Parent's Evening

Parent’s evening saw us visiting Godzooky 1’s teacher for an update on his progress. He is top of Maths, doing well with his reading and English, and even his handwriting has improved. Apparently he is one of the most caring children in the class, according to his teacher. He hates to see other people upset, and tries to ensure everyone is happy. He’s also a bit of a grass, informing on other’s wrongdoings. The only problem his teacher is experiencing with him is the development of a love triangle. Him and one of his friends have both fallen for the same girl. This has developed into petty arguments and some pushing and shoving. We returned to his Grandparents’ house where he was waiting, and asked him if he thought he was in trouble for anything. He looked coy and said “No, don’t think so?” When we confronted him about his behaviour with his friend over the girl, he said “ But I love her”. So Mrs Zilla asked him what he meant by that, and he replied “ When I see her I feel all wiggly inside”. He’s 6! These things aren’t meant to happen for years yet! One thing I noticed, whilst at the school, was a sign like a bus stop in one corner of the playground. I asked what it was for and he told me it was the “Friendship Stop”. If you’ve got no-one to play with you go and stand by the Friendship Stop and someone will come along and invite you to play with them. What a fantastic idea – no need for children to feel lonely, kicking their heels with nothing to do. Stand by the Stop and fun will come to you.

The Price of Admission

So somebody’s told you how to be a man, Just fuck ’em and leave 'em, and score as many as you can, But always have someone who’s close to your heart, And if you want to keep her, keep her in the dark. Cause you love her, So you just can’t tell her, But you know full well, You have to pay the price of admission You have to pay the price of admission Somewhere down the line Sometime along the way You have to pay the price of admission You have to pay the price of admission And now she tells you that she’s fucked others too, But though she gave her all, She never gave her heart, And she wants to keep you, So, she cannot keep it dark, She lets you in up close And blows away your pride You have to pay the price of admission You have to pay the price of admission Somewhere down the line Sometime along the way You have to pay the price of admission You have to pay the price of admission So somebody’s shown you how to be a man

Strike

There are a million Local Government workers on strike today, in protest at changes to the pension scheme they pay into. It means that people will no longer be able to retire at 60 rather than the normal 65. I am one of the people who pay into the scheme, but not in a union. Today was my first time involved in industrial action. Crossing the picket line was not anything to fear though, most of the people I have known for a few years and we exchanged pleasantries as I explained I was not a union member and therefore had no reason to strike. Most of my department are in, there are very few union members amongst us, and it seems to me that the strike has little solid support. Apparently the turnout for the ballot was only 28%, so it was hardly a majority decision to strike. Faced with the prospect of losing a day's pay, the vast majority of people have booked a day's holiday to avoid losing money or crossing the picket line. When I compare the situation in France (where they're having a General Strike) with ours the two issues seem a million miles apart. In France there is legislation being introduced that will mean that young people starting work will not have permanent working rights until 6 years after they begin working. This seems unfair and will probably lead to discrimination in the workplace. The strike taking place over here seems determined to bring as much misery and inconvenience to the general public as possible. I can see how it will highlight the cause, but I have the feeling that most people will see it as a very selfish attitude. All those in the private sector are expected to work to 65. Why shouldn't the public sector be expected to do the same? It has meant a very quiet morning in the office, and enabled us all to get quite a lot of work done without the usual interruptions.

Mother's day

I partly susbscribe to the theory that there should be no such thing as Mother's Day. No-one should need a special day to show their love for the person who went through childbirth and raised them. A more regular demonstration of appreciation is surely warranted. However I appreciate that there may be those out there who need a prompt. Mrs Zilla did get breakfast in bed and a gift, and even a meal out with her own mother. The children and myself surpassed ourselves in my humble opinion. The meal turned out to be a bit of a disaster though. We arrived at the restaurant at 12.45, having booked earlier in the week. We didn't actually get to eat our mains until 2.25pm, and there was no clocks forward shennanigans going on there. This meant that we also got caught up in all the football traffic heading towards Old Trafford, and I sacrificed watching my own team playing earlier on tv, such is my generosity. The food itself was bland, but at least the company was good and the efforts were appreciated. On the way home, to avoid some traffic, I called into a supermarket to purchase some treats for the children, they had been well behaved, only to be shocked at the sight of people still trying to buy Mother's Day cards! If you've not sorted it by 3.30pm you might as well just forget it completely....

Back to the Usual Crap

You Are Homer Simpson

You're just an ordinary, all-American working Joe... With a special fondness for pork rinds and donuts. You will be remembered for: your little "isms" and philosophies on life Your life philosophy: "Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It's what separates us from the animals ... except the weasel."

The Simpsons Personality Test

The Big Day

Ok to the wedding itself. We woke and descended to the hotel restaurant. Then came the trauma of what to have as a wedding breakfast. We had a long day ahead, yet still wanted to fit comfortably into our wedding clothes. We settled on waffles and strawberries. Mrs Zilla was booked into the hotel’s spa and beauty salon for a full make-up and hair job. This left me the morning to roam the casino floor, stroll in the sunshine, with my only task being to pick up the wedding clothes from reception. The wedding service was booked for 1pm local time, which made it about 9pm over here – ideally timed for the parties taking place in good old Blighty. Mrs Zilla returned from the salon, overjoyed at the condition her hair, nails and make up were in. I put on my tux and helped her into her dress. It was quite a surreal experience walking through the hotel wearing our wedding regalia. This is Vegas remember, you can walk into a hotel and see huge fish tanks, lions, the Eiffel Tower etc etc. Yet the reaction we got from people was astounding. Throngs of people were clamouring almost to congratulate us and pass on their good wishes. I was actually worried at one point that we were going to be late for the service, such was the delay getting out of the hotel. We made it outside and our limo was waiting, whisking us off to the chapel via back roads, avoiding the crawl of the Strip. We arrived and met the Minister who was conducting the service, he talked through the service with us and the sanctity and meaning of marriage. It was far more of a proper service than I perhaps expected. This was certainly no drive thru wedding chapel. We were able to pick up several messages of good wishes that our friends and family had sent. These both settled nerves and reminded us that our “performance” was being eagerly watched at home. The service seemed to pass in mere moments, and the cameras beaming it over the internet were very unobtrusive. Yet the quality was excellent, so we were told when we got home. We were directed outside, for more pictures to be taken, and the grounds were truly beautiful. It was amazing to think this little oasis of calm was only yards from the Strip. We went down to the Strip and had our picture taken next to the chapel’s sign. This prompted lots of horn tooting and shouts of good wishes from those travelling past by car. We’d actually booked March for the wedding as it seemed the best time of year weather wise – average temperatures in the mid 70s. Not too hot for us, but pleasant all the same. Vegas was actually experiencing a mini heat wave at the time, and the temperatures were about 95 to 100. We were starting to wilt wearing all our wedding clothes. Respite came back in the limousine, the air conditioning heavenly. This time we returned down the Strip, time was on our side now. We swept past all the hotels on the Strip and off to the airport, for the next part of the wedding. We got changed into more practical clothes and headed out to the helipad. Our pilot was a total star, and made us feel like the most important people he’d ever carried. We took off and headed out of Vegas. We first reached the Hoover Dam, and even from a height it was impressive, then we swooped down again over the desert. The helicopter ride was tremendous, a mixture of stirring music and our pilot’s running commentary filling our headphones. Suddenly he said “Brace yourselves!” and we swept up and over the edge of the Grand Canyon. It was like being on the best roller coaster ever. We descended for what seemed like minutes, until we reached the floor of the canyon. We got out, and the scenery was totally stunning. The pictures we took cannot begin to convey the scale. I realised just what a speck on the planet we all are. The helicopter pilot fetched the wedding picnic and disappeared over a small ridge, leaving us alone to enjoy our feast. We were lucky, apparently the Indians who own the land keep revoking permission to land in the canyon, but we’d timed it right. Our trip back got us to Vegas as night fell, so we had a helicopter view of the Strip all lit up. In the limo on the way back to the hotel we were both full of what we’d seen and experienced that day. If I’m brutally honest the meal we went out for doesn’t stick in my mind as well as it should. I know it was lovely and the service great, but I think the emotions and sights earlier in the day had been too intense. Ok as threatened/promised a picture from my wedding day. I should point out that the cheesy pose was suggested by the photographer, and this was back in the day of my short hair.

Apologies for any nightmares caused or therapy required

Wedding Plans

back to the story of my wedding anniversary then. So I'd popped the question, got the right reply and we were feeling quite smug about doing it on our terms and not to meet other people's expectations. Lots of brownie points accrued to me for the ring bought as well. Everyone's a winner.... Then we thought through the logistics of getting married and the problem of people's expectations started to rear it's head again. Practicalities were the first thought - where would we get married? My mum lives in the Lake District, Mrs Zilla's parents live in Manchester, one of her brothers lives in Birmingham, the other in Cheshire. The rest of her family live in Scotland, the rest of mine in the North East of England. Should we have it locally? Somewhere in the middle? Then what type of wedding to go for? A big white one? Quick civil service? How much hassle did we want? Neither me or Mrs Zilla are big on lots of attention. I was willing to do whatever she wanted, but she wasn't keen on being the centre of attention for a whole day. It was me who said "Wouldn't it be great if we could just run away and get married without all the pressure?" To my surprise Mrs Zilla thought this was a most splendiferous idea. Where do you run to to get married? Gretna Green? The local registry office? Las Vegas? Las Vegas? Hmmm that had a ring to it. We couldn't, could we? A few tentative enquiries revealed that it certainly was possible, without a lot of fuss and considerably cheaper than doing it over here. The more she thought about it and found things out, the more Mrs Zilla was convinced this was a good course of action. The service could be broadcast over the internet so all our friends and family could watch, wherever they wanted. We could put on a local party for immediate family. The plans quickly came together, a holiday in Vegas combining a wedding. We would need to specify what sort of service we wanted, the holiday company would book the chapel, minister, photographer, limo etc etc. We would just have to arrange our wedding clothes and the marriage licence. Ideal. So Godzooky 1 was left with our families and we jetted off. Our first taste of America and we were going to get married into the bargain. We sorted out our wedding attire on the first day. A limo came to pick us up from our hotel and took us to the hire shop. We picked out what we were going to wear and it was arranged for it all to be dropped off at our hotel on the morning of the wedding and picked up again afterwards. The only other task we had was to obtain the wedding licence. A slightly surreal experience. There were definitely people in there getting a licence who shouldn't have been. We had some great days in and around Las Vegas while we waited for the day to draw closer, more of that later... Tomorrow is my actual wedding anniversary, and the details of the wedding day will be revealed then. There may even be a picture of me depending on how it scans and how brave/foolish I feel....

Tagged

I’ve been tagged by Truth so here goes: 5 things that I don’t like doing 1. Shopping for shoes with Mrs Zilla. I’ve done it once, and will never do it again. A long painful day of trying to have opinions about miniscule differences between shoes. Yes, we did return to the first shop visited. This easily makes number 1 in my list, it was that bad. 2. Answering the question “ What would you like for your birthday/anniversary/Christmas* ?” (* delete as applicable). I never know what to ask for. Part of it is just me being me – put me in a shop and I will normally find something I like, ask me cold and I have no clue. I also don’t like to mention anything because I am unsure what sort of value it is reasonable to put on a potential gift. I would not like to seem cheeky and yet I don’t wish to appear ungrateful either. Just surprise me. 3. Working long hours. Not in a selfish, I’m a lazy bastard sort of way. If I work long hours then I don’t get to spend a lot of quality time with the children before their bedtime. My father worked long hours, I didn’t get a lot of time with him, and when I did he was tired. I resolved not to be like him in that respect. I like spending time with the kids before they go to bed, making them laugh, forgetting the stresses of the day. Ok, maybe it is a selfish thing too. 4. Time for a really shallow and selfish one. Going a long time without some hot loving. It makes me cranky and irritable. I could do with a lower sex drive, or bromide in my coffee maybe. Apparently some men aren’t that interested in it. Hey, it’s my hormones fault, not mine. 5. There are things you have to do which you don’t like, but you know it’s the right thing to do. I didn’t like holding my son’s arm while they put a huge needle in his arm. That was pretty tough – it was easy to get the first couple, then I started to struggle. Does it show? I’m never sure on the etiquette of tagging, but if you’ve read this far and can think of one thing you don’t like doing consider yourself tagged!

A decent proposal

This week it’s my wedding anniversary, it will have been 5 whole years since me and Mrs Zilla got hitched. We still have to remind each other what the actual date is, for reasons which may or may not become apparent. The next few days will see me posting about it. We haven’t exactly done things in the traditional fashion, but then why should you. I’d been with Mrs Zilla for 3 years when it seemed sensible to save on rent and buy a house instead. By this point we’d discussed a future, and made tentative plans, regarding such things as children (Mrs Zilla wanted to be 28 before we started having kids), but the subject of marriage hadn’t actually been broached. Then came that fateful night when you were meant to go for it if you wanted a Millennium Baby. We even laughed about the couples all desperately trying for one. The laughter stopped about 3 weeks later, when a small blue line appeared. So Mrs Zilla was 23, rather than 28, but these things can’t always be planned meticulously, or at all in our case. When we announced the pregnancy we were startled by some people’s reactions. “So when are you getting married then?” became a regular enquiry. We were left wondering why this expectation suddenly came. It wasn’t even our families who were asking, just friends and acquaintances. We had lived together, bought a house together, and no-one was asking when the marriage was. Get pregnant and the world expects a marriage. We talked about it, it hadn’t figured in our plans before, and we saw no reason to change that now. People’s reactions, if anything, made us more determined not to get married. Neither of us had a problem with the commitment or marriage itself, but we didn’t want to make people think they had influenced our decision. We decided to wait until people stopped asking us when we were going to get married, and then we would do it. Bloody minded us? No. All went quiet on the marriage front, until Godzooky 1 made his appearance. Then the questions started again, so that put things on the back burner again. When he was about a year old I decided that I would ask Mrs Zilla if she was ready to get hitched. I went out to look at rings. I am clearly a jeweller’s favourite kind of customer. I knew Mrs Zilla wasn’t a fan of gold jewellery, so started to look at white gold rings. Then the jeweller pulled his master stroke and mentioned platinum. I got sucked in by the whole spiel about it being stronger than white gold and there only being an amount ever mined big enough to form a cube 6 feet square. Not only did it hit my pocket that day, but I hadn’t thought through the implications of matching wedding bands. Ouch! Still, I came out with a stunning diamond solitaire, nice simple classic mounting that I knew Mrs Zilla liked. The question did come as a shock to her, I think she’d almost given up on the idea of getting married. Once she saw the ring though she knew I was serious. Then came the frightening bit – telling all our friends and family and organising the wedding itself. The concept held no fear for me, the practicalities certainly did.

Hair Today

On the tram to work this morning I spotted something I have never seen before. One of my fellow travellers was, shall we saw follicly challenged. Alright, his hair was thinner than Calista Flockheart. I am in the fortunate position to have a full head of hair, no signs of receding and only a very few grey ones hidden amidst the mass. What I cannot understand is what this gentleman had decided to do, in an effort to deny mother nature's attack on his crowning glory. He had grown the twenty or so hairs that he still had at the front to such a length that he could scrape them back to try and act as a cover for his massive bald patch. It was a bit like using 20 rubber bands to cover a football pitch - never going to happen. I've seen a side comb over before, but never a front comb over. Comb overs don't have much going for them, except comedic value, especially in strong winds. I would like to think that should I be similarly afflicted I would just shave the remaining hair short and wear my baldness with as much pride as I could muster. If he had made a smiliar choice I don't think I would have even noticed him, and my eyes would not be drawn to his head, like a moth to a flame. What must this man ask for when he visits the barber? "A little off the sides please, but don't touch the front!" How does he wash his hair? Carefully cinch all these extra long hairs together and gently wash them to avoid extra loss? Too many questions and scenarios in my mind now.

Sat Nav

Driving home from football last night I was struck by the number of people who seem to have satellite navigation systems in their cars. It takes me about 15 minutes to drive home, and on the way I must have seen at least 15 cars with Sat Nav in. Perhaps I'm being naive, stupid, or just a luddite in my outlook, but how many people actually need Sat Nav in their cars? Granted I'm probably not your average driver, I don't do that many miles a year. I tend to visit the same places regularly, and if I am going somewhere new a quick reference to the map or, locally an A to Z, usually serves me well. If I was a delivery driver I could probably use a Sat Nav system to speed up things, but I cannot comprehend how so many ordinary people feel the need to have one. Is it just a case of keeping up with the Joneses? Or are these people all technology freaks, who need to have the latest gizmo? Given the state of some of their cars I can't believe that a £300 Sat Nav system, which is probably worth about the same as their car, is a necessity for these people. Friends of mine have done similar things regarding car stereos. One friend spent £500 on a car stereo to put in a car that cost him £300. The power of the stereo then caused damage to the inside of his car. Real value for money! How long must it take some drivers just to get ready to set off now? First attach your Sat Nav display (can't leave it in the car, for fear of thieves), reattach your face off stereo, attach bluetooth headset to your ear and then put the key into the ignition. This is all assuming that you don't have any children to place in car seats first. It's no wonder people have to speed, it's just to catch up with the time lost placing and removing all these gadgets in their cars!

201

This is post number 201. To some extent I'm amazed that I've reached this volume. I was never sure what this blog was going to be, and I'm not really that sure still. My life seems to have become more humdrum in recent weeks. The pressure of work and the almost slavish routine of having a small baby around seems to be casting an evil spell over my feeling of well being and fun. I need something to jolt me out of the stupor I feel myself falling into. I need to get off the treadmill that I feel myself on at the moment. Or perhaps I just need more sleep and some hot loving, not necessarily in that order. When did I become a moaner?

Spot on

blogger is clearly not playing nicely today, leaving me little time to post, so this is the best I've got:

You Are Likely an Only Child

At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated. At work and school, you do best when you're organizing. When you love someone, you tend to worry about them. In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic. Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management. You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

The Birth Order Predictor

This got me spot on as an only child, perhaps there is some shred of believability in these things

Danger Unexploded Nappy

A quiet weekend by current standards. I was wishing we'd gone to visit Grandma Zilla this weekend, she's now snowed in. I would have loved to make that phone call: "Sorry, I can't come to work today, I'm snowed in" Woo Hoo! I was wishing we were snowed in on Saturday. Mrs Zilla decided that a new ironing board was required, and that we should have a trip to IKEA in Warrington to purchase a new one. My life is all glamour and excitement I know. It's a long story, but she was still enamoured by the last ironing board we got from there, about 8 years ago, despite it now falling to bits. I tried to raise the point that they were unlikely to still stock the same type, but for a quiet life I drove to IKEA. Unsurprisingly they don't still stock the same boards and the replacements didn't match Mrs Zilla's expectations. So we returned home empty handed. Sunday saw a trip to Casualty, but somehow I don't think this will make it onto any TV programme. William had not had a poo since Monday, and this was a cause for some concern, especially when thinking about what could happen when the dam finally burst, so to speak. Now, I don't want us to appear like paranoid parents, and casualty was not our first point of call. Mrs Zilla rang our doctor on Friday morning expressing concern that William had not poohed since Monday, asking if she could see the doctor later that day. Apparently 9 week old babies are not deemed important enough to get an emergency appointment and the advice received was to go to hospital. Not wishing to appear like over concerned parents, we didn't rush off to hospital, but by Sunday morning, with no developments so to speak, we decided he might need some assistance. Cue a relatively short wait in the Emergency department and following assessment an enema was prescribed for the little fella. The doctor left the room to procure the necessary bits, when there was an almighty sound. A bit like a bang, a bit like thunder. Yes, William had decided that was the right time to unleash the torrent of poo that was inside him. A relief all round, as I don't think the doctor was looking forward to giving such a small baby an enema. The first of many stories to tell his first girlfriend when she comes round....

Psychic Test

I already knew I wasn't a medium, I take a large. I'll get my coat...

Football

This post is mainly for my reference when I look back, there may be something of more interest above or below, I'm not promising though. Last night Middlesbrough played AS Roma, one of the European football heavyweights in the UEFA cup. A one nil victory was ground out, despite Roma being odds on favourites not only to win the trophy, but demolish Middlesbrough last night. Twenty years ago the club was declared insolvent and the old ground locked up. The team trained in local parks and played games on a borrowed ground. Since then local businessmen have invested and built a state of the art stadium, brought international players to the club, won a trophy for the first time in the club's history and played in a major European competition. I only wish my dad, who introduced me to the delights and pain of watching them could have seen last night's achievment.

Dream

I never normally remember my dreams, but last night just before getting woken to feed the latest addition I had a dream I can remember at least part of. I was going to the supermarket with the two eldest children. When we got there we collected a trolley and went inside. Nobody else was there and I can't recall anything apart from going upstairs. When we got upstairs all around us was breakfast cereals, nothing else for sale except cereals, of all kinds. Then I woke up. Just thought I'd joy it down here while I can remember

Always someone worse off than you

I thought working where I do was pretty bad, but I wouldn't like to be working for Securitas right now. First a raid on a depot inTonbridge which netted the thieves £53million, although they seem to have recovered some of that. Then a plane carrying a batch of cash for Securitas was attacked and robbed by machine gun toting robbers in Sweden, who got away with a "substantial" amount of cash. Last night a Securitas van was robbed in Warrington, again a "large" sum of money was taken. Who would want to be a Securitas employee at the moment? There seems to be some sort of vendetta against their operations by international criminals! Interestingly enough, where we play football is right opposite a Securitas depot. Although there are 20ft high nets surrounding the football pitches some wayward shots (not mine obviously!) end up sailing into the yard. We have been surprise din the past how readily they open the depot gates, remotely controlled, to let a footballer in to retrieve the ball. We have yet to perfect our plan, but by the time we do there may be no money left with Securitas!

Now

I've calmed down a bit I can blog about something I saw last night on my way home. As the tram I was on passed a canal I noticed flying parallel to the tram was a heron. It was like watching a wildlife programme - watching it flap it's wings as it soared above the canal and then dived down spotting some likely prey. It was totally unexpected and a view I'm not used to getting while commuting to work. Of course, it wasn't completely like watching a wildlife programme, unless you watch them through a partially misted up tram window with a large gentleman in close proximity, who may be suffering from fish aroma syndrome. Still, I enjoyed it, and the fish aroma had something of an aptness to it...

GRRRRRRRR

why do they feel the need to do it? I'm raging at hearing the new version of You Got the Love by Candi Staton on the radio this morning. I've heard it a couple of times now and I still can't believe what they've done to it. Fine, it's an amazing vocal performance and warrants more exposure, but to remove that killer bass line and replace it with a comparatively weedy piano is just criminal. Part of my rage may be to do with Mrs Zilla. I discovered last night that she has been using the space behind my stereo as a dumping ground. She has dumped a load of things behind there causing damage to my expensively bi-wired speakers, causing the volume and tone coming through one speaker to come and go with just the lack of regularity to be maddening. I have managed to avoid verbal assault, but I think she knows just how pissed off I am. They've still murdered that song though.

Spammer Name

an essential for annoying people:

My spammer name is Momenta X. Layup.

Enter your name to get yours:

How else are you going to tout viagra, college diplomas, dodgy webcam sites etc etc?

Deja Vu

I'm having one of those days where I feel I'm reliving a bad day from before. Sort of like Groundhog Day, but without the laughs, the snow or the ability to punch those people who are aggravating me. I should probably clarify, I'm not a violent man by nature, and I don't really want to punch anyone, but the release that Bill Murray gets in the film from punching Ned etc would b emost welcome about now. Perhaps part of my deja vu problem is that I do pretty much have monthly routines that crop up, although these are interspersed with quarterly or annual issues. We (my team) currently have a major headache looming, which is hoovering up our time, but the day to day stuff still needs to be addressed. I don't think I've blogged about what I actually do, work wise, just talked generally about it being in finance and involving number crunching. Well, I think the cat can be let out of the bag, although this is no cute kitten, more of a one-eyed feral tom. Where I live we have a concessions scheme for the elderly and children to travel on public transport. A lot of parts of England have them, and they vary by area. It's been dependent upon the local government bodies to determine what scheme they operate, hence the widely differing approaches. Here in Manchester, where I live, we operate a flat fare system. Basically, if you are over 60 or under 16 (and over the age of 5, or in full time education up to the age of 18) you are entitled to a permit which allows you to travel on any bus, for any distance for 50p. Part of my job is to then help determine how much money the equivalent journey should have cost and then to reimburse the appropriate bus operator (we have over 40 different companies in Manchester). We don't actually give them the whole difference between the 50p and the full equivalent fare. There is an arcane and mystical formula that determines how much is payable, depending on the time of the journey, the type of passenger etc etc. Our major problem is that our National government has decreed that from the 1 April all elderly passengers should travel for free, i.e no 50p flat fare anymore. Great news for pensioners on low incomes, several problems for us. The government have dished out some cash based upon population figures, but have not decreed how the bus companies (and tram and rail in our case) should be reimbursed. We have some knowledge gaps - where and how often are pensioners likely to travel once the flat fare disappears? How do we record the numbers of people travelling? In the past there was at least some money changing hands to indicate some level of transactions. We've had some meetings with the bus companies, and the amount of cash they want is nowhere near the amount of money we're going to receive. We're not even close in terms of cash - millions of pounds different. Ah well, I'm sure it will all come clean in the wash as they say. Putting it down on this blog has felt quite cathartic, and I apologise to those visitors who have read this far in the hope of being entertained, although if you've stuck with it this far - HA! you should know better by now. Normal service will be resumed shortly.... hopefully

Weekend Away

On Friday we were driving up to the Lakes, after we’d picked Godzooky 1 up from school. As we ventured higher in altitude the snow began to hit us. We got to experience real snow whilst we were up there: stuff you could actually play in and do things with. It was Godzooky 2’s first real experience of snow, in any real quantity, and she wanted to join in all the fun, but was really unsure what to make of it all. Neither of the elder children were particularly keen to join in my sledging on plastic bags, but I endeavoured to show them how much fun it could be. I was not just enjoying myself, honest! The secret seats were deployed in the car for the first time this weekend. These are the seat that fold completely flat in the boot, but can be raised to increase the seating capacity to 7. These were a big hit with the kids, the excitement of having their own little part of the car and the way the seats magically appeared proving to be of almost pant-wetting proportions. It almost became too much when I thought I’d got the car stuck in snow. We were travelling along a narrow country lane and the person in the 4x4 coming the other way wasn’t going to give way. A few seconds of wheel spinning had me wondering which of the non-drivers in the car would be best equipped to take the wheel, if I needed to push the car out. Thankfully we got some traction before I needed to start Ip-Dipping to make my decision! It was really good to get away for the weekend, leaving all the stresses of work behind. Playing in the snow has certainly recharged me, and for once on a Monday morning I don’t feel totally drained. I think Grandma Zilla may be feeling the complete opposite. She gets run ragged by the kids, as they try to monopolise her attention. She enjoys it, but I think her waving off on a Sunday evening has added enthusiasm. It was good for her to get a decent amount of time with William, rather than just a few snatched hours on a day trip that she’s had up to now.

I'm a sucker...

for stuff like this, so thanks to Lily, where I spotted this:

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Godzilla!

1. Some people in Malaysia bathe their babies in beer to protect them from Godzilla.
2. Godzilla can clean his ears with his tongue, which is over thirty-nine inches long.
3. There are roughly 10,000 man-made objects the size of Godzilla orbiting the Earth.
4. It's bad luck for a flag to touch Godzilla.
5. There are 336 dimples on Godzilla.
6. It takes forty minutes to hard-boil Godzilla.
7. You should always store Godzilla in an airtight container in the fridge.
8. Olympic badminton rules say that Godzilla must have exactly fourteen feathers.
9. Only 55 percent of Americans know that the sun is made of Godzilla.
10. A thimbleful of Godzilla would weigh over 100 million tons.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Number 2 is particularly interesting, I do have quite a long tongue, but that's not what I like using it for.......

That's not a moon....

I was driving home from football last night when I noticed the moon, it was a cold, crisp evening and there were lots of stars visible for once. The conditions meant that the moon appeared in sharp focus and reminded me of the Death Star from Star Wars in appearance. When I got home I thought I would get the camera out to take a picture, so struck was I by it's appearance. Unfortunately Mrs Zilla had run the batteries down taking pictures of Godzooky 1. On a Wednesday he has an after school club, and this term they are doing face painting. I was trying to get him to sign up for the Indian cooking course, to heighten his multi-cultural awareness and kitchen safety techniques. Not for all the nice things he might make and bring home, how dare you even think that! So last night he was attired as a tiger apparently. I say apparently, because it was like no tiger I've ever seen before. It looked more like a leopard who was having an identity crisis to me, but as the children all transform each other into creatures I wasn' t too surprised. Anyway it has become clear to me that it is my job to ensure that the rechargable batteries for the camera are duly charged. Mrs Zilla seems to think that it's down to me or the battery fairies to undertake such a task. The legacy of pancake day seems to be ongoing. Godzooky 1 has become something of a pancake fiend, despite his previous dislike of them. He wanted them again last night and has requested Grandma Zilla to make them for him too, when we visit this weekend. That request in itself was a shock. Normally Grandma will come on the phone and ask to speak to him. This normally results in teenage like grunting responses from him to the questions she fires in an effort to get a meaningful conversation out of him. After a couple of minutes he normally says, without fear or thought, "I'm bored, bye!" and then thrusts the phone back at me. Last night he was initiating the conversation with his talk of pancakes. Grandma was so shocked by his utterances that she acceeded to his request, only to have him say "Great, bye!" How can we have a teenager aged 6? Right back to the grind, before I slope off to the Lakes tomorrow. I'm hoping the snowy weather will persist to allow some sledging or snowballing, or at least inspire a trip out into the Lakes. I'm looking forward to the fresh air and open spaces to recharge my batteries.

Pancake Day

why are small children such contrary characters? Last year for Pancake Day we made a big deal about it, producing a pile of delicious panakes. At which point Godzooky 1 decided that he didn't really want to have pancakes after all, leaving me and Mrs Zilla to munch our way through a small mountain of them. This year we checked with him whether he wanted pancakes, and a resounding "NO" cam eback at us. Fine, no problem, if he's not bothered then we'll forget about it. Monday evening he returns home announcing that they had pancakes at school and he wants them on Shrove Tuesday. Typical. Pancakes seem to fall into that area of man cooking that barbecues also seem to occupy, or at least in my experience. My childhood Shrove Tuesdays saw my father making the pancakes, tossing them with great abandon and no little amount of skill. Every Shrove Tuesday since leaving home, living with and then marrying Mrs Zilla has seen me perform the same duties. I can't ever recall an actual conversation taking place that I should do it, yet somehow each year I am the one flipping the pancakes. It's amazing how something so trivial as flipping a pancake can enthrall small children. Although, like my father before me, I subscribe to the school of pancake tossing that means a small, functional flip, is in no way acceptable. The flips should be extravagant and stylish - creating the gasps and laughter from small children, as only they can do. Thankfully I have yet to shatter their illusions by dropping a pancake on the floor, yet I know it's only a matter of time. Clearly my wrist action has been improved with my recent drought and the charade can be maintained for another year.

Why

did I make that poor excuse for a post yesterday? It was cack, poo, to be scraped from your shoe with a mild expletive and a shake of the head. I think I was using it as an escape from work, but clearly it didn't work. I'm feeling pretty run down and fed up. Thankfully I have a day off on Friday and we're taking a trip to Grandma Zilla's in the Lakes, so batteries may get slightly recharged. It'll be our first visit with William in tow, but even though he hasn't really got a routine yet, I feel bad that we haven't made it up to see my mum. It means that she's only seen him twice in 7 weeks, for a few hours at a time. After this weekend she might be glad that she doesn't see him that often! Hopefully the break might inspire me blog wise too - I think some time out and about in the Lakes is in order, fresh air to blow away the cobwebs. PS the cable company didn't even show up to reconnect us, despite a letter telling us it would be yesterday. Bunch of twa....