Blast from the Past

I’m looking forward to next week now. An old friend from school is going to be dropping by on his way to a wedding. His wife is due to give birth in five weeks, so there will be lots to share and talk about. It’s weird, we see each other once or twice a year, and it’s so easy and comfortable, even though it’s almost 20 years ago that we left school. We keep in touch with about 10 people we went to school with, and enjoy meeting up occasionally. Whether our partners enjoy us reminiscing is debatable, but then again we are building new shared memories all the time. It hit me yesterday how much time has gone by. Manchester has an awful lot of University students, and they have descended in full force for Freshers’ Week. For me the term Fresher now means more than new, it means they all seem fresh faced and young. Perhaps the legacy of playing football last night is distorting my vision, I feel old today, bits of me are aching that I didn’t know existed. The sight of all these students has obviously awoken something in my colleagues as well. We were discussing yesterday how great it was to be students – the sense of possibility, opportunity and freedom. We all agreed that it was probably the best time of our lives. Other moments surpass others, marriage, children etc. but for the actual consistently best times, without real worries, college wins hands down. If only there was a way to recreate that feeling of going off to college for the first time, the trepidation and excitement all rolled together. There again parenthood was like that, but with more than a three year course stretching ahead.

What would you choose?

This made me smile. One of my wife’s friends married a man 12 years older than her. He already had a son with his first wife, who is now 12. The friend is 25, and cannot stand her new step son. She vacillates constantly between wanting a baby and going on holidays. He makes no secret of the fact that he doesn’t want any more children, ever. His success at keeping her happy thus far has involved them going on lots of exotic holidays, buying her a new car etc etc. She decided last week that she was ready to become a mother. I can only imagine the problem this has given her husband. To be fair to him, he’s come out fighting. No holiday or car was going to placate her this time. He was touched by genius: he’s buying a hot tub instead of them having a baby.

A hot tub in Manchester, more specifically a hot tub in a dodgy part of Manchester (earlier this year they had their garden fence stolen), with winter rapidly approaching. Madness.

But it still made me smile – I can’t think what he’s going to come up with next time!

Vinyl-ly it’s happening to me

Last night I cheered myself up by hooking up the turntable I bought at the weekend. This purchase was prompted by the recent acquisition of one of my brother-in-law’s record collection. We were visiting my in-laws and whilst we were there we noticed large boxes stacked in the hallway. They were full of LPs, probably around 300 of them. Apparently my mother-in-law had threatened to give them away if her son didn’t take them to his new house. Why do mothers feel the need to do this? My own mother threw out all my comics when I left for college. I had no real sentimental attachment to them, and only kept them as part of a hoarding nature. However I found out at college that they were worth close to £1,000, returned home to realise my asset, only to discover they had been thrown out. So out of humanitarian duty we rescued the boxes, also because my wife had fond memories of some of the records. So when brother-in-law finally decides that the time is right to fetch his old records he will still be able to have them. So these boxes joined my own collection of vinyl lps. I have about 600 of my own, yes I’m that old. I haven’t actually had a turntable for close to 10 years, but have kept everything I’ve ever bought. I’ve never understood people who are able to trade or give away records. Each purchase is a memory and almost a living testament to my past. I can remember where I bought each one, who my girlfriend at the time was (if I had one) and each record evokes a clear memory. Even if sometimes I can’t now understand what possessed me to buy the record in the first place! My lack of turntable was caused by my desire to build an awesome set of hi-fi separates. I started with the amp and CD player. Then came the expensive speakers (VERY expensive, I had a promotion and lots of back pay), with gold bi-wiring, on stone plinths.The final addition pre-children was a kick-ass tape deck, given my extensive collection of tapes: over 1,000 of the little guys. My intention was always to add a turntable, but then the children started to happen and priorities changed. Looking back now, I guess you could argue I wasted a lot of money on hi-fi equipment. Still I figure that it still brings me enormous pleasure, music has always been important to me, and I would have only wasted the money on something else. So at the weekend I purchased a turntable, not in keeping with the rest of my system, but then I figured it was only to play vinyl occasionally. The spur of fresh vinyl coupled with memories of my own collection was the driving factor. The generation gap became very apparent – actually finding a reasonable deck wasn’t that easy. Heir no.1 managed to make me feel about 100 when he asked what it was for and why people used such large plastic discs to play music. He was even less happy last night, when he was told in no uncertain terms not to jump around the room because he was making the record jump too. I’d forgotten the almost ceremonious feel of playing vinyl. The way you unsheathe them from the cover, lay them gently on the rubber mat and start the turntable. The click and slight boom as the needle hits, then the rumble and hiss before the record starts. Fantastic sounds that transported me back a decade. It brought all the magic back to me – the memories of buying an lp, then getting it home to discover the treasures on the inner sleeve. The packaging and feel of vinyl is so much better than CDs. Even the lack of skip to next track still had a precious quality, the skill required to find the groove between tracks not lost yet.

The answer is clear

So having gained massive Parent Points with the game purchase, they then disappear due to limiting playing time to one hour. Ever get the feeling that you can’t do right for wrong? I’m feeling quite burnt out at the moment, and not sure how to turn things around.

Burnout or Burnt Out?

Moral dilemma of a parent – should I give in to my son’s requests for a new video game? He NEVER asks for anything normally. We can be out shopping and whilst he picks things up and looks at them, he never whines and begs for them. I’m grateful for that, I hate seeing kids having tantrums because they don’t get what they want. Even the request for this game was made reasonably, and he didn’t push it when I said “We’ll see”. I have no problem with the game itself, it’s suitable for his age and he has played the earlier versions of it to death. So I know it will be used, and used responsibly. We limit the time he’s allowed to play to weekends, and then no longer than one hour. Writing this down, has made me realise that really there’s no issue here and I should stop being an uptight arsehole. He’s making a reasonable request that I can fulfil, and is going to make him very happy. I guess in the back of my mind I was thinking about leaving this game till his birthday, hoping to give him something that he really wants then. As he never asks for things, getting things that excite him for birthday/Christmas has been difficult. Shit, why do I make things more difficult than they need to be at times?

The Hare and the Tortoise

Every Wednesday evening I play 5 a side football. I’ve played every week (apart from when I’ve had broken bones, ligament damage etc.) since college. That’s a few years now. This now forms the primary element of my exercise/fitness regime, well alright, apart from playing with the kids it is my fitness regime. It’s always enjoyable, being a team sport it keeps you motivated and interested. The fact that it’s not just doing set reps of certain exercises, means that you constantly stretch yourself, to run that bit more, make that tackle etc. We have a group of about 20 people who dip in and out of the games according to the availability. It’s quite a wide cross section: builders, accountants, bouncers and even a guy who runs his own PR company. It makes for interesting times when we go out for a few beers afterwards, there are some interesting characters there. One guy regales us with his stories from his trips to Amsterdam, he’s single and has a penchant for visiting the prostitutes there. He’s known as “Trigger”, after a character from Only Fools and Horses, which everyone in Britain should know, but for those overseas visitors, he’s a slow, dim witted man. Whenever someone asks why he’s called Trigger, his stock answer is : “Cause I’m a bit thick”. His approach to life is refreshingly straightforward and honest. He enjoys visiting prostitutes because he is guaranteed some action, rather than “waste” time dating someone. He got sacked from his last job because he was found asleep in a cupboard! He managed to surpass himself last time we went out for drinks: he told us that the last time he was in Amsterdam he managed to negotiate a discount, because he went second after his friend! He was quite proud of his achievement, and couldn’t understand why none of us shared his joy! Last night we were short of a player, so a friend of a friend came along. Our average age is somewhere in the 30s, our oldest occasional player is 57 and the youngest normally around 25. This lad was 19 and full of confidence about his fitness and footballing abilities. Apprehension was rife, we all became acutely aware of our respective ages and the potential for embarrassment. Our fears proved true, this lad was like a greyhound, beating everyone to the ball, but not actually playing in a recognisable position. It meant that he was playing more like a schoolboy: chasing the ball enthusiastically, but not actually achieving much. Slowly his running faded, he was fast, but not fit. We play for an hour, and after 20 minutes he was spent, and not in the good way. We all started to find ways of beating him and he ended up having to spend the last 15 minutes in goals, he was that shattered. At the end he was still red faced and panting, but with a bit more respect for the “old men”, as he’d called us at the start, around him. He was last seen disappearing with Trigger for a drink – I hope he didn’t learn any more lessons last night!

It couldn't last

Teething has meant no repeat of the perfect evening, that and the fact I cooked rather than got takeaway. It’s hard to get annoyed with her though, she giggles while you’re in there. Even the miracle of Calgel didn’t work, and her talking Winnie the Pooh droned on for what felt like hours. Why is it on nights like that that you just seem to get into a deep sleep and then your alarm goes off? Getting up was difficult this morning. So lack of sleep makes for a tired bunny and slow mental function. Alright, even slower than normal! Where’s that coffee? I needs me a fix. To brighten up an other wise drab post:

Perfect Evening

Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together, even when there was no plan in the first place? I got home from work to be greeted by my daughter with a huge wet slobbery kiss, which was my own fault for getting her to remove her dummy before the greeting. She has developed a penchant for giving kisses recently, and ensures that everyone in the room gets one, once she has started giving them out. Putting on some music led to her dancing round the room like a lunatic, but the girl has certainly got some rhythm for a 16 month old. My son was still buzzing from the football match yesterday, and regaled me with his memories and best bits. He’s apparently told all his friends and teacher at school about it too, quite what they will have made of it from his recollection is uncertain to say the least. I gained huge amounts of brownie points by suggesting takeaway rather than cooking. More time gained for playing with the kids. Just 40 minutes later the most delicious smells were emanating from the kitchen after the food had been delivered. Possibly the best Indian takeaway in the world is within delivery distance for us, and the food is just indescribable – chicken tikka chat, tandoori chicken, rogan josh, garlic pilau rice. My mouth is actually watering from the memory of it all. Our daughter will eat just about anything, no matter what the taste, texture or spiciness. Our son requires some coaxing to be adventurous, but usually ends up eating more than his share. Once the children were in bed and settled, I opened a nice bottle of red and reflected that Monday’s weren’t always so bad after all; curled up with my wife on the sofa, feeling the occasional kick from our unborn son: absolute bliss. Sometimes the simple pleasures in life are the best.

Male Bonding - The Reality

As road trips go travelling to Wigan from Manchester isn’t much of an adventure, about 20 miles, involving two motorways and some small back roads. Clearly for a five year old it’s a big deal though. The excitement built steadily from early yesterday morning, until by almost noon I had to agree to leave, just for the sanity levels in the household generally. Even though the match didn’t start till 3pm and I wasn’t savouring the idea of keeping him entertained before the football started. As it transpired it was a wise move – we covered a lot of ground quickly, and were off the motorways by 12.15, but I hadn’t counted on a hold up that saw us travel about half a mile in half an hour. The cause? Road resurfacing in a place called Hindley. The real exasperation? The flow of traffic was being controlled by a couple of men with those old reversible Stop/Go signs. Incidentally whenever I see them now, which isn’t often these days, they never fail to remind me of Roadrunner cartoons for some reason. These guys had obviously either received instructions to only let two cars go either way at one time or were having too much fun using their walkie-talkies to let traffic flow efficiently. Still, it meant that we arrived in Wigan around 1pm, leaving me only two hours to kill before kick-off. The stadium car park was free, an unexpected bonus, and only left us with a short five minute walk before we were at the ground. As we approached the stadium he was struck by the number of people wearing the same shirt as him, the scale of the occasion seemed to dawn on him. “Do all these people like our team too?” A trip to a nearby pub provided the necessary sustenance, and thankfully supplied his new favourite accompaniment with his chosen pasta dish: garlic bread. Along with pizza, garlic bread is the closest thing to culinary perfection for him. After a visit to the pub’s play area to burn off some excess energy we made our way back towards the ground. The facilities were excellent, but then it is a relatively new ground. We went into the “Marquee”; a facility for away fans, which was decked out with material to resemble the inside of a marquee, whilst providing wide screen TV and the obligatory beer. Quite possibly the best surroundings I’ve ever experienced as an away fan. Normally the welcome you receive is akin to that reserved for Hannibal Lecter, and the facilities generally reflect that. We made our way to our seats with about 20 minutes before kick off, and as we ascended the stairs and the noise grew I felt his hand grip mine, I looked down expecting a nervous face, but instead excitement was painted almost like a cartoon. I can’t express how relieved I was. The crowd turned out to be around 17,000. I was expecting a lot more than that, but perhaps on reflection I’m glad it wasn’t. We were amongst (at my best estimate) 4,000 Middlesbrough fans, and thankfully we had end of row seats, so the throng wasn’t too daunting. The noise built steadily as kick off approached and he held his ears, he’d never experienced such volume before. When the teams came out the volume went up another notch, and you certainly knew you were at a football match. The biggest frustration for him was people standing up in front at the first sign of any excitement, meaning that he had to step into the aisle to see. But he was so absorbed, he wanted to see, and I knew then that everything was going to work out fine. Fifteen minutes into the game and our team scored, a slick move ending with the ball being thumped into the goal in front of us. The place around us erupted and he first looked startled, then a huge wide grin played over his face, we’d scored and he truly felt part of it. That became even more apparent when towards the end of the first half when we hit the crossbar and he leapt from his seat in anticipation of another goal. Half time score: Wigan 0 Middlesbrough 1. My fears of him getting bored proved unfounded, he actually complained that the first half had gone by too quickly! During the interval he drank in the atmosphere and surroundings, pointing out a fan being arrested by the police and commenting on the cheerleaders. The second half was subdued, a terrible defensive mistake gifting Wigan an equaliser. As the game ended he seemed less concerned with the score than the fact that he’d really enjoyed it and wanted to know when we could go again. Full time score : Wigan 1 Middlesbrough 1 Taking a different route home we passed another football ground – the home of Bolton Wanderers, and he asked if we could go there soon. So having checked the fixture list we may be going there on December 28 – perfect really as it’s just after his birthday. All in all the day went better than I could have hoped (apart from a win!) and I have accrued lots of Dad points.

Male Bonding

Excitement is building. I was woken at 5.30am this morning by my son, who wanted to discuss the football match we’re going to attend on Sunday. Whilst I tried to reason with him that it was 3 days away and that he had his first school test this morning, so more sleep would be a good idea, he had the perfect retort: “But I’m awake now”. Some things you just can’t argue with. It’s becoming apparent that the excitement is about the fact that this is a boys only trip, rather than being football related: “Girls can’t go to football can they?” I tried to gently explain that of course girls can go to football, but that mummy has no real interest, but my confirmation that it was just the two of us going was enough for him. It’s a bit of rites of passage thing, your first football match. Well it was for me anyway. I can still remember my excitement at being allowed to go with my dad, before that I’d been relegated to shopping with my mum and aunt. The sheer scale of noise and people was like nothing I’d experienced before, and I was certainly bitten by the bug. It did make me feel an awful lot closer to my father too, a shared experience amongst a larger shared experience. I’m hoping that as he’s roughly the same age as I was, it’ll mean as much to him. Given the early comments from him I think he will enjoy it. Having said that, I had a nightmare last night that we got into the ground and he said “I don’t like it, I want to go home”. I’m hoping that isn’t my first prophetic dream.

Addendum

Further to my previous post this is my suggestion to said colleague

Bad Idea of the day

No long post today due to work. Things are pressurised here, the strain must be showing; one of my colleagues suggested starting a swear box, while looking directly at me.

The Ex

I bumped into one of my ex’s yesterday on the way home. We had a pleasant chat, I’ve never split up from someone in a bitter way (yet!). I guess I’ve always come to realise that things aren’t working out and I’m not one for flogging a dead horse. Not that I jump ship at the first sign of trouble either. Most of my relationships have lasted a good few months at least. The shorter ones have always been genuine mistakes, where I’ve met someone on a night out, then the long term spark just isn’t there. What makes this ex a little unique is the age difference between us. When we met I was 19 and she was 33. I can’t say this was a plan on either of our parts; we met in a dark, loud nightclub. My friend went off with her friend and we were left to our own devices. As it happened we got on like a house on fire and chatted until dawn, before realising that there was an attraction there and kissing. Apart from the age difference, there were other complications: she was/is a vegan, whereas I am a confirmed carnivore. Whilst she held these beliefs strongly, she in no way judged or preached to others, but it always made for interesting moments when we met each others’ friends! We ended up going out together for two years, I was fairly mature for my age (probably from being an only child) and things were good for quite a while. The sex was amazing – the ideal combination probably, my youthful exuberance and stamina, her self confidence and willingness to experiment. It became apparent though that this was not really going to work long term; she had no desire to have children and the age difference was starting to tell. What really fast tracked our break up was my father getting ill and dying. I was living a few hundred miles away and the travel necessary was eating up my weekends. The real issue behind it was that she felt nothing for her father, and couldn’t understand why I would be so willing to give up all my time at weekends to see him, when there was nothing I could do to help. My father had cancer of the throat, and was unable to eat or speak for some time before he died. Quite often he was in a morphine stupor, and he basically withered away. We had some major rows about my visiting my father culminating in the day he died. We had travelled to see him, by now he was in a hospice and the time was measured in days. When I saw him I knew he didn’t have long left and told her that I was staying, she basically gave me a choice: her or my father. There was only ever going to be one winner that day, and I stayed while she went home. Later that night my father died, and I was glad I made that decision. We carried on for a few months, but it was clear that our relationship had changed irrevocably. We split and yesterday was the first day I’d seen her since. Which was a little spooky – it was the anniversary of my father’s death yesterday, and I had been thinking about her earlier. It was good to hear that she’s in a stable relationship and even acting as a step mum to her partner’s children, something she would never have contemplated back then. I was genuinely pleased that things had worked out for her and even more pleased with myself for having the courage of my convictions back then. I don’t doubt the relationship wouldn’t have lasted long term, and I have no regrets surrounding my father’s death. If only all major life decision turned out so well. It’s not the sort of mistake you can learn from, thankfully I got it right. Shit – didn’t mean for this to be a melancholy post, but I think there’s some positive in there somewhere!

Her Moans

Excellent News – Father-in-law is now residing at home, having been discharged from hospital. Early signs are good: his first concern was the length of his grass; it badly needs a cut apparently. It falls within my boundaries of acceptable length, but then I would probably find the height where you can’t see your children acceptable too. He is under strict instructions not to do any strenuous exercise or lift anything weighing more than 2lbs. So I know that at some point over the weekend I’ll be cutting someone’s grass. Heir No. 1 has had a rude awakening, he now gets homework during the week, in addition to the weekend version. Despite this his new teacher is popular and he does seem to be making good progress. His reading seems better already and his confidence is growing rapidly. The party season is starting again, and he has already started thinking about his own birthday and what he wants to do. At this stage he is ruling out a female presence from his class, but knowing him he will undoubtedly have a “girlfriend” he will want to invite. He told me last tear that he was going to marry one girl and have another as his girlfriend. I should add that I have not been teaching him bad things or that he is learning from experience. I do admire his thinking, and it will be a sad day when realises what life is really like! Any party of his is going to require some sort of early planning, his birthday is the 23rd December. He was due to be a Millennium Baby but just wouldn’t wait. It wasn’t designed that way, and how we laughed when lying post-coital we watched a programme saying that it was the perfect night to conceive a Millennium Baby. The laughter had certainly stopped four weeks later when the line appeared on the pregnancy test. We had planned a few more years before starting a family. Last year we ended up leaving it too late booking his party and all venues were booked up with Christmas parties. So early action this year will avoid repeated disappointment, although getting him to decide what he wants to do could be tricky. He’s at that age where he’s sure what he wants, until the last minute and then changes his mind completely. There’s a joke in there somewhere about women but I’m not going to go looking for it. I can see us being immensely popular, taking people’s children off them for a few hours should provide valuable Christmas shopping time. Off on a personal tangent, I am somewhat disappointed that my wife is not hungrily begging for me to ravish her on a constant basis. Not that this is a normal state of affairs, but in both her previous pregnancies her sex drive has gone through the roof, leading to happy times all round, there are some demands I don’t mind. Having had a child of each sex, I thought that baby gender couldn’t be a factor, and was expecting to start needing energy drinks, complex carbohydrates Nothing so far, well no more than normal; it’s probably all due to hormones, or lack of a certain one kicking in. Hopefully that can’t be too far off now. It’s much easier being a man – only one hormone to really worry about and that makes only simple demands on us. Of course what you wish was a joint activity can end up as a more personal odyssey. As I concluded with a friend of mine not long ago, there is a certain irony surrounding the hobby of DIY. As a teenager you resolve never to do it again once you get a regular supply of female loving. Yet as you get older the urge returns whenever the opportunity rises. On that note….

Small Portions

A strange weekend, by our normal standards anyway. Visits to the hospital revealed a Father-in-law very much improved and back to his usual self. The confusion seems to have gone and his spirits are definitely rising. Huge sighs of relief all round, he should be out of hospital later this week. Then the long term rehabiliation can begin. We had heard rumours of our local petrol station running out of fuel, people have started panis buying in face of the proposed blockades of oil refineries this week. When we went to do our shopping I noticed a small queue outside the petrol station, glanced at my fuel guage and thought I'd better join it. I can't say that we use a lot of petrol, I only use the car in the week to go to football and at the weekends to get around and go shopping. During the week I commute using the tram system, which of course I should, given we are here to promote public transport. But with the needle hovering over the "E" and the prospect of more trips to the hospital this week, and a football match to attend next weekend I decided to fill up. It turned out that they were only letting each driver put £20 of petrol in, with one of the attendants using the override button to cut off any transgressors of the rules. Whilst in the garage paying for my fuel, I asked the manager how bad things were. She told me that they had run out of fuel each day and although they were expecting another delivery today they were warned that things were looking bleak if the blockades do happen. I've now got half a tank of petrol, with normal usage that would last me at least a month, so I may not have too much to fear. I pity those people who are reliant upon their cars for all transport, things may be looking grim for them. I also know that my father-in-law has a half tank of fuel, so I've baggsed that and will be practising my siphoning skills just in case (he's not allowed to drive for at least 6 months) In other developments we have initiated a new rule - one hour's tv per day - although we've never let the heirs watch unlimited tv, their dependency on it as entertainment has become very noticable. Instead we spent a happy and laughter filled afternoon playing board games, reading and generally having fun. I cannnot recall all of us laughing more in recent times. Some of that may be connected with father-in-law events, but even so I think this is a new positive step for us as a family. Heir no.1's choice for his hour of tv? Pimp My Ride - so I won't be getting that Award for Great Parenting just yet. I must admit to a wry smile when we visited my mum's recently and he was tugging her friend's shirts and telling them: "You've been pimped!" - their faces were great. A gentle aside from me allayed any fears that he is attempting to become a junior Huggy Bear. Heir no. 2 has developed a taste for trying to adorn herself with any clothing left within reach, regardless of what she is already wearing. At one point over the weekend she had her outfit; T shirt and jeans on, coupled with two pairs of heir no. 1's underpants (one over each arm), her sun hat, his baseball cap, one vest worn as a skirt and a baby grow trailing from one foot. She was somewhat mystified as to why her new sofa climbing skills had deserted her. Bless.

High Dependency Unit

Father-in-law is pysically much better - so much so that he has been moved to a regular ward from the High Dependency Unit. I like that term - it can be applied to various aspects of my life - colleagues at work are High Dependency Units, they seem to rely on me. My progeny are High Dependency Units - although that comes with the territory and I don't begrudge them my care and attention for one minute. Certain parts of my anatomy are High Dependency Units - they crave attention and often! Anway back to Father-in-law - we were somewhat surprised to see police officers on the ward. He isn't some high ranking government official or superspy. It transpired that they were actually there guarding victims of a gang related shooting from the previous night. It's great living in a big city isn't it? Although recovering physically, he does still seem very confused about what's happened, and his short term memory seems to have been fritzed. The staff assured us that this is perfectly normal and there should be no long term effects. My wife doesn't seem convinced by this, but I'm trying to keep the spirits high. I'm thankful for the current pregnancy and son's return to school, this is keeping her pretty much occupied, and stops bad thoughts. I need to come up with a masterplan for the weekend to give everyone a good time. Time for the thinking cap.

Let's do this....

My supposition that Heir no.1's summation of his first day at school was totally off beam. When I asked him what he'd done, he replied with "Things", when pressed for details he became even more vague, although I thought that would be impossible. Through persistent questioning I established that he hadn't done any reading, writing or drawing. He was also most miffed that there was no playing in class from now on, and that the milk was no longer in Scooby Doo cartons. I felt as though I shouldn't lower his spirits any more by telling him that there will never be any playing again in class (officially at least) and that the Scooby Doo incident is merely indicative of what life is going to serve up in the future, things just can't be relied upon. Is that good or bad parenting? My capacity for deceit seems to have been at an all time high last night. Playing five a side football, I was in nets, when a ferocious shot came goalward, I still have the imprint of the ball on my arm today, from my miraculous save. My team mates all commended me for such a brave save, I didn't have the heart/decency* to tell them that I was actually trying to avoid being hit by the ball. Man points awarded and then removed by the jury. * delete as applicable No further up date on my father in law, except that his vital signs seem to be returning to normal, but his confused state persists. He has no recollection of his operation, which is good in one way and worrying in another. We'll know more tonight after visiting I hope.

Under Pressure

Oh shit - now I've had visitors and even comments I feel under a bit more pressure to actually make this stuff interesting. I never thought about people actually reading this stuff, and I feel I should really have been making more of an effort. At least I've got my fall back position: being an accountant. Everyone expects you to be yawn inducingly dull, and the roll of eyes whenever someone asks what I do is clearly hard to stop. I'm starting to wish now that I had a bit more pc or html knowledge, so that if the content is dull at least I could jazz up the environment it sits in. There again photographs or the suchlike would only probably scare off those that did wander into this corner of cyberspace. Somehow I don't thinkany version of Braless Tuesday that I could come up with would catch on as well as it does on Lisa's (Bored Housewife) blog. Heir No.1 is back at school today, and he was clearly raring to go - breakfast consumed, new uniform attired before I was even ready to leave for work. His summation of the first day back and his new teacher will undoubtedly be the highlight of my day. I've bought tickets to take him to his first football match, a rites of passage for any young man. Wigan Athletic vs Middlesbrough - a more attractive fixture I defy you to find, just don't look too hard. My lasting hope is that my team (Middlesbrough) actually have a chance of putting on a decent performance and he will become hooked faster than a fish offered crack. Heir No.2 has learnt how to play the "magic game" - you take her dummy, hide it behind your back , then say "Where's it gone?". She looks dumbfounded, then you place it back in your fist and she "finds" it. Magic! Hours of entertainment for all the family. She is now able to hide it in her lap, and although she can't say "Where's it gone?" she does manage to spread her arms wide in that universal body language "I don't know". I've got a feeling she's going to be a sharp one. Bless, she's a little star. Father in law is still struggling, it may be due to a lack of oxygen to the brain, causing confusion - hopefully there is no long term damage, but the hospital aren't committing themselves at this stage. This whole process is bringing back memories of my father, who died almost exactly 13 years ago. I hope things turn out a lot better this year. Shit, this post has turned quite melancholy, on a more up beat note I felt my next son kick for the first time last night, and even third time around it's still one of the best feelings in the world. There, that's a better note to finish on.

Around the world in one post

As usual my blogging intentions go awry and I find myself recapping a week. Major event this week has been my father in law having an operation to remove part of a lung, due to the onset of lung cancer. He's 70 and has been in poor health for a while, but hopefully this will give him a new, if slightly restricted lease of life. I'm hoping that the coming new grandchild will give him a sense of purpose to focus on in difficult times. He had two thirds of a lung removed last Thursday, which was less than they originally thought, that being the removal of a whole lung. I'm not sure how much extra benefit that third of a lung will give, but I guess it's got to be a bonus. They were threatening on Friday that he would be able to come home today, however things took a turn for the worse over the weekend, he appears to have picked up a mild infection and is still stuck in the high dependency unit. Last night around 10pm we got a phone call from the hospital to say that he had freaked out and had ripped all his tubes, wires and monitors out, and was threatening to get himself home. My brother-in-law was unreachable and we were the next contacts (his wife is profoundly deaf). Cue a frantic search for baby sitters, which proved fruitless. I ended up driving round to my mother-in-law's house to pick her up and try to calm him down (my wife can't drive, and frankly wasn't in a fit state to do so anyway). When I arrived at her house she was nowhere to be found, luckily at that point my wife called my mobile to say the hospital had rung to say he had calmed down and was now accepting treatment. What I would of done without that mobile call will remain a mystery forever. On a happier note, Friday's ultrasound scan revealed we are having...... a boy! I'm happy, Heir no.1 is happy (he threatened to leave the new baby in the hospital bin if it was a girl!), Heir no.2 is too young to have an opinion, but my wife was wishing for another girl. I guess there was always going to be a loser somewhere there. Workwise - the disciplinary that was to be held last week got downgraded to an informal meeting. Incredibly no one has ever been disciplined for being shit at their job and there are no formal procedures in place to deal with it! So to placate the unions I have to hold this person's hand while they prove to me that they are not capable of doing the job before we can get the work reassigned. Working in the public sector has it's benefits (I'm sure they're around here somewhere) but is frustrating in terms of getting things done quickly. My deadlines are piling up but there is a good chance I can get on top of them. Heir no.1 is back to school this week, and he will have a culture shock coming his way - this year: less play more work. At least he's still at that age where they look forward to going back to school. That can't last forever!