment and an iPod loaded with kiddie tunes will work its magic on the sprogs. And that I find something to distract myself too.

Would you leave your child alone? (from Times Online).

Goodness. Debate is certainly raging around whether the McCanns should have left their children alone in that apartment or not. A lot of people are pointing fingers and holding the couple up as severely negligent. I wonder how many parents do it though, or do things that are equal? Quite a few of my mum friends have said they've done the same, and as I wrote in my previous post, we did similar in Sardinia, though the sound-sensitive lights on the monitor would have alerted me to any noise going on in our apartment, so I could have been back with the kids in less than a minute.

The pointy fingers concern me. It's very easy for people to say that it was wrong or that nobody should ever leave a child alone in any scenario and a part of me very strongly agrees with that high moral stance. But on the other hand, as a parent it's very easy to make decisions that some people view as wrong. Parenting is a process of learning and subjective decision-making from start to finish, often without support or personal precedent. And we parents, much as our children are of paramount importance to us, must choose our own way to let them live and live with them. A lot of the decision-making is based around risk-assessment. Clearly, as in other aspects of life, some people take the conservative line and try to make sure that their children are never put at risk from anything ever, while others tread a more precarious path. The parent of each child knows that child's behaviour pattern better than anyone else in the world, and that knowledge should be taken into account before making sweeping generalisations. For instance Jody, once asleep and providing she's not ill, never wakes before the early hours of the morning; she exhausts herself so thoroughly in the daytime that those first hours of sleep are incredibly deep and inpenetrable. I literally can't remember a time when she's woken before midnight, and she rarely wakes at all. She has also only suffered two or three times from nightmares and has never got up to wander around the house when she's woken at night, or play with things or look for a drink or anything else. She simply lies there and calls out to one of us gently. That's what she does.

I don't really think it's fair for the rest of the world to judge the decision that the McCanns made to leave Madeleine alone in her room. With the glory of hindsight it's easy to say that it was a tragic and apalling decision but I can definitely see why they might have done it. On holiday one is more relaxed and perhaps more naive about possible threats; somehow the holiday atmosphere encourages you to be more trusting, particularly in a fairly enclosed resort. When you know that your children sleep soundly and that you are only a few yards away, it must be a very real temptation to pop out for dinner and keep checking on them, believing that they are safe. That's not to say I would do it without some kind of back-up surveillance, because my heart pounds like crazy when I can't see or hear the children; even if I go downstairs to sign for a delivery, I race down as if my life depended on it, keep my ears peeled for any noise from the flat, and race back up like a mad thing, visions of falls and fights invading my mind. I see myself as a very protective and devoted parent who puts the needs of the children above my own and yet I can definitely see how the McCanns did it and don't really believe their decision was wrong.

What's more, I've stayed in hotels before now, where they provide a 'listening service'. In my experience, this is the room phone in the hotel, taken off its cradle and used as a microphone. It is then possible for the hotel receptionist to dial into your room every now and then to check that your children aren't crying and then contact you (normally at the hotel restaurant) if they hear anything. This is quite a standard service, and though we've used it only once at a friend's wedding, we've come across it numerous times. Of course the service doesn't prevent against fire or choking or even prolonged crying, since the receptionist can't check the room phone every two minutes. It's far from an ideal method of childcare but the point is that it's legitimately provided in many places. And it's no different really, to what the McCanns - and many other couples in that same resort - did on the evening of the 3rd May.

I don't know. What's happened is awful, but the finger should only be pointed by perfect people who can say with hand on heart that they have never made a decision that may have - in a worst-case scenario - harmed somebody else. I really feel for the McCanns. They have done what many other parents do, and suffered way way more than they deserved at the hands of a malicious intruder.

I'm freaking out about Madeleine McCann. Actually I'm freaking out about child abduction. I know full well that it's a very very rare thing, and chances are that I'll never even know somebody who knows somebody whose child is abducted, but that's what my rational self is saying. It's easy not to listen to the rational self, when you see pictures of that devastated mother on the television and just for one second try to imagine what it would be like to be her.

And today at toddler group I listened to one mother in tears because of how awful she felt about it, and another regale me with stories of two 'friends of friends' she knows; one of whom was at some public spot when one of her children disappeared. She quickly panicked, but a lady said to her, "You go, I'll stay here and look after the other two." She lost all 3 of her children that day and never saw them again. The second 'friend of a friend' (and she admits this story is 3rd hand and therefore less reliable) was in Disney World when one of her children went missing. She freaked out and the authorities closed down the whole place, and filed everybody out past the family, telling them they should look at the shoes. They found the child, but sure enough, somebody had dyed their hair and changed all their clothes in order to get them out. A third story was about a mother who used to go to our toddler group, who was with her 3 boys and another mum at the zoo, the youngest sitting unstrapped in the buggy. For a second she turned her back and someone walked off with the child in the buggy. She ran screaming "Someone's got my baby," and fortunately scared off the perpetrator.

As if it's not scary enough to have the responsibility to get your children through to some state of independence; make sure they don't choke on a too-large mouthful; ensure they don't fall headfirst into the toilet or drink anything from a bottle of bleach; hope they don't stick something metal into that three-pin plug socket; hold their hand so they don't run out into the road; help them down from the window sill or that highest ladder in the playground; keep the sharp knives out of reach and the tumble dryer unplugged at the wall; don't let them access pills or drink from glass cups or reach up for the boiling pasta water. You watch them every moment and when you're not watching you're listening. As if that's not scary enough, you have to think about those malicious people in this world who might lure you into a false sense of security; who offer to help and stand by your side waiting for the moment you turn away.

We left Jody and Miles asleep in our apartment in Sardinia last September while we ate dinner at the resort's restaurant with Sonia and Martin. We could see the baby monitor from the terrace where we sat. We checked on them a couple of times and lingered to eat gelati and drink more Valpolicella. I've let Jody wander in the zoo and the park, out of reach and trusting she'd come back to me. Once a strange father rang my mobile number from her ID bracelet at the zoo, worried that she was lost when really she was just playing with her friend Rosie a couple of terraces of steps away from where Pippa and I sat watching.

In the playground I turn my back on her while I watch that Miles stays within his limits. I trust that the other mothers there are deterrent enough, and vigilant enough, to keep half a peripheral eye on my child just as I do on theirs. I do the same at the bigger playgrounds up at Regent's Park. Jody is in the sandpit and I watch Miles on the slide. I can just about see what she's doing from where I stand.

But I haven't got eyes in the back of my head, and if someone were determined enough I know that there are opportunities for her to be lured away. I haven't explained the dangers of talking to strangers but I'm thinking now that I ought to. How do you tell a nearly-4-year-old that they should scream blue murder if they find themselves with somebody they don't know, without scaring them rigid to speak to anyone? How do you tell them that there are a whole heap of good people in the world but also some bad people who might want to do hideous things to them, without wrecking their confidence?

It's made me feel sick today, to think of these things. Sick and shaky and horrified at the thought of our upcoming holiday where the hotel policy is to provide a 'listening service' for children left in their room in the evening while the adults relax and eat and enjoy their freedom. Just like the McCanns were doing last Thursday night in Portugal. Just like that.

I've cut my nails off so at last can type properly. A bit of a challenge to cut them off - industrial scissors and lots of filing required - but worth missing a trip to a nail salon with small child in tow to get them removed properly. Quite a novelty to feel the keyboard again.

Just come back from a lovely long weekend in Shropshire to celebrate my mum's 60th. Took the opportunity of being in the middle of the Shropshire hills to do as much exercise as possible: a 1h 50m run on Saturday; a 1h 10m mountain bike ride on Sunday after the lunchtime festivities, incorporating 2 climbs of the Long Mynd; and a 2h 30m mountain bike ride on Monday with more of the same and, despite hideous freezing drizzle, some awesome downhills. Haven't done 3 days' hard exercise in a row for as long as I can remember, and haven't felt so physically capable of stretching myself for at least a couple of years. I came back wishing we were within closer reach of amazing countryside and babysitting facilities, and inspired to go out and do that sort of exercise more often. Mountain biking in proper terrain is the absolute dog's. Am going to take Sven's advice and look into cycling clubs down here, if only to dream.

The other stuff was lovely too. On my mum's request I provided a large roast beef for the cold birthday spread on Sunday, making good use of our amazing neighbourhood organic butcher The Ginger Pig (and a new mortgage!) Cooking a roast isn't rocket science, but I was still nervous that my first attempt at using my new oven for the purpose would be for such an important occasion. Needn't have worried - the meat probe meant that I could remove the joint at exactly 65 degrees and ensure a perfect medium as requested. (Had I gone by the weight/time chart in all the cookbooks, it would have been overcooked by 25 minutes), and I was very impressed by the rotitherm function on my AEG cooker, which simulates a rotisserie. The massive 4kg joint was ample to serve 10 adults for lunch, and there was just enough left over to eat roast beef sandwiches in the evening, but astonishingly all was consumed by the end of the day ... apart from the extra 1kg that I cut off for our freezer when I realised just how enormous the thing was after the visit to the butcher on Friday.

Lunch was very enjoyable with lots of family packed around the dining table and kids who behaved admirably for the duration. By late afternoon we were all soporific and lethargic, so it was just the right time for a quick blast around the Long Mynd on mountain bikes, which woke us up nicely for the slide show from my mum's youth in Trinidad; amazing to see pictures of people you know so well from the years before you know them and my mum was such a gorgeous kid all tall and skinny with bright blonde curls and sparkling eyes. And seeing the 50s cars in the background and the styles that you only tend to see in old films was so evocative.

Monday we went out for another bike ride and froze in the drizzle at the trig point as I tried to get Orange signal to phone my Heliflight UK pilot to see whether I should call off the surprise helicopter flight we'd arranged for my mum that afternoon. I spent the whole morning obsessing over the low cloud cover and getting excited when any tiny glimpse of valley view emerged. After much secretive deliberation we decide to go ahead with the plans, given that we would not have the whole family together for at least another 6 months, and needed to make the most of the opportunity. So Sven and Charlotte left for Wolverhampton airport (ostensibly to return to Richmond), and returned an hour later in the Rattle field in a small chopper, to the surprise of my folks and the relief of myself who had spent the whole morning swallowing adrenalin and hoping that nothing would go wrong with the plans. 20 minutes flying around the area in what had turned into a bright (if windy) afternoon, and Sven and Charlotte swapped back over to return to Richmond for real, via Wolves, and we packed up and left for London via a very enjoyable couple of hours at Milly and Graham's house where Jody abused Rafferty the kitten, and we indulged in delicious cheesy pea tart and blueberry muffins provided by the Domestic Goddess, and an indulgent couple of glasses of red provided by the Wine Buff. Yum.

We left their house (in a right old state) at 7 and parked up at Montagu Square at 9:40 to see Miles's eyes finally drooping shut for the first time after 2 hours of chatting and fidgeting interspersed by ear-splitting screams which we tried our best to ignore. It's a wonder Jody sleeps through that stuff, that's for sure, but we were grateful she didn't wake in a fury and add to the decibel levels.

So now it's holiday preparation time (we leave in 2 weeks) prior to which I have to work out what to do for Jody's birthday party so that I can send out invites before we leave. After recent awful news of the abduction of little Madeleine McCann from the Mark Warner resort in Portugal, I'm trying not to get paranoid over our own stay with Mark Warner but have to remind myself that these things happen all over the world. I feel for that mother. How can anybody do that?