My adventures with birds

Interesting times again in the Godzilla household. I arrived home last night to find Mrs Zilla in an agitated state. She informed that she thought she’d heard a bird chirping in the cellar. This struck me as a slim possibility, we occasionally find frogs lurking in the cellar (our neighbour has quite a sophisticated pond), but I couldn’t see how a bird would make it’s way into the cellar. The reason for Mrs Zilla’s concern stems from an early experience we had in this house. We have a “real” fireplace, one in which you can burn logs, as opposed to a fake fireplace. One day after coming home Godzooky 1 came running out of the living room declaring that a bird was in there. Dismissing his tale as nonsense I took his hand and led him back in to prove there was no such thing. However, he was right and I was wrong. Sitting on one of the windowsills was a young, dishevelled magpie.

Judging by it’s colour and the amount of soot in the room, it had fallen down the chimney. Then it had obviously got frightened and panicked, flapping all round the room, covering everything in soot. Unfortunately it wasn’t just soot that was covering everything: in it’s panicked state it had covered everything with bird crap too. My concern was how I was going to remove this bird from the house without a) harming the bird b) getting hurt myself and c) avoiding further damage to the house. I searched the house and formulated a possible plan. If I used a large cardboard box perhaps I could contain my avian adversary within it and then remove him from the house. I located an archive box with lid that I had, ahem, borrowed from work, for the house move. I had neglected to return it by this point, but it was ideal. Strong and with a lid to keep the bird contained. My one worry was about the handle gaps, I didn’t fancy a beak poking through and having a good go at me. When I returned to the living room I found the bird had flapped around some more, and his movements had caused passers by and neighbours to gather round our house. Great, just what I needed: an audience for my endeavours. The small crowd seemed to get excited when they saw me – perhaps realising that the performance was about to begin. I approached the bird gingerly, magpies don’t have the best of reputations for being friendly. It’s black eyes didn’t radiate warmth and friendliness, more fear and readiness to defend itself. Thankfully the crowd outside served a positive purpose and caught the bird’s attention. I decided to act before my resolve deserted me completely. I managed to tilt the box and trap the bird between it and the window. It was nestling inside and didn’t make too much fuss at this stage. I guess the fact that it couldn’t see me now reduced the perceived threat to it. The crowd seemed happy with this, I got a couple of thumbs up and general smiles. Then the realisation hit home – I’d left the box lid in the middle of the floor, out of reach. Shit. I didn’t fancy trying to repeat the manoeuvre I’d just done, so called to Mrs Zilla and Godzooky 1 to come and fetch me the lid. Mrs Zilla was having none of it, despite my protestations that the bird was incapable of harming her or anyone else. This fear rubbed off on Godzooky 1, because he started saying that if mummy wasn’t going to do it why should he? A frantic 30 seconds of haggling took place, the exact details of which elude me now. The upshot was that if Godzooky 1 brought me the lid he would get some food related treat coupled with some small gift. A bargain in anyone’s language! Once the lid was in my hand I managed to slide it down between the box and the window and then ensured it was covering the whole of the box. Mission accomplished – bird contained within the box. Some of the gathered spectators looked slightly disappointed with the ease I’d managed it with. As I carefully made my way to the door with the box, the bird sensed the movement and started to bang about a bit, but not as much as I feared it would. I set the box down carefully outside, facing away from the house (I’m daft, but not too daft!). The crowd sensed what was coming next and mysteriously vanished as quickly as it had formed! I flicked the lid down and retreated to a safe distance (I hoped). The bird seemed to take an eternity to come out of the box, probably only a matter of seconds in reality. It looked around as though it was in some new strange land, strutted around trying to look nonchalant I think, and then finally flew off. The memory of this came flooding back to me when Mrs Zilla mentioned the possibility of a bird in the cellar. Except this time it would be a lot harder to box the bird in. Great. I descended the steps to the cellar, and the archive box was handily placed at the bottom of the steps (yes, it should have been returned by now!) and I picked it up ready to do battle. I searched the cellar, but could find no trace of a bird. Life for once was dealing me a good hand. I contemplated pretending finding a bird, and winding up Mrs Zilla, thrashing around with the box. Then I thought how heavily pregnant she is, and decided better of it. I was ahead on the day, no point in pushing my luck further. Besides I might never get my willy warmed again….

It wasn't me

Ok - own up - who broke my blog? Damn my tinkering ways, I see some time being spent unravelling the mysteries of templates....

My name is Lionel Hutz

These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place. Q: Are you sexually active? A: No, I just lie there. Q: What is your date of birth? A: July 15th. Q: What year? A: Every year. Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact? A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks. Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all? A: Yes. Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory? A: I forget. Q: You forget? Can you give us an example of something that you've forgotten? Q: How old is your son, the one living with you? A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which. Q: How long has he lived with you? A: Forty-five years. Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke up that morning? A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?" Q: And why did that upset you? A: My name is Susan. Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo or the occult? A: We both do. Q: Voodoo? A: We do. Q: You do? A: Yes, voodoo. Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning? A: Did you actually pass the bar exam? Q: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he? Q: Were you present when your picture was taken? Q: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th? A: Yes. Q: And what were you doing at that time? Q: She had three children, right? A: Yes. Q: How many were boys? A: None. Q: Were there any girls? Q: How was your first marriage terminated? A: By death. Q: And by whose death was it terminated? Q: Can you describe the individual? A: He was about medium height and had a beard. Q: Was this a male, or a female? Q: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney? A: No, this is how I dress when I go to work. Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed on dead people? A: All my autopsies are performed on dead people. Q: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to? A: Oral. Q: Do you recall the time that you examined the body? A: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m. Q: And Mr. Dennington was dead at the time? A: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy. Q: Are you qualified to give a urine sample? Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse? A: No. Q: Did you check for blood pressure? A: No. Q: Did you check for breathing? A: No. Q: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy? A: No. Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor? A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar. Q: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless? A: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere.

Snow

First snow of the year here in Manchester, and very disappointing too. It looked promising at first, nice big flakes and coming down at quite a rate. But as usual in this city it never lasts long. As a child I have memories of being sent home from school because of the snow and many happy afternoons spent outside building igloos, snowmen and having huge snowball fights. We always used to be able to get to the hills to go sledging, even though we weren’t able to make it to school! I say sledging, in reality it was Placcy Bagging. No-one actually had a sledge, but if you got an old fertiliser bag and sat on that you could actually go faster than sledges. Even with the advent of newer, cheaper plastic sledges I always favoured the Placcy Bag. You felt every bump and rock hidden beneath the snow, but the speed factor far outweighed that. The snow always reminds of the first time Me and Mrs Zilla spent Christmas together. We’d been going out for a couple of months and I always spent Christmas in the Lakes with my mum. I drove down to pick her up and she experienced her first Lakes Christmas. It was a great time – as we walked into the local town for Christmas Eve drinks it started to snow. Mrs Zilla had only ever experienced Manchester snow. The sheer amount and the fact it meant we were going to have white Christmas excited her. We were due to drive back to Manchester on Boxing Day, but by then we had arranged with all my old school friends to go Placcy Bagging for old times sake. A plan was quickly formulated, we would go “sledging” and then drive straight back to Manchester. It was a great day with most people throwing themselves down the hill with great abandon. Mrs Zilla as a newbie didn’t fancy a go, but she had a great time chatting to everyone and admiring our foolishness. Our aim was to reach the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill, we had checked it first of course! It was a great way for her to really get to know all my old friends from home. We carried on until dark, then retired to the local hostelry in an effort to try and dry out. Having failed in that mission, Mrs Zilla was treated to the sight of me changing out of one pair of trousers into another in the pub car park. Why it didn’t occur to me to use the pub toilets is still a mystery to me. But it still makes her laugh, the thought of me struggling to change clothes while hopping around in the snow.

What type of Ex are you?

You Are A Friendly Ex

You and your ex are just friends - great friends really. (At least that's what you keep telling yourself!) While civility is a good thing, make sure you're not secretly wanting more...

What Type of Ex Are You?

Last Personal Ad

I've heard rumours about him, so yes!

Ante Natal

So Friday was another visit to hospital, to see the consultant and firm up the date for the caesarian section, or so we thought. We had dropped Godzooky 1 at school and Godzooky 2 at Grandma’s. Experience has taught us that visits to the ante natal clinic are not quick affairs and small children do not have the patience to deal with them, I sometimes doubt my own patience there. I must admit that I do revel in the secret language that goes on in ante natal clinics. Upon arrival a midwife approaches and asks: “Have you brought the, you know?” She’s referring, of course, to the urine sample. It’s handed over by Mrs Zilla like a spy package, all furtive and secretive. In a couple of minutes she’s back. There’s a problem. Mrs Zilla has some sugar in her, you know. Now this isn’t totally unexpected. Mrs Zilla has a history of sugar in her you know. Both previous pregnancies she had sugar in her you know. She’s had to have Glucose Tolerance Tests both times. This for the uninitiated is where they ask you to fast before you go, then give you a very sugary drink, it was Lucozade first time around, second time some dodgy brand, NHS cuts I guess. Then they prick your thumb every half an hour to test how your body is processing the sugar. Apparently if your body doesn’t process the sugar well, the baby absorbs it and can grow to unfeasibly large proportions. Mr s Zilla doesn’t like having this done, and I can see why. It takes about three hours and she’s not a big fan of Lucozade, or generic sports drinks. Plus there’s the mess made of your thumbs. At the start of this pregnancy she managed to negotiate with the consultant that she would only have to have a Glucose Tolerance Test if she had sugar in her you know on three occasions. A couple of months ago she forgot about a midwife appointment and had a bottle of Coke and some chocolate the day before the appointment. Strike 1! Friday was strike 2, and the midwife insisted that she return today to give another sample. So this could be strike 3, and Glucose Tolerance Test time. I’ve pointed out to Mrs Zilla that at least this will get it out of the way and she can relax and have some nice things around Christmas, but I’m not sure I helped. After that little problem came the hour wait to see the consultant. Thinking ahead, I’d taken my book with me, Mrs Zilla didn’t show much foresight in this respect. There wasn’t much in the way of reading material around. I tried to interest her in a leaflet “Making love while you’re pregnant”, but she didn’t share my enthusiasm. I returned to my book, and then the questions started: “What are you reading?” So I show her the book. “Is it any good?” Yes my darling that’s why I’m trying to read it. “What’s it about?” To stop further questions I tell her. “It’s a travelogue, these two nutters think that by taking a picture of Elvis to the North Pole they can help the Baby Jesus bring peace to the world.” That stops the questions. Eventually we are ushered into a consulting room, which is empty, but this is normal procedure, you then wait here for the consultant to arrive, after about 20 minutes normally. The door opens and a young woman comes in and sits down. She’s a Senior House Officer, we are not deemed worthy to have the consultant apparently. She’s nice, and checks the size of bump etc asks another of those secret questions: “Everything alright down below?” and writes up a few notes in the vast folder that represents Mrs Zilla’s pregnancy history. After approximately 5 minutes we’re despatched off to the blood testing area. It’s only when we arrive there that we realise that we didn’t ask any of the questions we had. When do we go to hospital for the section, for instance. Given the length of queue waiting for blood tests Mrs Zilla resolves to ask today when she returns for strike 3. UPDATE Mrs Zilla did indeed strike out, and now faces a Glucose Tolerance Test on Monday.

Frickin' School Plays

I was issued with my mission this morning. I wasn't given the option of whether I chose to accept it or not, but thankfully nothing self destructed either. It seemed pretty impossible all the same. I had to try and locate a plain brown t-shirt for Godzooky 1 to wear. Apparently a letter came forth from school asking us to locate a plain brown t-shirt. The children who are being reindeers in the school play will need one. The antler issues are being taken care of with twigs apparently. Now that doesn't sound like a tough mission, but the reality is that plain t-shirts are rarer than hen's teeth. Plain brown ones must be even rarer, it's not like it's a popular colour or anything. Everything has some logo or design on it these days. A higher power must have been guiding me though, as in the first shop I visited, Primark, there lurking in the back of an aisle was a lone, plain brown, long sleeved t-shirt. In his size too! A ripped price label put a momentary fear in me, but I'd found the holy grail, such a slight problem wasn't going to stop me now, the barcode was intact, I should be ok. The queue was the next problem, it was enormous, anyone would think it was nearly Christmas, Oh yeah it nearly is. I got to the till, the nice lady scanned it, it beeped in a nice way and she said: "That'll be £1.50 please" I love it when a plan comes together that well. If that doesn't get me some willy warming tonight there'll be trouble!

THE Review

Well, we got our 2.30pm start sorted alright. As we sat in the meeting room I started to go through what all the relevant paperwork was for and to explain the format of the Review. At this point Mrs X (as she’ll be known) started to well up, tears were forming and the bottom lip was starting to quiver. Putting all my best parenting skills into action, I decided distraction and diversion were the best course of action. So I asked her what she hoped to get out of the process. This seemed to confuse her and stopped the tears escaping. She thought she was just going to get slated she said. So I made it clear that this was a two way discussion to sort out what was going to happen in the next six months. This apparently went in one ear and out the other, but it seemed to work at the time. I pulled out my copy of the topics I’d asked her to think about the previous week, and asked her which she thought were the priority. She hadn’t got her copy with her, and it was obvious from her face that she hadn’t even thought about what she wanted to discuss. Tears weren’t far away again, but I averted disaster by saying it might be good to have a spontaneous discussion, rather than a scripted, over rehearsed one. So I set the agenda that I thought might work best. One key area that just hasn’t been working was an easy start I thought. Part of her job involves carrying out certain calculations to ensure that we don’t overpay, or underpay any of our clients. It’s there in her job procedures and the deadline is the third week of the month, but preferably at the point of paying the client. As it’s not been working we’ve had to instigate formal disciplinary procedures recently. These take forever to actually have any bite, and we seemed to be making progress, with almost everything up to date. So I thought setting the completion of these as an objective would be a no-brainer, she’s almost there now, so in six months it should be a dead cert. Her response: “Well, I’m not quite there, and I don’t want to set a target that isn’t realistic” I gently pointed out that it was a target she was already supposed to be achieving as part of her core job, and that if it wasn’t happening in six months there was a real risk of disciplinary action being continued. I must have pointed it out gently as there were no tears falling and she agreed to the target. It continued pretty much in that vein, I set a realistic objective, she tries to say it’s not happening now, I say I know, but it’s a target for six months time and we’d reach some sort of agreement. Unfortunately the meeting that was supposed to start at 4.00pm must have been cancelled, or they were waiting outside to see how long it would be before I could escape. Which was at 4.45pm. The difficulty with her position, is that under the realignment we’re having at the moment, job profiles are changing. If you fulfil 70% of the job profile in your current position, you will be “slotted in” to the new profile. You are still open to challenge from other employees, but they’re going to have to have some major ammo to knock you out of the job. A large part of Mrs X’s job is being transferred to another department, leaving a new profile containing a lot of things that she doesn’t already do. So some of the new profile contains part of what she does, and some is new. If she can make a case that she’s already doing 70% of it the profile is hers. Unfortunately in a meeting with the head of function last week, while I was off, she told him that half her job was going, half, that’ll be 50% then, leaving 50% of her job in the new profile. Not the 70% required to be “slotted in”. She’s facing having to apply for her job in effect. Once I pointed this out to her she’s tried to backtrack, but it’s hard to change 50% into 30% without some major reasons, which she just doesn’t have. So yesterday I tried to buoy her up by pointing out to her that if she makes these targets work and achieves some results quickly, she’ll have a better case for being slotted in. She seemed to end the Review on a positive note and with a new determination to sort herself out. Unfortunately these moods never seem to last long and I don’t think she’ll have the same attitude this morning. From a selfish point of view I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, she’s really difficult to try and manage. The rest of the team chugs along really well, we hit all our targets and get good results, and I don’t have to employ carrots or sticks too often. Their reviews were easy. At least I've got six months till the next one, if she's still part of the team. The cynical suspicious part of me wonders if the head of function had deliberately designed these profiles to weed her out…..

?

Ticharu stole it, so can I

1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:25 2. Diamonds or pearls? Pearl necklace? Sorry for lowering the tone already 3. The last film you saw at the cinema? Erm, Scooby Doo 2 (hangs heads in shame) 4. What is your favorite TV show? Never Mind the Buzzcocks 5. What did you have for breakfast? Coffee 6. What is your middle name? Don’t have one, my parents were that imaginative! 7. What is your favorite cuisine? Indian 8. What food do you dislike? Bland, tasteless stuff 9. First love? Jane Hargreaves 10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Er, not sure, last one I played was The Best of New Order 11. What kind of car do you drive? VW Golf 12. What characteristics do you despise? Selfishness, dishonesty and self-righteousness 13. Favorite item of clothing? A pair of jeans that fit just right 14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation,where would you go? Egypt maybe or a road trip across the US 15. Daisy or Sunflower's? Daisy – memories of childhood lawns 16. Favorite brand of clothing? Hmm don’t have a favourite, things just grab me 17. If you could retire where would you like to retire to? My bed, with female company 18. Favorite time of day? When I get home and see my children 19. Your favorite birthday? My 30th, I found out I was going to be a dad 20. Where were you born? Barrow-in-Furness 21. Favorite sport to watch? Football 22. Coke or Pepsi? Coke 23. Favorite Place to Dance? Er, on the dancefloor! 24. What did you want to be when you were little, when you grew up? Tall 25. What book are you currently reading? Bad Wisdom by Bill Drummond and Mark Manning 26. If you could have dinner with anyone living before 1900 who would it be? Oscar Wilde 27. What bad habit do you want to give up? Stealing things from people’s blogs? Is that a bad habit?

It's here: the day I've been dreading

Performance Review time for the potential suicide case, the one from last week who said "What's the point we both know I've been shit?" I'm going to try and implement the full range of techniques I learnt last week. They suggested giving the Reviewee a sheet of paper with topics and areas you want them to talk about, as they may open up more (or let more slip) about how they feel. I did this and got a grunt and "Well, none of those have gone well!" Promoting this review as a motivational tool may be tricky given the current situation, with her "slotting in" under doubt. As if I wasn't feeling bad enough about this particular one, Mrs Zilla suggested last night that I should practice my symapthetic and understanding facial expressions with her, in preparation. That improved my outlook no end. 2.30pm that's the witching hour, or hour and a half. Rather cleverly I've ensured that the room we're having it in is booked for 4.00pm, so that it can't go beyond that time. Well it's at least adjourned until tomorrow that way! Nice - I've just found out from another of the team that they're having a sweepstake on how far into this Performance Review she starts to cry. He's asked me to time the moment, and I can't even enter the sweepstake myself as I may rig the outcome. How dare they? Oh, and the lady in question was in an unusually good mood yesterday, and she never has two good days in a row.

I feel able to post this

because I had quite a bad stammer as a youngster. I was actually born tongue tied, and had to have it cut. I can still stammer, when under severe stress, or rather bizarrely if I over rehearse what I'm going to say: queuing for things or preparing to make a speech are especially prone to make me stammer. All together now "Awww", still this makes me smile:

100th Post

Well it's taken me some time to reach this landmark, and I'm going to take the time to reflect on what I think my blogging experience has been to date. For perusers of this crap I write, bear with me, I'll try and get normal service resumed shortly. I'm still not sure what I hoped to get out of starting a blog. I'd read a few and enjoyed the vast majority. I guess I started to rediscover my love of words and language. That is probably the main motivation in calling this thing A Man of Numbers. Working with them all day is my job, but then I stumbled and fell in to the world of finance and accounting. Then again, I think all people do. There aren't many people who actually decide aged 9 "I want to be an accountant". I'm sure there are some that do, and good luck to them, but it's hardly a glamorous world. As a child I was pretty artistic and was even asked to draw the Queen's golden coach that she used for her Silver Jubilee, I would have been about 8 at the time. I was always good at English composition and got good grades throughout my schooling. My problem may have stemmed from the ease with which I coped with school. My grades came without the hard work others put in, and to an extent I coasted through the education system, without really questioning where I was heading or why. When it came to choosing "O" Levels, yes I am that old, I was persuaded to leave the arty ones behind and get a good general education, language, sciences, social sciences etc. Ironically whe I came to do my General Studies "A" level, I rediscovered my love of art. But by then it was too little too late and the travelator of my education was taking me off to college. Doing a broad social science degree including Crime and Deviance, Politics, Economics, Statistics, Psychology, Sociology etc etc meant that I enjoyed my college years, but still had no clear direction of where I was heading career wise. Believing the college career advisers that graduates would be in demand when I left I thought the fickle finger of fate would sort me out again. A short spell unemployed soon spelt out the reality to me. So the first job that came along I grasped, and so began the next travelator to get me to where I am now. Don't get me wrong I enjoy what I do, I make a reasonable living, have a great boss and colleagues that I get along with really well. Just sometimes I wonder what might have been had I taken a slightly different route. Anyway, my blogging adventures have led me to the sites of some interesting and thought provoking people. It's opened my eyes again to a certain extent and made me look at things afresh. People like Southern Bird and Lisa have made me realise that I used to find the same joy in words and writing they do. I've even started mucking about with writing again and that's pretty much down to their effect. They do it so much better than me, but it's been about rediscovering things that I enjoyed in the past. Other bloggers, like Lily, Ticharu,G and all the others I've linked up on the right have widened my perspective of life. Blogging has taken the blinkers off and made me look around more, question and analyse things, rather than plod along like I used to.

I've also just realised that there seems to be a definite bias towards female blogs. I'm not sure why, but then I've always got on well with women, as friends at least, getting past the friendship part was always my failing. I must read more male blogs and link them too.

So to all of you I'd like to express my thanks and gratitude for bringing something new to my table. Right, that's enough of the sentimental claptrap, on with the usual crap!

Performance Reviews, Vomit and a Big Willy

Last night I was late leaving work: I’d been having my Performance Review, which went well, but lasted a little longer than I’d hope for. I ended up talking with my line manager about a lot of issues that are coming up. Primarily to do with our realignment process, and the “slotting in” which is due to take place. All the new role profiles have been published and if you are doing 70% of the profile within your current position, you will be “slotted in” to the new position. There are some team members whose jobs are changing significantly, and there may not be an obvious new role profile for them. We can both see trouble ahead. So I arrived home about 40 minutes later than normal, which wasn’t bad considering the prevalent freezing fog blanketing the area. I was somewhat surprised to find that Godzooky 1 had already taken himself off to bed. Apparently he was complaining of a headache and feeling cold, although he had a bit of a temperature according to Mrs Zilla. He had asked if he could go to bed, which in itself is pretty unusual, although he has been known to ask to go if he’s really tired. I went upstairs to see him, as he’d only gone to bed 5 minutes before I got through the front door. He didn’t look great, quite pale and shivery, but he brightened slightly as he regaled me with tales from his day. One of his friends, Jordan, had been sick at school and it had run everywhere. All the children were both excited and disgusted by this and Jordan had to go home. On reflection I should have known this was a significant event, but I can be fairly naïve, alright, stupid, at times. I tucked him up and told him to get a good night’s sleep, then he would feel better in the morning. Parent’s Advice Handbook page 2. After a pleasant meal. Mrs Zilla suggested an early night. Remembering Friday afternoon’s delights I readily agreed. It turned out that Mrs Zilla actually wanted an early night and to watch a bit of TV in bed. I tried to hide my disappointment, but subtlety isn’t my strongest suit. As we were settling down and I was trying to persuade Mrs Zilla that a bit of sensual lovemaking might help her drift off to sleep in a rather delightful way, Godzooky 1 entered the room. He apparently thought it was morning, bless him, even though he’d only been in bed for 3 hours. He was gently but firmly returned to bed. Mrs Zilla then had the excuse that he might return at any moment, therefore sensuality was off limits. About an hour later I was dozing, when the sound of small feet running to the bathroom roused me instantly. The sound of retching soon reached me and I swung out of bed to check the situation. I sleep in the nude and had neglected to put any garments on, such was my concern. I was grateful for this at that moment: as I entered the room Godzooky 1 swung to look at me, just as a stream of projectile vomit left his mouth. It landed straight on my thigh and ran downwards in a pretty stream of colours. As I comforted him I was left wondering how he’d managed to get some of the vomit into his hair, across most of the bathroom floor and when would it be best for me to try and salvage my own personal situation. Once he’d finished retching I cleaned him and myself up in the best way I could. He then said something that took me totally by surprise “Why is your willy so big daddy?” I should emphasise that I was far from excited, and whilst I’ve had no complaints, I am unlikely to be worrying Ron Jeremy or John Holmes in that department. This wasn’t really the time I wanted to be discussing such matters, so I managed to distract him by “discovering” some more vomit in his hair. An awkward situation neatly avoided I thought. Until I was putting him back in bed, when he asked again. So I tried to explain that as you got bigger all parts of you grew bigger too. I obviously made it far too tedious, or the illness had taken hold again, because he suddenly announced “ I want to go to sleep now!” He was sick twice more in the night. The next time I made sure I had some undergarments on, before venturing into the danger zone. Just call me a coward.

In the interests of impartial reporting

To rectify the imbalance of yesterday's squirrel post, I think it's only fair that I should post some pictures of Godzooky 1. I wouldn't like anyone to think that I favoured Godzooky 2 over him in any way. Godzooky 1 is certainly starting to grow up. He's lost his puppy fat and seems to be going through almost constant growth spurts. He'll be 6 in a month's time, and is already well over 4 feet tall. Scarily he's not even the tallest in his class! The one problem with the pictures of him is that he seems unable to act naturally around a camera now. As soon as he notices one he plasters a really cheesy smile across his face. I find this quite endearing, but it drives Mrs Zilla potty. Anyway, here is my mini-me in all his glory, and to be honest today I would like to see his cheesy grin more than anything, for reason I may post about later.

I might this need

Holidays

Another day off last Friday, purely in an effort to get my holidays used up. I’ve still got 22 days to fit in before the end of March, although I can carry 5 forward to the next holiday year. With time off for Christmas I can use up at least another 6. But I seem to have more and more meetings clogging my diary these days. Then I get 5 days paternity leave for the impending arrival, although there is no time limit on when I take these. The nice thing about having the Friday off was getting to spend quality time with Godzooky 2 without the feeling of missing Godzooky 1 out. He was at school. It also meant that when Godzooky 2 went for her afternoon nap Mrs Zilla and myself could have some “quality time” to ourselves. Is there anything better than spending an afternoon in bed, dozing nicely afterwards? Even if the bump is determining certain conditions? It’s been hard recently (pun intended) as Mrs Zilla’s interest in afternoon naps has waned.. Hopefully it will return as quickly and strongly as it did after the birth of Godzooky 2 Another 4 day week this week. Friday we go for a meeting with the consultant gynaecologist to talk through the planned caesarian. Mrs Zilla is starting to get nervous about it now. Both the prior births ended in one, but this is the first (and last) time she is going in knowing that she will be having one. Hopefully Friday will reassure her a bit. I don’t think my attempts at reassurance carry much water with her. Even I’m starting to worry about how I’m going to juggle getting Godzooky 1 to school, look after Godzooky 2 and get my jobs done, both at work and at home.

Squirrels

Saturday was a lovely day, bright and crisp, with a frost covering everything. We decided to visit a local park as it was such a nice day. The Godzookies like to feed the squirrels, visit the pet corner and go in the playground. We were surprised to find ourselves virtually alone in the park, perhaps everyone else was Christmas shopping. We’d taken some peanuts with us, and were greeted by dozens of squirrels desperate for some easy food, without having to tackle the frozen ground. They’ve certainly put on some winter fat, they were little chubsters.

Some of them are far more bold than others and will actually take the nuts out of your hands. This really excites Godzooky 2 and she gets a bit hyper. This causes the squirrels to run off, cueing a chase for her. Others are less assured and sit a way off while they remove the shell to get at the goodies inside.

The park was lovely, bright sunshine and crisp leaves everywhere. Having it to ourselves meant the kids could go nuts without us having to think about their impact on other people.

These pictures haven’t scanned too well, they seem to work better in black and white, but then the magic of Godzooky 2’s eyes doesn’t come through. Perhaps I’m biased, but I reckon she’s gorgeous.

Digital Cameras

Well I’ve bitten the bullet and purchased a digital camera. I was contemplating it for a while, despite not having a pc at home. There’s the whole ease of producing pictures and only printing ones that you really want. Normally with the old, traditional camera we would take a few pictures, wait a few weeks, take some more etc etc. Then when you pay a fortune to get the film developed you find you’ve only taken 3 good ones out of 24. So the idea of taking pictures isn’t so attractive. My hopes were that a digital camera might encourage us to take more of the children. Then we can select the good ones and print those off. As well as being able to get copies for grandparents et al. Not knowing much about digital cameras, I decided to follow my usual tactics of purchasing gadgets. Go for a brand you’ve at least heard of, and always remember you get what you pay for, normally. So I am now the proud owner of a Samsung 6 mega pixel digital camera. It seems easy enough to use and I may have found a way of posting pictures on here, without installing dodgy software on my work pc. I should be able to use our office scanner/copier/fax to email pictures to myself. I may try this new tactic shortly.

Hey?

A Life of Numbers

With all credit to G, whose blog I saw this on. I guess I should be pretty happy with the results.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	7.5
Mind:	7.3
Body:	7.8
Spirit:	6.5
Friends/Family:	6.5
Love:	7.3
Finance:	7.3
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Grrrr Weather

I hate this change in the weather, it’s left my lips all cracked and sore. I’m having to resort to lip balm. There I’ve said it, I am in touch with my feminine side. I’m just not in touch with enough other feminine sides.

Thankfully we didn't get a Hitachi

Instructions vs Intuition

Mrs Zilla is very happy with her new washing machine, I say “her” machine, but in reality if I don’t ensure I put my stuff in the machine myself, there is no guarantee it will ever make it there. So I thought of it more as “our” machine, especially as I paid for the thing! However, I am not allowed to touch “her” machine until I’ve read the instruction booklet. Now as a man, this is somewhat of a problem. Like most men I tend not to start with the instruction booklet, but try to figure things out intuitively. Of course after being frustrated for a few hours I will finally admit defeat and reach for the instructions. So I know what I’m doing this weekend then, learning how to operate our space age washing machine. Roll on the weekend. Parents’ evening wasn’t very enlightening. Heir No.1 is in the top group for Maths and English, the only problem being his handwriting. When he’s doing his homework he tries to rush things, and his handwriting gets scruffy. I always make him re-do the work so that it’s at least legible. At school some of his work was totally illegible. Apparently once the children have finished their assignments they can use the computer or play with toys in the classroom. The reason for him rushing all his work now becomes crystal clear – he wants to get off and do other things. So we’ve asked his teacher to ensure that he doesn’t keep on doing this and concentrates on his handwriting. Here’s hoping it works. I don’t necessarily want him to have the best handwriting in the world, but as someone who is fairly neat, I want him to have some pride in his writing.

The Spirit is willing

I'm struggling today, there's a lack of inspiration and an air of apathy. It might have something to do with today being my busiest day of the month, and the usual panic to reach deadlines has just happened. We made it... just. The knock on effect is that my caffeine intake is well below normal levels, that coupled with a bad night's sleep (if Mrs Zilla can't sleep I'm not going to either apparently) means that my batteries feel low. Perhaps I'm dreading parents' evening at school tonight. Not for the progress Heir no.1 is making, but more for what he's written about me in his workbooks. Memories of the "My daddy drinks lots of beer " still haunt me. I may be back on form tomorrow - here's hoping......

There was something I had to do today...

Somethings you wouldn't buy second hand.....

Whirlwind Weekend

Monday morning again, after a whirlwind weekend. Some relaxation and some stress, the usual heady mix. Dish the Dirt went well, I managed to stuff everything I needed into my allocated space, and you can still pen the doors relatively safely. Friday afternoon was an exercise in logistics. I got out of work at 12.30, tram home, lunch, packing, trip to the supermarket and then to buy a washing machine. Yes, on an already busy afternoon just the small matter of purchasing a new washing machine. To be fair, we had fair warning, the old machine had emitted some smoke a couple of weeks back, according to Mrs Zilla. It continued to work, but then last week started wailing like a banshee when it began it’s spin cycle. I really can’t get excited at the purchase of a washing machine. Normally any gadget purchase gets me at least mildly excited. The sight of rows of identical looking machines didn’t cause a ripple of interest. Mrs Zilla knew what she wanted though, and I kept Heir no.2 out of mischief while she chose which white box she wanted. Then it was to school for 3.10pm to pick up Heir no. 1 and off to the motorway to make our way to the Lakes. If we leave straight from school we can miss most of the traffic and make good time. If there aren’t any road works of course. Which of course there always are. Saturday was just as hectic. A trip to Grandma’s local town, as she’d ordered a Harry Potter DVD for Heir no.1 to watch. Naturally it hadn’t arrived, so that was a slight waste of time, but we did locate a shop that sells sweets out of jars, the old fashioned way. Cue half an hour of Mrs Zilla and Grandma Zilla choosing small quantities of nearly every variety they stocked. Which reminds me, I’ve not had any of those sweets yet. After lunch we journeyed to the nearby animal park: http://www.wildanimalpark.co.uk/ It was almost deserted and we were hoping to have good fun at the lemur feeding. They let you give the lemurs fruit, although technically you hold the fruit in your hands and the lemurs rip it from you! Heir no.2 particularly loves it, the lemurs seem like walking teddy bears to her, and she gets VERY giddy when she sees them. Unfortunately it is lemur breeding season, and most of them were locked up. There had been a lot of fighting amongst the males when all the females were in the mood. So the world of lemurs isn’t that dissimilar to the human world after all! There were one or two loose in the grounds and they investigated all parts of Heir no.2’s pushchair in their search for food, which satisfied her desire for lemur contact. It’s also apparently wallaby breeding season, as we witnessed several pairs going hammer and tong as we walked round. The emus wander round the park and are quite partial to feeding from your hand (you can buy bags of feed in the shop). Some of them appear benign and friendly, others have a slightly crazed look about them and some bizarre twitches. Of course it was one of these that pecked me from behind, much to the amusement of Heir no.1 and then consequently Heir no.2. He stopped laughing when another one turned the corner and headed straight for us! We managed to extricate ourselves without further damage. The trip back last night was a nightmare – traffic jams and road works for 20 miles. The trip normally takes an hour and three quarters, last night almost three hours. At least the Heirs fell asleep for most of the time, and still managed to sleep through last night, Hooray.

Dish the Dirt Day

It’s Dish the Dirt Day at work today. This is nowhere near as good as it sounds. The idea is not to rake up lots of gossip on colleagues, that sounds like much more fun! We are moving buildings next year, a new one is being built as I write this. It is purpose built and may actually not be too hot in summer and too cold in winter. It’s a small dream we have anyway. So the idea of today, is that we all come in wearing “smart casual” clothes, to clear out lots of accumulated rubbish in preparation for the huge move next year. We’re going to have to clear out cupboards, recycle what we can and archive the rest. As part of the “fun” aspect we are all getting a free bacon sandwich this morning, an energy boosting cake this afternoon and then an after work drink. My problem is that I’m off to the Lake District this afternoon, to visit my mother for the weekend. So I’ve got to Dish all my Dirt this morning, oh and get that budget e-mailed out. So I’d better get on with it!

There may be trouble ahead....

Further to my performance review training I followed the instructions and went around yesterday to arrange a time with the employees I need to review. All went well until the last one, the one I thought might be a problem. I try to organise a mutually convenient time, and she replies “ What’s the point, we both know I’ve been shit this year?”

Superhero seeks.....

West Coast

Last night at football was interesting. The game itself was fairly even and ended in a draw, but it was the side show on the next pitch which was more interesting. Where we play there are 14 astroturf pitches, with boards around the bottom and netting up quite high, which is meant to retain the ball on your pitch. In practice this never works with some of the wayward shooting that goes on. It means that while someone is running the half mile to retrieve the ball they’ve kicked over the net you can watch games on adjoining pitches. Every week there are lots of scallies (annoying teenagers) hanging around the pitches. If no-one is playing on one they will use it, without paying, naturally. Quite often these little scrotes will try and outstay their welcome, asking if they can have a game etc.etc. Normally a few choice words persuades them that their presence is no longer required and they shuffle off to annoy someone else. We were part way through our game last night, with a group of these scallies on the next pitch. The people who had booked the adjoining pitch turned up to start their game. These were a group of women, who seem to play every week, and from what we’ve seen seem quite good and take their games pretty seriously. We heard a bit of commotion from the next pitch and it became clear that these scallies didn’t want to move, with the discussion getting more and more heated. If it had been ten blokes coming on the pitch I’m sure these three teenagers would have removed themselves instantly. As it was women, they obviously thought they could push their luck. The shouting continued for a few minutes and then things started to turn physical: one of the teenagers shoved one of the women. Murmuring began amongst us that we should go on the next pitch and turf them off. To the women’s credit they gave as good as they got and shoved the lad back. Then came the decisive moment, one of the teenagers, a short, white kid, about 14 years old said to the women “Yo, mofos you want me to put a cap in your ass?” At which point all the women, everyone on our pitch and the other adjoining pitch fell about laughing. Faced with a barrage of laughter and comments coming from all directions, the kids started to head for the gate leaving the pitch, trying to maintain some sort of “gangsta” loping walk. It must have felt like the longest walk of their lives. Their parting shot as they reached the gate was “West Coast!”, in the middle of Manchester! Thankfully a potentially violent situation had been avoided by some kid’s moronic taunt. Our game wasn’t the same for about the next 5 minutes while we were making each other laugh by making gangsta remarks.

Performance Reviews

Well that was half a day wasted: being trained to give Performance Reviews. I learnt that they are a motivational tool to help employees achieve the company objectives. Therefore you shouldn’t be too critical about past mistakes, but instead focus on future improvements that can be made. Pay rises are not going to be linked to performance, because that might discourage employees from revealing where problems and underperformance occurred. Using “open questions” will help elicit information that the reviewee may otherwise not divulge. Silences shouldn’t be a worry, they may encourage the reviewee to divulge more. The DVD was mildly amusing, with various “problem” characters you might come across, or all of them if you’re me and really lucky. Even I’m losing the will to live with this post, better stuff will appear above (hopefully)

Work Work Work

Right, I feel a bit lost at the moment, I’ve sweated my proverbials off to produce a draft budget for 2006. Then I discover that there are to be major operational changes next year which will mean I’ve got to re-do all the work in about a week. Thanks for that. Coupled with that sledgehammer blow, I have to spend the whole of this afternoon being trained how to carry out Performance Reviews (note the capitals, that’s how important they are!) Apparently this is to help us achieve the Investors In People accolade, to show what a great organisation we are. Sadly they will not be used to determine who gets a pay rise, although given my current targets that could be a good thing. My only hope for this afternoon is that it might leave me with some good blogging material. Oh, and I get to miss a scintillating team brief, which will probably be all about Dish the Dirt Day, which is this Friday. That’s a whole other story, one which I may return to tomorrow as well. It’s not as good as it sounds!

Normally you don't need to advertise for this

Bonfire Night

Ok Monday’s over and I can put the rant behind me, well after this little addendum: the local brother rang last night to find out how his dad was. He didn’t get to the hospital over the weekend and said “We’re on our way to the airport” – he’s taking a short break in Spain apparently. I’m guessing he may have located his filthy whore quite quickly! I was going to post about Bonfire Night yesterday, or our lack of it to be precise. I’m a big fan of Guy Fawkes; he plotted to kill the king and most of parliament, giving us a great night to celebrate his capture. All round a pretty selfless sort of guy (no pun intended). I’ve always been a sucker for fireworks and as a child loved the whole Bonfire Night thing. I’ve got great memories of toffee apples, cinder toffee, hotdogs and that smell of spent fireworks in the air, along with the smoke drifting around from them. We went to some organised displays, but it was the ones we had at home that really excited me. Watching these things fizz, whizz and bang in your own garden was tremendous. So having kids I have always wanted to share this magical excitement with them. Unfortunately I was banned this year from putting on my own spectacular display, mainly due to the previous year’s debacle. Last year Heir no.1 was old enough to get excited himself about the prospect of fireworks. I undertook negotiations with my wife (she doesn’t like fireworks) to secure the possibility of a home display. As a joint effort between me and him we managed to wear her down and gain official permission. So in the great father and son tradition, we set off to procure the fireworks. Due to the protracted nature of the negotiations the choice of fireworks was restricted. i.e. all the best ones had gone. Still, there were some boxes left and one was duly purchased. It was only when we got home that I noticed it said that there should be a minimum distance of 17 metres between the spectator and audience. Now our garden isn’t that big, but the plan was for me to be outside pyroteching, or whatever the correct term is, and the family would be watching from the safe confines of the house. No problems there then. The big night came and it was fairly wet, but that wasn’t going to stop the show, after all the family were nice and warm inside and I don’t mind a bit of rain in the name of entertainment. All started well, the Catherine Wheels span, the Roman Candles spewed their multi coloured sparks, the rockets whooshed safely off and exploded in clouds of stars. Fantastic. I was saving one firework for the Grand Finale – it promised multi shots of shells in different colours exploding at different heights. Perhaps in hindsight I’d become a bit blasé or perhaps I just wasn’t thinking. It would seem that I neglected to secure this firework in the same way I had with all the others. BIG MISTAKE It started well enough – some shells rose about six feet then exploded in a beautiful cloud of colour, I can’t remember exactly what colour. I was more struck by the fact that the firework when ejecting the first shells had slumped onto it’s side, at a jaunty angle. Now the laws of probability would state that there was an equal chance of it falling in any direction. Of course Sod’s Law takes precedence and overrules such randomness. It decreed that the firework should be pointing directly at the house, with me in the middle of the two. It probably only lasted about a minute, but those 60 seconds are some of the longest of my life. It is probably the closest I will ever come to being “under hostile fire” and for that I am grateful. The sheer speed and apparent abundance of the shells was terrifying. Normally I complain about how short fireworks last, I was willing this one to end far sooner than it did. I ended up flinging myself around the garden in an effort to avoid these missiles. Some exploded well short of me, others whistled over my head and exploded near the house. As the fusillade stopped, I was face down in wet grass. I got up and turned towards the house to indicate I was ok. The contrast in faces was marked. My wife’s face was ashen and she looked horrified, Heir no. 1 was grinning like a lunatic and jumping up and down. He clearly thought that this was an even more exciting addition to the display. I took my scolding from my wife like a man, and spent quite some time explaining to Heir no.1 that fireworks are dangerous and that was something which shouldn’t have happened. So this year, no fireworks were allowed. I tried not to sulk too much.

Brother in law seeks 6th Fiancee?

It feels like a Monday

I may have to have a small rant. It is Monday morning after all. My father in law has been re-admitted to hospital for more tests and scans. There is no immediate cause for concern, but he has not been making the progress that his specialist hoped for. This may be partly to him not taking the exercise that he has been told to. He is supposed to go for a short walk each day, and extend it slightly each time. Instead he has been staying in the house with the heating turned up full. Going to visit him is like taking sauna. What is prompting my ire is the way that my brothers in law are treating myself and my wife. One lives in Birmingham, and so is unable to do much during the week. I would have thought that visits at the weekend would be on the agenda though. The other brother in law lives locally at least. What has annoyed both me and my wife is that they seem to think that because she doesn’t work, she should be there to help out all the time. What they seem to conveniently overlook are the facts. My wife doesn’t drive, she is totally reliant on public transport to get about. She has to get Heir no.1 to school by 8.50am and take Heir no.2 with her on the bus, whilst being 7 months pregnant. She has to fit in a nap for Heir no.2 before returning to the school at 3.15pm to pick up Heir no.1. This schedule doesn’t give much leeway for running errands. I have no problem helping out when I can. I know my wife is upset by the condition her father is in, and I can remember all too well how I felt when my father was ill. I had no brothers or sisters to share the burden with, but given the way things are that might have been a small blessing. On Saturday we went to the hospital to visit. The children aren’t allowed on the ward, so I have to try to keep them entertained and out of trouble in the visitors’ room. My wife hadn’t been inside long when she returned. The brother from Birmingham had visited on Friday night and was tasked with the job of asking us to fetch some denture adhesive before our visit. We hadn’t been informed of this need, and arrived empty handed. With father in law unable to eat until some adhesive was available it became a priority. We knew that the other brother (local one) was due to be visiting later on. So I made a swift phone call to ask him to locate some on his way in. At this point he informed that he wouldn’t be visiting that day so he couldn’t help. He was taking a lady friend to lunch instead. I realise his fifth fiancée has just dumped him, but thought he might be able to keep his dating needs outside hospital visiting hours! So I was tasked with the job of locating some denture adhesive – on a Saturday afternoon, with the Heirs in tow. The third shop I tried actually had the required brand, so it wasn’t too painful an effort! Yesterday I spent the day power cleaning my father in law’s drive, to make it safer for traversing with the wintry weather almost upon us. I was supposed to joined by my locally living brother in law, but a late phone call informed me that he had a second date lunch to attend instead. I really hope that both brothers wake up and smell the coffee before it’s too late. You don’t get second or third chances to do the right thing by your parents when they’re gone. Rant over and I really should get on with the forecast budget for next year. Monday mornings – who needs them?

Personal Ad #3 In the Spirit of today's news

New Arrival

Just a quick post to mark the birth of my friend's baby. I've known him since school, and he has always wanted to be a father. He's the sort of guy who's going to be a great dad too. Seeing the photos of his new arrival has made my excitement for ours grow.

Nine weeks till ours arrives

Disney

This picture makes me smile for various reasons: the main one is fairly obvious, a great idea well executed by the ladies involved. I also love it for the different approaches taken by the men in the picture. Central guy is brazen and forward in his request to be in the picture, the ladies seem quite complicit to the photo. It's the two guys on the left and right of the picture that really make me laugh. The one on the left is straining to get a view, but with a really disinterested look on his face. The guy on the right is getting a surreptitious view, but appears to have the facial expression of someone who is grinning. I should add that I am not in the picture, nor did I take it!

This picture is also a tribute to a work colleague who has just left on a three week holiday to Disney in Florida. He’s staying in one of the on site hotels for the duration of his vacation. He’s 49 and has no children. In fact he freely admits that he hates children, not to the point of killing them or anything, but cannot stand to be around loud, boisterous children. We cannot fathom why he has decided to spend a 3 week holiday in the Mecca for loud, boisterous children. I hope he has a good time, but cannot help think that he is going to endure a nightmare. Three weeks at Disney, even I , with children would baulk at the idea.

Personals Ad #2 Optimism Defined

Does this make me a bad parent?

Another one that had slipped from my mind from the weekend. We normally endeavour to set Heir no.1 a time to get up on a Sunday morning, in an effort, (usually in vain) to gain some extra time in bed. If you don’t give him a time, then he usually comes in and stands by the side of the bed. After a few minutes of no response (I know this because I’ve pretended to be asleep in the past) he starts to prod you, gently at first and then harder until he gets a response. So to stop such actions we usually agree a time for him to get up when putting him to bed on Saturday night. This still doesn’t always work, as he will wake up early and then start to bang on the wall, or mutter (shout really) to himself. Still, as usual negotiations took place on Saturday night: Me: “Right, so you won’t get up before 9 O’clock, ok?” Him: “ 8 O’clock?” Me: “No, 9 O’clock” Him: “8.30?” (a born haggler) Me: “No, 9 O’clock” (tough in the right situations) Him: “8.59?” (perhaps not a natural haggler) Me: “Ok, 8.59, but not earlier!” (I know when I’ve won) I retire downstairs and revel in the glory of my achievement, Mrs Godzilla was suitably impressed, and then the horror hit me. “The clocks go back tonight! I’ve not altered his!” The realisation hit home: he was going to get up at 8 O’clock – he’d won without even realising it! Quick thinking was required, how was I going to retrieve this situation? I didn’t know where the time change buttons on his clock were, and didn’t want to risk disturbing him either. The best my feverish mind could come up with was to change ALL the other clocks in the house to the new time and try to bluff him out, to get him to go back to bed in the morning. He was through at exactly 8.59 on his clock and wouldn’t listen to any arguments that all the other clocks in the house said it wasn’t 9 O’clock. The upshot is that he thinks he’s either got a magic clock or the ability to change time when he wants to. How do you get this parenting thing right?

How Weird

With credit to Southern Bird, where I spotted this:

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

# 1 in a new series of strange adverts

Whilst

it's fresh in my mind I'd better get this down - gems often fall from my mind like this season's leaves. This morning Heir no.1 revealed an incident related to my Road Rage post. Apparently someone at school called him a dickhead yesterday, but as Heir no.1 pointed out he was stupid because he wasn't even driving a car. Well, it tickled me at the time

Since I've Been Gone

After a few days away from the world of blogging why am I finding it so hard to find inspiration? Not that I normally ooze creative and witty juices, but it seems that I am more out of the rhythm at the moment than usual. Quick resume of what happened during my time off: Thursday was a glorious day, so we, along with half the population of England went to Blackpool. The weather was unseasonably warm, and Heir no.1 fully enjoyed the pleasures of Beaver Creek. Lots of goes on the roller coaster, and we discovered that he is now tall enough to take the next step up in terms of rides. So our next visit will involve more exciting rides! As a small aside I was shocked to see the prices of the rides. You can buy wristbands: £15 for a child’s Beaver Creek or £30 for a full adult one. Alternatively you can buy individual tickets for £1 each. Rides are then rated by ticket value. The Big One is a nine ticket ride, NINE, that means £9 for a one and a half minute roller coaster ride! Heir no.2 was somewhat bewildered by all the sights and sounds, but seemed to really enjoy herself. Especially when we ventured onto the beach and saw the donkey rides. She seems to be a real sucker for nature and animals. Friday was a dark and dismal day, rain resumed and we ended up visiting car showrooms to size up which model we should get next, to accommodate our growing family. As usual the over zealous car salesman did his best to put us off returning there for life. I find myself feeling less and less enthusiastic towards the prospect of getting a people carrier/MPV. I’ve always enjoyed driving, and have this dread that a bigger vehicle will reduce my pleasure. Although a bigger back seat may increase the chances of a different type of pleasure, a whole different story there though. Saturday was party time, at the Trafford Centre, in the children’s play area. Unfortunately or fortunately their shutters had broken, so the general public were unable to go in. This meant that the booked parties were the only ones roaming the huge soft play area. The combination of over exertion and sugar rush created a clash within Heir no.1. He was buzzing from the sugar and adrenalin, but with weary limbs. The memory of that feeling might keep him off hard drugs for a bit longer! Sunday was shopping and homework day. Back to the Trafford Centre to purchase various bits of clothing, new trainers for Heir No.1 etc etc. It’s amazing how you can go out for one thing and end up with bags and bags of shopping. None of it for me mysteriously enough….. Monday – back to school. Heir no.1 loves it when I’m off and take him/pick him up from school. It also left a little time available for an afternoon “nap” whilst Heir no.2 was taking hers. Nothing like a little afternoon work out to make you appreciate a day off all the more. Now back to the daily grind (no pun intended) and already it feels like I’ve never been away from my desk.

It's Good and Bad

to have time off work. I get to enjoy spending quality time with my family, and forget work pressures. I get to catch up on all the great blogs I love reading, and get several day's worth of posts all at once - feels like Christmas! The comments I feel like making don't seem do relevant though - some days have passed since the original post, and I've never enjoyed turning up that late for parties. I can't see much work getting done while I do all this catching up, but then my organiser warns me that I have meetings for most of the day and there's the 75 work emails to deal with. Shit. Back to reality