Bandwagoning

Recycling

2011-03-30T19:38:00.003Z

Me: I don't think you can recycle yogurt pots.

H: Yes you can Daddy. You can make a pig's nose.

We seek him here, we seek him there.

2011-03-09T10:43:00.002Z

I may not have much time left, so whilst I am still able, let me recount yesterday's incident at the shops. I asked an elderly lady which ingredients I would need to make pancakes, at which point she burst into floods of tears. Having read the local paper this morning, I fear I might be the much sought after 'Beast of Waitrose'.

The Death of the Househusband

2010-12-19T15:48:00.002Z

The proposed UK Internet porn ban, or "Death of the Househusband" bill, looks set to triple unemployment numbers as former stay-at-home fathers sign on and look for work.

Another measure to protect our children sees the Government banning snow and root vegetables because of some people's inability to keep their snowmen 'clean'.

A Government spokesperson today announced plans to rid the UK of 'cock and balls' graffiti by banning art, in all forms.

And this just in, a move to outlaw Alphabetti Spaghetti, to protect children from swear words, has met with universal approval in the House of Commons.

Well, I for one am thrilled that so much is being done by our leaders to shield our youngsters from filth. Bravo!

Flare-ups in the budget review.

2010-02-03T11:46:00.004Z

"Look, we've gone and blown all the cash and with a credit rating worse than Madoff, no-one's gonna lend to UK p.l.c. It's time to face facts. We can't stage this white elephant properly. What we need now are excuses. Big sound-bite excuses. The wackier the better. Ok? Let's brainstorm. Bad weather? Nope, Beijing did that. We could flood London? Like your thinking, but that would cost too much to clear up. Solar Firestorm - Bingo! Give that girl a gold star. Right get me some boffins, organise a press conference and most importantly, where are we going for lunch?" - excerpt from 2012 Budget Review Meeting. http://bit.ly/9rAMsm

What if the aliens don't like us?

2010-01-27T10:24:00.002Z

They won't. They'll hate us. We're the neighbours who out-breed our flat, trash the place, steal, fight & lie. There goes the universe.

King of the Jews AND King of the Lizards?

2010-01-25T12:33:00.003Z

This morning it was raining heavily when the children and I strode out in search of adventure. The RHS gardens at Wisley weren't an option, nor was a walk along the Thames. Leaving Mother Nature to her tantrum, we headed for the solace of the library. Always warm and dry, here we could lose ourselves for an hour in the company of old friends; the little mole with poo on his head; The Gruffalo (and his errant child); feline fiends Scarface Claw and Slinky Malinky; role model Peter Rabbit and others. Except we couldn't, because the library is closed on Mondays.

Standing in the rain with two wet and increasingly frustrated children, I experienced divine intervention of sorts. The church next to the library had a sign outside saying 'Open - Visitors Welcome'. We made a beeline for the big oak doors and went inside. A very welcoming curate (I suspect we were his only visitors) encouraged us to explore, and so we did. Both children had recently been introduced to the Nativity story at nursery, and were full of questions. Is this Jesus's house? Will he mind us being here? Is he dead? Where is he? Has he gone to Waitrose? Will he carry my hat?

After a very enjoyable 45mins, it was time to head home for some lunch. "Daddy, what does Jesus look like?" H asked earnestly, as we were leaving. Thinking on my feet I told him that Jesus could look like many things. A flower in spring, a friend when you need help, a glass of water when you're thirsty and so on.

"I think he looks like a Tyrannosaurus rex," H declared, as he took his sister's hand and marched off homeward bound.

Sound judgement from judges please.

2010-01-20T11:02:00.006Z

To jail the Hussain brothers, whose beating meted out to burglar Walid Salem left him with permanent brain damage, is money well spent how? These men have no reported previous criminal convictions. One is the chairman of the Asian Business Council. They do not appear to be a menace to society, unlike the intruder who held their family at knifepoint and then suffered a brutal beating as a consequence.

What the Hussain brothers did was wrong. Instant violent punishment inflicted by victims is a path down which no sane society would tread. But the law already makes provisions to punish them for their actions. No need for additional legislation. Convictions for assault with suspended sentences, surely?

The Hussain's prison sentences serve to cement the impression that one is more likely to receive custodial punishment at the hands of the judiciary for choosing to take (and then own up to) a spur-of-the-moment stance against crime, than for choosing to make a living from it.

I told you so

2010-01-19T12:42:00.011Z

I try to avoid saying "I told you so" because we're all capable of so much with hindsight, but sometimes there is nothing else to say. Like today, when I read the article on alcohol abuse in The Times. It suggests that government plans to curb drinks promotions that encourage binge drinking are an admission of failure. A monumental failure, on the part of 24-hour drinking reforms and Hazel Blears, to foster a 'continental café-bar culture'. What 24-hour drinking seems to have catalysed instead is unprecedented drink related violence and crime, soaring NHS costs to the public purse, and further societal and family breakdown.

To change existing behaviours (assuming that is what the move towards a 'continental café-bar culture' was about) and to encourage restraint, self respect and personal accountability, you have to understand what drives the current set of behaviours. What do young people aspire towards today? Who are their role models? What makes them proud to be British? Who do they look up to amongst their peer group and elders in the community? How do they see the relationship between 'owning stuff' and hard graft? What do they do to support the vulnerable and those less fortunate than themselves? It's the health of these values (and others) that determines the success or otherwise of initiatives aimed to bring about behavioural change.

I have neither quantitative nor qualitative answers to these questions. But go and ask a few kids on street corners (if you dare) and you'll very quickly get a feel for where they choose to draw their horizons. Usually at the foot of the bed. Having understood the despair, it gets easier to understand why we have such high rates of bullying and violent crime; STDs and unwanted pregnancy; mental illness; alcohol abuse and drug misuse. Don't think that these are the problems of the lower socio-economic groups. They are rife throughout our society.

Now look at the same set of values in continental Europe, where access to alcohol is, and has always been, more relaxed. Almost without exception they are in better health, as evidenced through the way families are more strongly bonded; higher levels of national pride in learning, culture, language and industry; the availability of apprenticeships and in some cases national service (military or otherwise); lower levels of violent crime, STDs and unwanted pregnancies, mental illness, drug and alcohol misuse etc.

So, it would appear that giving a despairing society, gripped by widespread existential crisis, the opportunity to drink 24/7 was not the smartest way to change behaviour and broaden horizons. Well I could have told you that. Self control and restraint are not top of the agenda when societal values that encourage them are at an all time low. But our politicians aren't stupid are they? So maybe the drinks industry, a powerful lobby, provided the real impetus behind the push towards a "continental café-bar culture"? Either explanation is deplorable - we're stupid or we were pushed into it for financial gain. Take your pick.

Lovefool

2010-01-13T09:34:00.001Z

Last night my darling wife told me I was profound, which I hesitantly took as a compliment; I've been hurt before. Turns out I should have trusted my instinct. I didn't hear the '-ly deaf' tagged on the end of her kind words.

Duty calls. As does Coutts & Co.

2010-01-05T09:12:00.001Z

£46m Lotto winner's son joins Royal Marines in Afghanistan. "He chose to stay.. and deserves great credit," said a colleague. Bank agrees.

When your hero's actions come home to roost

2010-01-04T20:09:00.000Z

"If Fry can turn it off to write a book surely you can find time between treats [sic] to wash?" muttered my wife while reading the paper. Further illustration of B's love affair with social networking.

Party = costume

2010-01-02T10:44:00.000Z

'Daddy's gone to a party' said Granny to my son. 'Will he be wearing a spiderman outfit?'

Dr Why?

2010-01-02T10:43:00.000Z

"I can be hip, I know what you kids watched on TV tonight" she said before dancing round the room singing "Let's do the Time Lord again.."

Genetic farming breakthrough?

2009-12-28T16:50:00.002Z

"How much ham are you having?" B remarked with some incredulity having noticed the rather large slice on my plate. "You've got half a cow there," she continued.

Lurking in the shadows

2009-12-22T04:40:00.004Z

Looking for something late at night, by the permagloom cast from low energy bulbs, is like probing dark recesses of the mind; it's in here somewhere, but what else awaits?

Gifting (what a ghastly term)

2009-12-20T11:39:00.001Z

I'm giving my unsuspecting wife an iron for Christmas. Functional gifts are great don't you think? Apparently she's got a knife for me. How exciting!

What do John Paul Jones, Dave Grohl and Josh Homme have in common with my children?

2009-12-18T01:52:00.004Z

Just back from a memorable Them Crooked Vultures set at Hammersmith Apollo. In places, it was a touch prog for my taste, but overall they were magnificent. I was trying to think of how to describe it to B, who is fed up with me gushing Grohl/Homme whenever I've seen Foo Fighters/QOTSA. I decided that the gig (all 1hr 45mins of it) was much like our children's first few years; exasperating at times, but then they'd do something wonderful & I'd have forgiven them anything.

See what you think. Here's all 98mins of them last week.

Her worst fears confirmed

2009-12-11T01:17:00.003Z

B is not a fan of online social networking. This evening, somewhat sceptically she signed up to Twitter. "It's fun you'll see," I said encouragingly. "I'll find you and add you to my follows."

We searched, on a full name basis, for her newly created user profile. The search came back instantly with somebody called Twatpockett topping the list.

"That's not me," she said.

Time waits for no one, lest we forget

2009-12-09T11:30:00.002Z

Mum's kitchen resounds with the buzzing of timers. Repeatedly, she mutes them & then returns to the paper. It's an age thing apparently.

The road to Cambodia #2

2009-12-08T19:40:00.002Z

Buoyed by the success of the fish raffle, Simon & Colin head to the park, jump on an old bike and go like the clappers

The Brazilian Job

2009-12-08T09:15:00.001Z

Tunneling Sao Paulo raiders take $6m during football match and find time to tidy up Xmas bush - The Brazilian Job

Only fools and horses.....

2009-12-04T10:07:00.003Z

My darling wife's take on one of my 'what next' concepts:

J has announced that posting spoonerisms on twitter is the way to make his fortune. It will however require him to do facebooking and twittering 10hours a day 7 days a week. I pointed out that if he thinks standing on the internet equivalent of a street corner yelling victor lagina is ever going to make him any money then he's deluded. He tells me that if each "follower" results in 0.01p revenue with every click then he could make millions. He currently has 18 "followers".

Behind every great man, as they say.

The road to Cambodia

2009-12-03T11:30:00.000Z

He can now look a hammerhead in the eyes. New goggles & involuntary bowel openings threaten Simon's preparation

Normal service resumes

2009-11-30T00:23:00.005Z

B has passed her last set of exams. We are all looking forward to seeing a lot more of her at home again. This morning, both of us tired after a broken night's sleep, she was a little short with me over something inconsequential.

"You're right," she said when I asked her what was wrong. "I've forgotten what it's like being around you."

The lunatics are of our own making

2009-11-26T10:36:00.003Z

In response to Karen Redman's heartwrenching post on her son's schooling.

Karen - I am unencumbered by a detailed understanding of secondary education; both my children are pre-school age. I’m guessing then that the ghastly situation you describe so eloquently is broadly a symptom of something even more tragic, namely the societal rot that grips us. Yes, I'm sure there are schools that need to improve the quality of education and care provided, but hasn't that always been the case?

I suspect it is the increasingly widespread dysfunctional behaviour of children, rather than a nationwide collapse in the quality of teachers, teaching and school funding, that prevents so many youngsters today from enjoying an enriching and rewarding learning experience at school.

At some point over the last couple of generations, we seem to have lost sight of how to nurture the basic values children need if they are to become responsible members of society as adults. Respect for elders and family; an understanding that needs are fulfilled through hard graft; tolerance, acceptance and thinking of others; a sense of purpose in life and an understanding that we exist as part of a community and not as individuals, to name but a few.

Our consumption driven, selfishly motivated way of living today seems entirely at odds with real happiness and fulfillment both for children and society as a whole.

Fortunately for your son, he has the most important provision on his journey through childhood; parents who care deeply and who will stop at nothing to help him on his way. Bravo!

Sharks, crocodiles, dinosaurs and wet floors

2009-02-23T10:54:00.004Z

"... are all very dangerous," declared H, having woken us pre-dawn this morning with something important to say.

If a job is worth doing (and then bagging).......

2008-01-21T21:49:00.000Z

On a number of occasions, whilst out for a walk over the last couple of weeks, I have noticed a phenomenon that is simply mind-boggling. I am referring to the odious practice of hanging dog shit in trees. The more I think about it, the more absurd the act becomes.

Picking up after your dog is, let's face it, a pretty unpleasant task. I don't condone it, but I can see why some dog owners turn a blind eye when Rover pinches a loaf. On the other hand, as a runner who has often got back from a training session, only to tread the unthinkable into the house, I am eternally grateful to those who do clean up after their pets.

This is where I just don't get it. Who gets halfway through the job and then thinks, my work is done? As a public footpath user, my debt to society is paid. I'll just adorn this bush, and let someone else enjoy the final act of bag into bin. It makes you wonder how these people decorate their trees at Christmas.

What do you call a baby donkey?

2008-01-21T21:19:00.000Z

Sunday saw our first 2008 visit to the local children's farm park. H still regards most of the residents with suspicion, but on this occasion one new arrival met with a certain degree of approval. Esme the donkey had foaled just days before; the staff were eager to name him. I asked H what he would call the young colt.

"Donk!" he replied despairingly, as if I was the only person on the planet that didn't know.

Fighting over an apple

2008-01-09T15:17:00.001Z

"It's myPod too!" she screamed before taking it from me. I told people at work we had bought ourselves an iPod. They said there would be trouble. They were right.

Giving and receiving compliments

2008-01-09T13:14:00.000Z

A few days before Christmas, whilst B and I were driving down to her parents' house, we started talking about how we'd stopped paying each other compliments since our children had arrived in 2005. Spending much less time together, coupled with new responsibilities as parents had resulted in a gradual decline in our expression of mutual appreciation. This hadn't been a conscious decision from either of us. It was something that had just happened over time. Sitting in the car, the children asleep in the back seats, we decided to rekindle this part of our relationship. "You start then," I said, thinking of all the things that I love about my beautiful wife.

"Hmmmm..." she said quizzically after about ten minutes. "You're quite good at parking."

On yer bike!

2007-12-06T22:07:00.000Z

I don't normally pedal this kind of thing. Puns in the comments section please.

But could he survive a weekend at our house?

2007-12-04T13:20:00.000Z

Bear Grylls is talking about a potential series in which mere mortals get dropped into extreme survival situations alongside him. I can hear the call of the wild enticing me to apply. To hold out against some of the harshest conditions on the planet seems increasingly like an invaluable learning experience; I still haven't replaced B's kitchen.

Highly skilled workforce

2007-11-30T14:20:00.001Z

Don Taylor's post on the our highly skilled workforce made me laugh. Which one are you?

Feed the fish

2007-11-30T13:50:00.001Z

They follow your mouse. Lots more at abowman. I like the spider!

Love is...

2007-11-22T21:41:00.000Z

"If we were to win the lottery," dreamed B the evening before last, "I'd still want you to be around."

Christmas play costumes are not good for my elf

2007-11-11T11:12:00.000Z

"H has been given a leading role in the nursery Christmas play!" announced B, reading a letter she'd recently found at the bottom of his school bag. At last, someone to give Robert Powell some competition, I mused.

"He is to play the part of a Christmas tree," she beamed, overflowing with pride. Even Robert Powell had to start somewhere I reflected; uncredited in a 1967 film called Robbery apparently. "Oh, and we have to make his costume" continued B aloud, looking slightly less enamoured.

Not one to shy away from a challenge, over the next few days B got stuck into some serious research on the design and creation of said Christmas tree costume. Hours were spent trawling the Internet. Extended family, long lost friends and even complete strangers in Waitrose were consulted. In the end, she settled on a poncho design; a large circle of green felt with a hole in the middle for H's head. The outer edge was cut into V shapes, a similarly fashioned ruff was added to the collar and further boughs (made of green felt rings) were attached. The finishing touches would include tree decorations, some brown trousers and a conical green felt hat with a star on top.

"What do you think then?" asked B eagerly yesterday evening. "Does H like it?" I replied, temporarily delaying my feedback. "He won't go near it, but that will change when he sees the other children in their costumes," she said confidently.

"You don't think it makes him look like a leprechaun or a tree imp?" I enquired insensitively. "No!" she said unamused. B spent the next ten minutes helping me see the wood for the trees.

Come Alive

2007-11-09T10:45:00.000Z

Grohl's glorious Foo Fighters are back. H loves Come Alive, the fifth track on the new album. Truth be told, he won't listen to anything else at the moment, least of all his parents. I suspected we'd lose him to rock music and loud guitars at some stage (he developed a marked penchant for No One Knows by Queens of the Stone Age whilst still in utero) but not at the age of 2.

A balanced view

2007-11-06T13:37:00.000Z

Ask any hypochondriac to determine the cause of a series of dizzy spells, and your next step will be to start thinking about life cover, appropriate eulogy material and who is most deserving of your CD collection. Such was my predicament over the weekend, blessed with a tendency towards over zealous self diagnosis and having experienced regular bouts of vertigo over the previous ten days.

B tried to reassure me. "Don't worry, you probably have a cold," she suggested. "Or maybe you need your eyesight checked?" she added. Clearly a second opinion was required.

The optician yesterday confirmed that my sight is fine. Armed with this evidence, I went to see the doctor, preparing myself for the worst. Then, fate showed her true colours. My GP was unavailable. I saw a very earnest medical student instead who took me on a journey through all the neurological possibilities that I had identified, in darker moments, over the previous week. He then relayed the steps he'd followed in making his diagnosis to the partner GP who was covering his work who, after what seemed an eternity asked, "What do you think it is then?"

"He has a cold," said the medical student, proudly.

Now we are four

2007-04-25T13:36:00.000Z

On Sunday 8th April 2007, B gave birth to L, our first daughter. As when H was born, I'm not sure how much my presence helped B get through the event. Despite my squeamish constitution I managed to be largely present throughout, at times playing an active role in proceedings, without resorting to pain relief: during H's delivery I developed a dependency for gas and air but unfortunately the attending midwife on this occasion was much less liberal minded.

At birth, L weighed 6lb 8oz and has since rapidly gained weight, an ability inherited from her father's side of the family. As a newborn, she is proving marginally less noisy than her brother and has taken to feeding more easily (and more often). "All babies are different," goes the standard midwifery disclaimer. I can't help thinking that L is more at ease because we are.

H has thus far reacted well to his baby sister. His affection is expressed in a number of ways: crushing, poking, licking, squashing, tickling and nose wiping (his, on her). We're not sure whether he has acknowledged her as a permanent family feature as yet, but she generally seems to meet with his approval. He has welcomed the gifts and attention, showered upon him as facilitation payments to ease his suffering, like a corrupt government official in some developing country. The Rubicon crossed, future behavioural compliance will no doubt require equivalent or bettered levels of compensation.

Sleepless nights, semi-permanent exhaustion, frayed nerves and social isolation are once again lodgers in our home. Having, over the last few months, wrestled a degree of control back into our lives, B and I are now passengers once more aboard the new parent bus: where we are headed and how long it will take to get there remain, for the time being, unanswered questions. What will make this trip more enjoyable however is the knowledge that it's OK to feel like a passenger. Moreover, when you're not the one driving, you can sit back and enjoy the ride.

The dynasty continues...

2007-03-24T22:03:00.000Z

Captured forever, a moment earlier this afternoon when my father, my son and I were feeding the goats. I took the photo; on this occasion I'm not the hairy great ginger thing in the background.

Flab bends

2007-03-21T21:37:00.000Z

...said my very gravid wife when I pointed out that despite my oversize stomach, I could still touch my toes without bending my knees. We'd previously been howling with laughter at her repeated and unsuccessful attempts to tie her shoelaces.

I had promised myself that I would lose weight, get fit and run a sub 4.00 marathon this year. With almost a quarter of 2007 already history, I today decided to take the first step towards achieving these personal goals. I joined WeightWatchers and went for a walk.

Having shed a few (read several) pounds and recovered fully from an achilles injury, I will start a structured training programme and chart my progress on fetcheveryone. The run will be in November or December; if anyone wants to join me please shout!

The empty CD case closed

2007-03-16T16:37:00.000Z

Last year in walking the talk I eluded to the impact our newest family member would have on our finances come April this year. Well, he or she is now just a few weeks from bursting onto the scene, B has stopped work and we are in the grips of the spend challenge.

With this in mind, imagine how happy I was when I stumbled across Ash's Intergalactic Sonic 7"s in the bargain bin at our local supermarket last week. A CD rammed with anthems of summers gone by, that until the last year or so was among my most played. Strangely, about the same time as H started crawling, loads of my most treasured CDs disappeared from their cases, never to be seen again.

Here's the fantastic Burn Baby Burn. If I'd asked H to do this with my CDs, I wouldn't be writing this post.

Every organisation should have one - the Chief Happiness Officer

2007-03-07T09:46:00.000Z

I can't remember exactly how I found Alexander Kjerulf's The Chief Happiness Officer blog, but I read it regularly and find his outlook on life refreshing. Modern living often feels like hard work, but you do only get one crack at it! Worth thinking about.

Harsh but fair

2007-03-04T10:19:00.000Z

I was half watching MOTD this morning and half doing yesterday's crossword when I noticed my left hamstring feeling a little tight. "What did I lift yesterday that was heavy?" I pondered aloud, rubbing the back of my thigh.

"Yourself?" said my wife.

Old MacDonald had a cash cow

2007-02-27T21:13:00.000Z

We took H to a farm at the weekend. He seemed to enjoy the experience immensely. His curiosity and excitement grew with every corner we turned, a huge smile beaming from ear to ear as the different animals grunted, scratched, sniffed, slept and stank their way into his consciousness. Piglets and ducks seemed the firm favourites, Shetland ponies were comfortable runners up. The goats and llamas however had to settle for an unmistakable look of indifference. After a couple of hours of completely absorbing fun, we trudged back through the sprawling car park, loaded up and moved out.

There must have been 100+ cars parked as we left. Each car I suspect will have spent an average of £25 on entry, drinks, snacks and the compulsory farm shop. In the height of summer, 750+ cars a day must pay a visit to this particular establishment. In the days of increased global competition and margins being squeezed by the all powerful supermarket buyers, it's comforting to know that this Old MacDonald appears to have found a way to protect his E-I-E-I-O.

The engaging of an architect

2007-02-22T23:21:00.000Z

We're going to do some work on the house. I wrote about B's morally and materially questionable funding proposal in a previous post. When we bought our home nearly 2 years ago, it hadn't been touched in 30 years and was in desperate need of modernisation. The intention was to completely gut the place; add a bathroom, extend the kitchen, rewire, re-plaster, decorate throughout and tackle the front and back gardens. At the time we thought this would take 3 months at most. Well, it's now nearly 32 years since our dream home has seen a lick of paint, and B has had enough.

B's approach to the project would be to start. To just start, with the kitchen initially and to then do the other things in an iterative fashion. My approach, more akin to running projects at work, would be to begin with the end in mind. To describe a vision of our family enjoying our living space. From this we could determine the things that are important to us in a family home. We could then develop a number of options that could deliver this Utopian existence, all at varying levels of cost, duration and quality of finish. Having consulted experts in various trades, we could then make an informed decision, giving us the best chance of ending up with what we'd envisaged.

A compromise was required. B conceded that her less than holistic methods might well end up taking more time and being more costly in the long run. But she also felt that I was being overly long winded with my 'front end loading' and insisted on speeding up the process by getting in a professional. We engaged the services of an architect, who came to spend a planning day with us last week. He arrived, I offered him a cup of tea and he began to explain how the day would run.
"I'd like to spend the first half of my time with you exploring a vision of how you want your family to live. We'll try and establish the values and emotions that are important to you when spending time with family and friends here at home," he said as he was sitting down. B suddenly sprang into action.

"Don't take your coat off," she blurted, grabbing his arm and pushing him toward the door. "I'm taking you to the kitchen shop."

An alternative provenance of blogging

2007-02-17T09:41:00.000Z

Standard dictionary definition for blogging: to write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog.

In my house the most peaceful room is the loo. Like billions of others, I find the time spent alone in the lavatory can often be hugely contemplative. This morning, locked in both the loo and a random day dream, I was half listening to the noise of breakfast being consumed; the kettle bubbling, spoonfuls of Weetabix bouncing off walls and the apocalyptic drone of Tragic FM. It occurred to me that if I'd had my laptop, a description of breakfast by noises alone might make a fun blog entry. Then it struck me that I'd effectively be in the bog, doing a log and writing, and that millions of people probably do this everyday.

An 'urban' definition for blogging: to write, whilst sitting on the lavatory.

Svetlana sucks lemons

2007-02-13T12:53:00.000Z

At about 8.30am this morning, just as I was arriving at work, our office was evacuated. A suspect package had been found in the cafeteria; the emergency evacuation plan was implemented and we dutifully left the building and gathered at the designated assembly point. Within minutes, the police bomb disposal team were on site, doing what they do. We were then informed that the experts had requested a secondary evacuation, which involved moving the gathering crowd to another office further down the street. Once there, we congregated in the restaurant, drank coffees and chatted with colleagues as most of us had left laptops, phones, keys and even cars at the now sealed off site. At around 10am, we were told that if possible, the most sensible course of action would be to return home, provided we had a safe means of doing so.

The excitement caused by an opportunity to legitimately bunk off spread round the room like a virus. I got that warm feeling that I used to get as a schoolboy when, during the much harsher winter months of my childhood, our school would periodically close because of heavy snow. We get older, take on responsibilities and become parents ourselves and yet however old you are, when the Man (mum or dad, school, the doctor, the police or the firm you work for...) legitimises a day off, it feels great!

Predictably, we were told at 10.05am that the building was safe and that we could return to work.

tagged: svetlana sucks lemons, day off, snow day, the man,

A brain dump

2007-02-09T14:36:00.000Z

Last night I watched a fascinating documentary following the lives of some of Britain's most gifted children. Not your common or garden ‘top of the class’ kids, (every school has them - ours was also annoyingly cool, excelled at sport and all the high school girls fancied him), these were young minds in a completely different league; Mensa scores that were ‘off the chart’ at 3 years old; an 11 year old published children’s author who between cooking, writing his next novel and his education, was learning seven languages. I was half expecting one of these super brains to claim they could only see in algorithms like Neo from the Matrix.

This morning, over a cup of tea, I began to wonder whether my 15 month old son was a member of this elite cerebral minority. He’s a bright young chap for sure, but just how bright I began to ask myself. At that moment, he started to really study my face, as if he’d plugged directly into my thoughts. He had that look of focused concentration those sci-fi telepathists always seem to have. Excitedly, I told B her son was displaying signs of child genius.

“That’s his new poo face,” she said knowingly, passing me the wipes.

Simple messages are more readily understood

2007-02-02T13:33:00.000Z

Earlier in the week, my mother-in-law offered up a very simple story with a very clear message.

We had just finished eating a fairly substantial evening meal. I mentioned that I was going to go and try find a biscuit (usually meaning half a packet of biscuits) to accompany my cup of tea.

"I knew a boy once who couldn't stop eating,” she proclaimed. “He got fatter and fatter and fatter and fatter and fatter. Then he died.”

Theft or inflation proofing?

2007-01-21T14:10:00.000Z

On the way to baby swimming this morning, B and I were talking about what to do with the growing pot of cash our son has amassed since he was born nearly 16 months ago. His small fortune is made up of birthday and Christmas gifts from relatives. It is not the product of hours spent grafting in the local sporting goods factory, lest there be any misunderstanding.

Currently, the whole lot sits in his piggy bank, and will soon be worthless (relatively) if inflation continues to rise. We discussed his state provided trust fund as an option, but then remembered it can't be topped up any further. A high interest savings account seemed like a good alternative, but then there's all the administrative headache that goes with setting one up and keeping track of things.

Later, as B was thinking about how she wants the new kitchen to be designed, she hit upon the perfect solution for inflation proofing H's savings.

"We should spend it on the house," she concluded.

Hairless teeth

2006-12-24T15:46:00.000Z

Yesterday, I accidentally brushed my teeth with some of B's hair removing cream. It was in a tube, closely resembling toothpaste, next to the sink. My teeth, gums and palate are now completely glabrous. And B's shins are sparkling white.

Protect us from such filth!

2006-12-19T23:01:00.000Z

Over the last few weeks some friends and I have been experimenting in the blogosphere with some fairly funny (we think!) writing about a fictitious village called Pranker's Wycke. On one level, all seems painfully innocent and typical of village life as charted by any local rag. If approached with a degree of broad mindedness and a desire to read between the lines however, the use of spoonerism and innuendo opens up a whole new level of interpretation.

Having had a number of attempts to drum up some interest on the BBC Radio 4 comedy message boards fall foul of "house rules", I'm reminded of an old Viz reader's letter, in which the author was complaining about a tin of alphabet spaghetti. He (or she) had been able to spell some grotesque swear words and was insisting that children be protected from such filth, presumably through a ban on the product.

We've had a huge amount of fun writing Blunghole's Meme and a growing number of people appear to enjoy both reading and contributing to the unfolding stories. As for polluting the minds of our readers, I suspect the rot set in long before Pranker's Wycke had an online noticeboard!

Bad car week

2006-12-12T23:51:00.000Z

Yesterday, on our way to the hospital for a scan, we got a flat tyre. It took me the best part of the morning on the phone to ATS to find a local depot with a replacement in stock. I always seem to be forced to haemorrhage time when I can least afford to be a clock donor. Having found a place, waited the standard "20 minutes mate - max" which turned into 2 hours, got the tyre replaced and ventured back onto the roads, I very nearly ran out of fuel. One of those bunny hopping onto the forecourt running on fumes moments. Today, I was at the top of Fleet Street driving onto the Strand when I got hit by a bus (scraped probably a better description).

So, if you are planning to be on the road Thursday evening this week, in and around London, be warned. I will be driving home, and clearly should be avoided at all costs.

Your Daily Monster

2006-12-02T22:06:00.000Z

I stumbled across Stefan G. Bucher in the blogosphere. He draws a daily monster, video blogs it and invites comments. Fantastic.

Walking the talk

2006-12-02T20:06:00.000Z

Next April, barring unexpected problems, there will be another mouth to feed in our house. This will mean another period of maternity leave for B, and inevitably we will have to tighten our belts. B mentioned this morning that she worries about our ability to live more frugally and use less resources. I tried to reassure her, pointing out that our lifestyle is fairly modest. I also reminded her that we've been purposefully saving to help us through lean times.

B returned from the supermarket just before lunch. I helped unpack the shopping. Based on our earlier conversation, I was surprised to find a packet of Tesco Finest Ground Beef Steak.

"I just can't stand cheap mince," she said.

Genetichigh - ever yearned for one?

2006-12-02T19:34:00.000Z

My friend Mark writes and performs as Genetichigh. Four tracks from his album Momentum are up on myspace - have a listen. I particularly like "precious thing" - and before any League fans get over excited, there is no Tubbs and Edward link (none that I've picked up on anyway).

Bandwagoning gets a facelift

2006-11-22T19:32:00.000Z

Bandwagoning has undergone some cosmetic surgery post migration to Blogger in beta. The skin is dead. Long live the skin.

Ref the new skin. Let me know what you think - how does it read? How easy is it to navigate? What don't you like? Not that I'll be able to change much - I'm way past my technical limit in the blogosphere (although I'm learning - fast)

Blogger in Beta will not beta me

2006-11-22T11:37:00.000Z

I migrated to Blogger in beta yesterday. It was a torturous experience. If you subscribe to Bandwagoning's RSS feed and have been bombarded with updates, rest assured the end is nigh. I hope.

A sub 4:00 hour marathon in 2007

2006-11-21T00:48:00.000Z

The idea is simple. A virtual group of runners from fetcheveryone all commit to running a sub 4:00 hour marathon in 2007. It works because I've made a public statement of intent. I will get fit again and shed some winter layers as I train. Twice before I've come within 15 minutes of the 4:00 hour threshold. In 2007 I will cross it.

Festive lights aficionados - get out your cameras!

2006-11-18T16:02:00.000Z

It's getting to that time of year, when pure comedy can be found simply by walking the streets at night*. I am of course referring to the increasing abundance of houses that are lit up like fairground attractions as the festive period approaches. Each year, I continue to be amazed at the lengths some people will go to put a smile on my face. The more grotesque and ostentatious the display, the more I feel compelled to stop and soak up the pageantry.

If you see any spectacles you think I'd appreciate, please do blog them and link back in a comment.

*this can also get you beaten up or arrested for soliciting, so if you do go looking for illuminations, do it safely.

What a load of bollards!

2006-11-18T00:29:00.000Z

Great find by Joel and then Euan. You might think twice before doing some bus lane tailgating if you take a look at this.

Can a house be cleaned in 2 hours per week?

2006-11-17T22:59:00.000Z

B said to me a few days back that one of her friends was having to let her cleaner go. "Oh that's a shame", I murmured, only half listening.

"Which means we can have her!", continued B. Now this got my attention. Having resisted the services of a cleaner all my adult life, on the basis that cleaners constitute an unnecessary extravagance, I now found myself in another of those situations where a longstanding principle was being challenged.

"All the hoovering, cleaning, ironing, dusting and anything else we need her to do", said B excitedly, "for only £10 per hour, and what's more, she will only need to come for 2 hours every other week!"

One of us is in for a real shock here. Either B's been oversold the ability of this domestic hot shot, or I lived my entire bachelor years in relative squalor because of some ill-held belief about the net worth of home help. You didn't think I did it myself did you.........?

Willem Dafoe baby

2006-11-11T10:36:00.000Z

I walked into the kitchen this morning to find H sitting on the floor munching a piece of toast. As soon as he clapped eyes on me, he jumped to his knees, threw his arms up in the air and tossed his head backwards. He's been doing this a lot recently. I'm never quite sure whether it signals joy or misery! The energy he throws into this particular shape reminds me of this memorable shot of Willem Dafoe.

tagged: Willem Dafoe

No poos logged today

2006-11-09T21:43:00.000Z

...said H's nursery carer when she handed me his daycare report today. Said in all seriousness, I found this really funny! Good to know H's father is still a child himself.

The Life and Times of Granny Foper

2006-11-07T23:52:00.000Z

UPDATE: You can now track not only Granny's exploits, but all the goings on in the bustling village of Pranker's Wycke by visiting Blunghole's Meme.

Haven't yet finished thinking about this post. My friends and I have spent many hours crying with laughter at spoonered names like that of the elderly social menace in the post title. If you can think of some more friends of the Reverend Spooner that you'd like to see featured in Granny's exploits, ask them to leave a comment. More to follow.

tagged: spoonerism, word play, word-play, wordplay, puns, pun

Cousin k rocking out with her bridesmaid

2006-11-05T09:57:00.000Z

I just found this footage of my cousin k and sister j. No explanation required. I think we should youtube this as it's too funny not to share.

Avenue Q

2006-11-04T09:18:00.000Z

Hooray it's the weekend. Tonight, B and I are going to see Avenue Q - a sort of rude mash up of Muppets and Sesame St. With alternative Broadway belters like "the internet is for porn", we should be in for an hilarious couple of hours I hope. We haven't been to the theatre in London for so long now. In fact I don't think we've ever been to the theatre in London? This is then a milestone - perhaps one that is best left unheralded. We're also going to have dinner in town. I chose Cafe Koha because of rave reviews. I'll write up review over the next couple of days.

tagged: avenue q

Only a wife could say that

2006-11-03T00:03:00.000Z

"You're beginning to look like a big fat minger wearing a wig", said my wife B. Can't remember what exactly had brought about this ripper of a put down, but it had us both rolling around laughing for a while.

The thing is, there was some truth in it. Since our son was born in late 2005, I'd successfully avoided any form of exercise, whilst tripling my intake of calories. This, coupled with weekend after weekend having slipped by without me getting to the barbers, had resulted in a look that made close friends and family really think I'd let myself go.

So - I got a haircut. "You now look like a big fat minger", came the commentary. Then, when I'd put myself back into a running regime for Windsor Half Marathon and lost a fair amount of weight in the process.... "You just look like a minger now", she said in admiration.

This was a while back - it comes to mind because I'm currently laid up with an achilles strain which I am hoping won't put me out of action for too long. Time will tell. I use fetcheveryone to manage all things running.

tagged: fetcheveryone, minger

Blogging's twilight - there are precedents

2006-11-02T11:40:00.000Z

I have a long standing reputation for representing the tipping point in almost any social phenomenon. House prices soaring - the day after i complete, the backside falls out of the market. Tech stocks booming - i invest, the bubble bursts. Internet forum discussions bustling - I post a comment and kill the thread. Mullets are back in - the day mine is officially grown, they're declared a style crime. (the last one was a lie - i have never sported a mullet)

So - here's my blog - best write your last posts then.......