Quitters

If quitters never win, and winners never quit, then who is the fool who said, “Quit while you’re ahead ?” Quitters never win, winners never quit. But those who never win and never quit are idiots.

Seems appropriate today

You Are 22 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Instant Pick Me Up

The Blog world seems to have a lot of unhappy, disgruntled people at the moment - take this once a day until symptoms clear: http://www.cse.unsw.edu.au/~geoffo/humour/flattery.html

School's Out

OK, right, last post before a lovely long weekend, which will encompass our Blackpool excursion and Halloween, with yet another birthday party for Heir no. 1 to attend. That boy has a better social life than me. Actually at the moment a hermit has a better social life than me. My get up and go hasn’t just gone, it’s sending me postcards from far flung exotic locations. This break will hopefully recharge the old dilithium crystals, (She cannae take anymore Cap’n) and warp speed will be resumed shortly. This will be the longest break I’ve had from work since last Christmas. I’ve had the odd day off here and there, but work pressures and new assignments have kept my nose to the grindstone so much that I’d be unable to wear glasses now if I needed them. Did you see what I did there? I sort of confirmed my old man, weary status, then cleverly juxtaposed the fact that I’m still sprightly enough to have good vision. This will no doubt come and bite me on the bum in the coming years; both my parents needed spectacles soon after entering their 40s. Despite my jaded demeanour I’m actually feeling a bit like a kid on the last day of term. You know: keyed up, waiting for the final bell, mind making allsorts of plans as to what I’m going to do. All this, despite the reality that my freedom of choice is severely crimped by my family’s wants and needs. Speaking of which… I saw an interesting TV programme the other night : “Having a Baby Ruined My Life”. A documentary featuring various couples who don’t wear rose tinted glasses when it comes to looking at their kids. I watched almost incredulously as one couple spoke of their disappointment with having a child, and how it wasn’t really rewarding and enjoyable, as their 5 year old son sat with them. That’ll be nice for him to watch again as he gets older, and watch his parents squirm, “Well we didn’t really mean it, son”. Another couple with twins featured. The mother had given up a high flying exec job, to stay at home and raise the kids. Her husband was filmed as he looked after the children alone for the first time, whilst she went to the beauty parlour. The children were almost 2! Unsurprisingly he didn't cope very well. The programme basically concluded that although having children completely changes your life, it needn’t be ruinous. I came out of it with major brownie points, as my wife (and me) watched disbelieving at how little some fathers actually do. I actually enjoy all the hands on stuff. You get out of children what you put in. For a while in my early 20s I doubted whether I would actually ever have children, it seemed an alien concept to the life I was leading at the time. Now I find it hard to imagine a life without them. They reward in so many ways and enrich our lives through their excitement and learning. They can also be priceless: We bought Heir no.1 a maths and English book, which he enjoys doing the exercises in. Last night I was sitting with him while he did one involving looking at pictures and then writing the letter they begin with. You know: a picture of a ball, they have to write “B”, a key = “K” and so on. All was fine until we came to a picture of a rabbit, when he puts down “B”. So I gently suggest that he’s got that one wrong, provoking a look from him that suggests I am retarded and need immediate help. I suggested that rabbit begins with “R”, to which he replied, “YES, but bunny rabbit begins with “B”!” I had to quietly excuse myself before having to hold my sides with the pain from laughing. In the spirit of term end feeling, more crap may follow today….

Blackpool Beckons

It’s half term for Heir no.1 and I have Thursday and Friday off work. The plan is to visit Blackpool on one of those days. For the uninitiated Blackpool is a traditional seaside resort town. As such it is tacky with a capital T. Everything about it screams cheap and nasty. The “Golden Mile” as the Promenade is known, feels more like gold plate – and the gold rubbed off a long time ago. All the shops along the way sell tat, stuff that you, and no-one you know, would ever really want. Rubbish festoons the pavements, stag and hen parties throng the streets on the weekend and the smell of old chip fat hangs in the air. Accommodation is cheap and plentiful, thousands of Bed and Breakfast establishments will provide just that for £15/night. The beach itself has had numerous citations for effluent and rubbish being strewn along it’s length. So why visit such a hell hole? Because to children Blackpool is magic. I remember as a child visiting, and I don’t recall the rubbish, the tackiness, the terrible beach. The first sight of Blackpool Tower, a poor impersonation of the Eiffel Tower granted, meant that excitement wasn’t far away.

All I remember is the magic of bright lights, loud noises, donkey rides on the beach, and of course the Pleasure Beach. Every year our school used to organise a trip to the Pleasure Beach. A coach full of hyperactive teenagers desperate to ride on the big rides. The Revolution, the first ride in this country to loop the loop (yes I’m that old!). I can now relive all this magic through the Heirs. Within the Pleasure Beach there is an area for smaller children, Beaver Creek (I’m not making it up, honest). Heir no.1 has slowly started evolving from the roundabouts and tame rides into partaking of the more thrilling mini rides. He seemed almost addicted to the mini roller coaster last year, it’s a traditional wooden type of coaster. The only problem with it is that he wants me to accompany him, and this ride was not designed with people over six feet tall in mind! This year Heir no.2 will undoubtedly be far more aware and interested too, and will have some magical facial expressions to wear upon seeing all these sights. Heir no.1 will be checking his height against the “You must be this tall to ride me” signs. Last year he was just too short to take the first step up the ladder of exciting rides, but it will be another year at least until he is ready for “The Big One”. As a lover of these rides, and with a wife who abhors them, I can’t wait until we can get on them together. After a tiring afternoon on the Pleasure Beach, as the light starts to fade and we’ve consumed our obligatory freshly cooked doughnuts, the illuminations will start to come on.

Two tired children in the back, failing light and a slow journey along the front to view the illuminations should make for a very quiet journey home.

Blackpool can still conjure some magic, especially for little ones

We're going on a leaf hunt

Typically the children’s half term holiday has heralded the onset of diabolical weather, thankfully I am at work this week until Thursday, which is due to see an upturn in the conditions, hopefully. The weekend was spent at my childhood home, picking up Heir no.1 straight from school and setting off directly meant that we missed most of the traffic. Part of my mission this weekend was to get a leaf for another blogger’s daughter’s school assignment. I thought it would be better to procure a leaf from the Lake District rather than the city of Manchester, where we normally reside. It struck me on the way up to the Lakes that my yearning for a leaf may take some explaining. No-one knows that I am doing this blog, and I quite like the anonymity that it provides. I don’t think that I’ve put anything down that I wouldn’t want people to know, but if I knew that people in my day to day life were reading it, then I might start to self-censor. Does that make any sense? So, back to the scenario in question: how do I explain away why I am collecting a leaf to my wife? “I’m collecting it for someone in a different country, who I’ve never met, so their daughter can add it to a school assignment.” There were going to be too many supplementary questions to field there! Suddenly the Blogging Gods came to my aid. Out of the blue my wife said to me “Oh by the way, can we collect some leaves this weekend? I want to do some leaf rubbing with the kids next week. I can’t believe Heir no.1 hasn’t done it at school yet, and he seems really keen”. “Yes!” he piped up from the back seat “I want to do that next week!”. I kid you not – that’s exactly how it happened! So the good news is that the leaf has been duly collected. I did contemplate collecting different ones, but I thought that a lone specimen might carry more gravitas in the end. I did try to employ some thought as to what might add more value to the specimen chosen. There were a multitude of possible locations that I could have chosen. I settled on a leaf from a tree in the road where Stan Laurel was born (of Laurel and Hardy fame), the only famous son of the town I grew up in. All I need to do now is wait for it to dry out properly and then it can begin it’s journey to it’s final destination. I actually enjoyed this “mission” and hope that my contribution can add to the end result. The power of blogging….

Words Women Use

As I'm on holiday tomorrow (yay!) I thought I'd double up today, and then run for cover after posting this: FINE This is the word women use to end an argument when they feel they are right and you need to shut up. Never use "fine" to describe how a woman looks - this will cause you to have one of those arguments. FIVE MINUTES This is half an hour. It is equivalent to the "five minutes" that your football or hockey game is going to last before you take out the trash, so it's an even trade. NOTHING This means "something," and you should be on your toes. "Nothing" is usually used to describe the feeling a woman has of wanting to turn you inside out, upside down and backwards. "Nothing" usually signifies an argument that will last "Five Minutes" and end with "Fine." GO AHEAD (With Raised Eyebrows) This is a dare. One that will result in a woman getting upset over "Nothing" and will end with the word "Fine." GO AHEAD (Normal Eyebrows) This means "I give up" or "Do what you want because I don't care." You will get a "Raised Eyebrow Go Ahead" in just a few minutes, followed by "Nothing" and "Fine," and she will talk to you in about "Five Minutes" when she cools off. LOUD SIGH This is not actually a word, but it is a nonverbal statement often misunderstood by men. A "Loud Sigh" means she thinks you are an idiot at that moment, and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over "Nothing." SOFT SIGHS Again, not a word but a nonverbal statement. "Soft Sighs" mean that she is content. Your best bet is to not move or breathe, and she will stay content. THAT'S OKAY This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man. "That's Okay" means that she wants to think long and hard before paying you back for whatever it is that you have done. "That's Okay" is often used with the word "Fine" and in conjunction with a "Raised Eyebrow." GO AHEAD At some point in the near future, you are going to be in some mighty big trouble. PLEASE DO This is not a statement it is an offer. A woman is giving you the chance to come up with whatever excuse or reason you have for doing whatever it is that you have done. You have a fair chance with the truth, so be careful and you shouldn't get a "That's Okay." THANKS A woman is thanking you. Do not faint. Just say, "You're welcome." THANKS A LOT This is much different from "Thanks." A woman will say, "Thanks A Lot" when she is really ticked off at you. It signifies that you have offended her in some callous way, and will be followed by the "Loud Sigh." Be careful not to ask what is wrong after the "Loud Sigh," as she will only tell you "Nothing."

Golden Days

I've received this on email, but it evoked such powerful memories I felt it deserved posting here: Just to take you back a bit! Just for a minute, forget everything stressful and read this............... Close your eyes and go back in time... Before the Internet or the Apple Mac. Before semi-automatics, joyriders and crack.... Before SEGA or Super Nintendo... Way back........ I'm talking about Hide and Seek in the park. The corner shop. Hopscotch. Butterscotch. Skipping. Handstands. Football with an old can. Fingerbobs. Beano, Dandy, Buster, Twinkle and Dennis the menace. Roly Poly. Hula Hoops, jumping the stream, building dams. The smell of the sun and fresh cut grass. Bazooka Joe bubble gum. An ice cream cone on a warm summer night from the van that plays a tune - Chocolate or vanilla or strawberry or maybe Neapolitan or perhaps a screwball. Watching Saturday morning cartoons....short commercials, The Double Deckers, Road Runner, He-Man, Zeebedee Tiswas or Swapshop?, and 'Why Don't You'? or staying up for Doctor Who. When around the corner seemed far away and going into town seemed like going somewhere. Earwigs, wasps, stinging nettles and bee stings. Sticky fingers. Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, and Zorro. Climbing trees. Building igloos out of snow banks. Walking to school, no matter what the weather. Running till you were out of breath, laughing so hard that your stomach hurt. Jumping on the bed. Pillow fights. Spinning around, getting dizzy and falling down was cause for giggles. Being tired from playing....remember that? The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team. Water balloons were the ultimate weapon Football cards in the spokes transformed any bike into a motorcycle. Choppers and Grifters..... Eating raw jelly. Orange squash ice pops. Remember when... There were two types of trainers - girls and boys, and Dunlop Green Flash and the only time you wore them at school was for P.E. You knew everyone in your street - and so did your parents. It wasn't odd to have two or three "best" friends. You didn't sleep a wink on Christmas eve. When nobody owned a pure-bred dog. When you saw dogs walking around on their own. When 25p was decent pocket money When you'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny. When nearly everyone's mum was at home when the kids got there. It was magic when dad would "remove" his thumb. When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents. When any parent could discipline any kid, or feed him or use him to carry groceries and nobody, not even the kid, thought a thing of it. When being sent to the head's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home. Basically, we were in fear for our lives but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs etc. parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! and some of us are still afraid of them!! Remember when.... Decisions were made by going " Ip Dip ... " "Race issue" meant arguing about who ran the fastest. Money issues were handled by whoever was the banker in "Monopoly". The worst thing in your day was having to sit next to the opposite sex. It was unbelievable that 'British Bulldog 123' wasn't an Olympic event. Having a weapon in school, meant being caught with a catapult. Nobody was prettier than Mum. Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better. Taking drugs meant orange-flavoured chewable aspirin. Ice cream was considered a basic food group Getting a foot of snow was a dream come true. Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest protectors. If you can remember most or all of these, then you have LIVED.....but will probably die soon as you are sooooo old.

Insomnia – (or the chance to watch movies)

Last night I had one of those nights where no matter what I tried, sleep was evading me like a bank note in the wind. In the past I have been accused of tossing (not like that! Well, not always) and turning all night when I’ve been unable to sleep. Allegedly I accompany this with loud and frequent sighs. In order to prevent further aggravation for my wife I decided at around 2.00am that sleep wasn’t going to envelop me in it’s purple cloak, and I might as well get up. I made my way downstairs and then tried to think of a way to fill my time. Playing music quickly eliminated: too noisy. Reading: I’m not really enjoying the current book I’m reading, so that had no appeal at 2am. Sorting out my CD collection? I always struggle to find the CD my mood demands, in fact I suspect that someone is filtering my collection, removing some of my favourites that they don’t enjoy. But enough of the paranoia. I think about putting them in some sort of order, but alphabetically seems too anal, by genre too time consuming; how do I class certain groups? I ruled this out as an option, this wasn’t the time to start such a momentous task. If there is a right time ever. TV: I flicked through some stations, but even the naked flesh on certain channels wasn’t really grabbing me, although it was filed as a definite possibility…. I ended up looking through the DVDs huddled together and inspiration struck : Withnail and I. A film where nothing much happens, but the dialogue sparkles with gems. It’s about a journey two out of work actors take to the area I was raised in, the Lake District. So watching it is almost like a trip home. As soon as it came on I realised my choice had been inspired: the memories of the great lines came flooding back. “I fail to see my family’s of any interest to you. I’ve absolutely no interest in yours. I dislike relatives in general and in particular mine.” “I have a heart condition, if you hit me, it’s murder” “These are the sort of windows faces look in at” “We’ve gone on holiday by mistake” I could go on all day – the film is so quotable It saw me through till 4am anyway, then I made Heir no.1’s school lunch and sorted some bills. I got back in bed at around 4.30am, my wife groggily asked “Where have you been?” , then fell straight back to sleep. I lay there making a conscious effort not to move, or make any sound resembling a sigh. At some point I must have drifted off as I was awoken by Heir no. 1 shouting “I want my breakfast! Please” loudly in my ear at 5.45am. My mind did a quick calculation on the length of prison term I would serve, and I ruled out murder in cold blood. Instead I chose to acquiesce to his demands. It’ll serve him right – he’ll be knackered all day and have too long a gap between breakfast and lunch. What I failed to work through to, is that he will cope much better than I’m going to. After 5-a-side tonight I foresee an early bed time for me.

Old School Rules

It never ceases to amaze me how certain things capture a child’s imagination. Last night I returned home from work not knowing what mayhem to expect. Instead I was greeted by the sound of silence, no wailing or gnashing of teeth to be heard. I soon discovered the source of this tranquillity. No, there hadn’t been any hideous slaying or fatal accident. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was playing on the TV, and both little darlings were totally enraptured by it. The original version, not the souped up, new and improved version. Heir no.1 was sitting on the floor and Heir no.2 was sitting between his legs. Both were completely transfixed by the magical world of Willy Wonka, especially the Umpa Lumpas. I was surprised that such a low budget/basic effects film could hold them so spellbound. I was toying with the idea of getting the new version on DVD when it comes out. Clearly I needn’t bother and can get the original instead. Perhaps I’m assuming that children’s tastes are getting more sophisticated and they rely on special effects to enjoy a film. Evidently if the story is magical enough it will hold their attention even without all the CGI wizardry. I would never have marked it down as a film that could reward with an hour’s peace and quiet. I still think Gene Wilder is a bit creepy as Willy Wonka, well more than a bit actually.

Road Rage

Is it me, or is everyone in the world losing patience and the ability to think about other people? Yesterday I was returning from the supermarket with my family: my six month pregnant wife, Heir no.1 (aged 5) and Heir no.2 (aged 17 months) asleep in her baby chair. We were at traffic lights, sitting in the outer lane, with two lanes heading in the same direction. Ahead the inside lane was blocked by a parked car, which was visible from some way before the traffic lights. A large people carrier pulled alongside, with a driver that had the unique talent of being able to drive, eat a sandwich and talk on his mobile phone. I anticipated that this guy was going to cut me up and so decided that I would let him take off first when the lights changed.

Unfortunately his multi-tasking skills didn’t extend to watching for the lights changing as well as eating/conversing. So when he didn’t move off as they changed to green I did. Not at a snail’s pace, but not like I was at Le Mans either. By this time the guy’s spare brain cell had engaged and he set off like he was at Le Mans. However he only had about 75 yards before the parked car was an obstacle, and I was already about 20 yards closer to it than him. He decided that if he floored it he could undertake me and gain a car’s length of road. He just about managed this manoeuvre, thanks in main to me braking before he took the front of my car off. In my frustration I pressed my horn – not a long “angry” blast, just a short “look next time” hoot. This provoked the other guy to drive at 20mph giving me evil looks in the rear view mirror. Looking back, perhaps my wave and cheery smile provoked what happened next. I should stress that normally I would be using other hand gestures and swearing more than a South Park character, but I was actually quite relaxed at the time. We drew up to some more lights, with the same scenario ahead: a parked car blocking the inside lane. Careful Driver had again picked the inside lane, and never one to avoid confrontation, I picked the “sensible” option of the outside lane. As it was an unseasonably warm day both of us had our windows down. Through a mouthful of sandwich he managed to utter “What’s your problem dickhead? Why are you beeping me like I’m some sort of tosser?” Being the model of restraint I managed to reply “ I don’t like getting cut up by idiots who cant drive properly or read the road ahead, I’ve got small children in here.” Unfortunately my wife wasn’t showing the same level of restraint and said “ Because you are a tosser”. She normally criticises me for reacting, but clearly the hormones were raging within her. This didn’t go down well with him. His retort was “ I don’t give a fuck about your kids, I’ll kick your fucking head in.” My calm demeanour now evaporated, but we were only minutes from home and I wasn’t going to spoil an otherwise pleasant afternoon. As the lights changed it was clear he was going to attempt the same manoeuvre as last time. To avoid unpleasantness I let him take off first, but he then slowed until I caught up to him. He was deliberately going to do it again. So another burst of horn from me, accompanied this time by hand gestures from both me and my wife. This time the guy in front screeches to a halt and proceeds to get out of his people carrier. He then starts to walk towards my car shaking his fist.

Now I’m not a guy to provoke situations, but then neither am I a guy to back down from one. This guy was in his late 40s I would guess, about 5’6” and carrying some weight. Guys like this shouldn’t go looking for trouble. I’m 6’2” and in pretty reasonable shape; his face was a picture as I got out of my car. When I invited him to come and kick my fucking head in, he didn’t seem quite so sure anymore. As I approached him to discuss the matter further, he seemed to remember the clearly important appointment that had made him drive like a lunatic in the first place, and jumped back into his car. When we reached the next set of lights he seemed somewhat unwilling to return my looks, and he must have been feeling a bit chilly, as his window was now rolled right up. Heir no.1, as only a child can, said “What’s a dickhead daddy?” It certainly defused my anger at that moment. How is it that people are so unable to see how unreasonable and inconsiderate their behaviour is to others?

Or am I so unusual in trying to consider people around me?

Why

Why is it when I’m on the tram on the way home I can think of allsorts of things that I want to rant about, or put down here. Yet as soon as I sit down with a blank screen in front of me the muse deserts me. I need more time at the moment generally, it’s that frantic time of the month again at work, and deadlines are pressing. I had to field a frantic phone call from my wife just now as well, she’s lost £10 and was distraught. She knew she was being irrational, and getting things way out of perspective, but that doesn’t help me feel any better sat at work. Why does pregnancy cause these symptoms? This sums up my current feelings quite well:

Google Images

I've seen this on a couple of blogs and thought it looked fun. I'm totally unsure who to credit with the idea. Instructions: Go to Google and click on the images link. Type in the following and post the first (or your favorite) picture the search engine finds: - The name of the town where you grew up - The name of the town where you live now - Your name - Your Grandmother’s name (pick one) - Your favorite food - Your favorite drink - Your favorite song - Your favorite smell So here are the results:- Town I grew up in:

Town I live in now (well city, my suburb didn't yield anything):

My Name (apparently I am the Law!):

Grandmother's name:

Favourite food (anything spicy really, so):

Favourite drink (tricky one, but I'm going with this):

Favourite Song (this could vary from day to day, or mood, but It's Grim Up North):

Favourite Smell (freshly bathed baby):

My Death

I have had an interest in the work of Bill Drummond for sometime. He's been through several incarnations: Record Producer, Musician, Sampler, Artist, "Art Terrorist" to name but a few. I may revisit some of his "Jobs" as he currently calls them in later posts, but one of his projects has a certain resonance. He has created a website http://www.mydeath.net where you can leave details of what you would like to be done regarding your funeral arrangements. Th esite allows you to enter your own requests, and browse those that otehrs have placed. This may seem morbid, but it does actually serve a useful purpose. Many times I have had discussions with friends about what they want to happen for their funeral. These often involve copious amounts of alcohol and you never know which bits they really mean, and which are alcohol induced elaborations. When my father died after a long illness, we obviously had to arrange his funeral. However we had never discussed what he wanted to happen, even though we had ample opportunity to do so. Maybe it was a case of if we didn't speak about it, it would never happen. Maybe it was because we didn't want to face the reality of the situation. Maybe it was because he wasn't fit and well enough to decide something like that. The success of such an idea depends upon your loved ones knowing that you have specified what you would like to happen. To further this aim, there are cards you can carry to inform relatives of your intentions:

I think my own sense of mortality may be catching up with me...

Past Life

I was browsing Blogthings and came across a"what were you in a previous life" quiz. Always desperate to know why I ended up as an accountant (bad karma clearly) I did the quiz. Given my previous post I was slightly incredulous when these results came up:

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Genius Astrologer. Where You Lived: France. How You Died: Decapitation.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

Hmmm - someone knows more than they're letting on

Watch the Skies

I was struck this morning by a woman avidly reading her “Stars”, and the sheer concentration she devoted to it startled me. There’s a job that I wouldn’t like to try to do: Astrologist. Firstly you need to have a great deal of experience in analysing the alignment of celestial bodies (female bodies I’d be willing to spend more time on). You then need the ability to be able to interpret the meanings and consequences of their relative positions. Finally you need to be able to convey to each twelfth of the world population what the coming day has in store for them, according to your analysis. Ultimately you also need someone who is willing to pay you to render this service. I understand why my careers officer didn’t suggest this as an option to me.

The hand that rocks the cradle

When the darkness lifts and the room is bright I’ll still be by your side for you are all that matters, and I’ll love you till the day you die, there never need be a longing in your eyes, as long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine

The Smiths - The Smiths

Hormonal Memory Loss and Auditory Time Travel

Pregnancy is such a lovely time, a lovely glow about the expectant mother, new sensations and experiences. However it’s not all good. This time my wife has had little sickness, she is suffering with heartburn, but the killer symptom of pregnancy this time is her memory loss. Last night whilst I was clearing things away in the kitchen, she came in and poured herself a glass of water and then left the room. She was gone about fifteen minutes and then returned. She asked me if I knew where she had left her drink. I pointed to it on the counter where she had left it, “Oh” she replied “I’ve just spent the last quarter of an hour looking for that”. My incredulous laughter brought forth another admission from earlier in the day. She had actually done the classic “Put Glasses on top of Head and then Misplace them” trick. She told me she had spent over an hour searching the house for them, resigned herself to using her spare pair, then when she put these on felt the first pair behind her ears. At least the house got well tidied while she looked for them. The memory loss is getting that bad that she sometimes starts talking to you, but immediately forgets what she was going to say. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last night I spent more time playing old vinyl, and I came across a record that transported me back to my teenage years: George Best by The Wedding Present.

A real jangly guitar indie record, with lyrics that every teenager could identify with I must have walked past this doorway thirty times Just trying to catch you eye You made it all worthwhile When you returned my smile

It transported me back to a world of teenage parties and a carefree time

Seduction Techniques

Here's something I found on Blog Things, it caught my attention because I've never thought of myself as having a "seduction technique" - my past is littered with relationships I've found myself in without really knowing how or why. I'm not really sure what I make of these things, more experiments may be required...

Your Seduction Style: Au Natural

You rank up there with your seduction skills, though you might not know it. That's because you're a natural at seduction. You don't realize your power! The root of your natural seduction power: your innocence and optimism. You're the type of person who happily plays around and creates a unique little world. Little do you know that your personal paradise is so appealing that it sucks people in. You find joy in everything - so is it any surprise that people find joy in you? You bring back the inner child in everyone you meet with your sincere and spontaneous ways. Your childlike (but not childish) behavior also inspires others to care for you. As a result, those who you befriend and date tend to be incredibly loyal to you.

What Kind of Seducer Are You?

This Old House

Whilst sorting through a pile of papers last night I came across paperwork from our move into our current house. This revealed that the house is 100 years old this year. Given that there are only three months left of this year, I am now wondering what I should do to celebrate this momentous occasion for the house. The opportunity for a blazing firework display is denied by the law limiting the use of explosive celebratory projectiles to Bonfire Night and New Year’s Eve. Do houses get a congratulatory telegram from the Queen? Does she still send them to people reaching 100? Who will send her one if she reaches 100? Or is it all done by text message/email these days? Lots of questions – who has the answers? Hmmm might try Google…. Of course, as soon as I mentioned the fact to my wife she adopted a completely different approach: “I wonder how many people have died in this house?” She then launched into X-Files type theories about strange sensations she’d had around different parts of the house. She’s a cheery soul. At least Heir No.1 is recovering well, and Heir No. 2 hasn’t yet become transfixed by static on the TV, so I think we can rule out poltergeist activity.

The NHS (Not Helpful Service)

A traumatic Friday gave way to a more relaxed weekend. Heir no.1 appeared at 4.30am complaining that he couldn’t breathe – he sounded dreadful, really rattling and wheezing, struggling for breath. A call to the out of hours doctor wasn’t very helpful – “make an appointment with your GP in the morning”. Thanks, really useful advice. Once he had calmed down and consumed some Calpol he seemed steadier. So we waited until morning and rang our doctor to make an appointment. The receptionist was really helpful: “The doctor’s not arrived yet, we’ve got no emergency appointments available, can you not get him some cough medicine from the chemist? I’ll see if the doctor will call you back when she arrives” I managed to remain calm throughout this exchange, thanked her politely and resolved to go straight to casualty. We had to wait half an hour to see a doctor, but this was undoubtedly quicker than the wait we would have had at our GP’s. I sometimes wonder about the trade off of a free health system versus customer service. We got the antibiotics he needed and set off for my mother’s house in the Lake District as arranged. I love going back to the area now, it’s really beautiful and the pace of life is so different to the city. As a teenager I resented the lack of opportunity and constraints. So our son was quite subdued, but that worked out well, given the awful weather we experienced. We all got some well deserved rest and relaxation, even if it wasn’t quite the weekend we had hope for.