Monday 5 September 2011

Then there were two...


So, yeah.

Two weeks after his due date, we welcomed the new boy into the world. He sleeps right now, I currently have baby sick on my shoulder. I'd forgotten about the little things like that. But you don't mind, because as long as the baby sleeps you don't care about the various fluids that have been projected onto you like you're the worlds most unfortunate bullseye. He's asleep. That's cool.

Of course, this time around there's the added element of the original boy (aka "The Boy"). He's doing all the things that he usually does. He runs around, he looks at things that look shiny and interesting. He turns off the internet and the phone, because apparently he's sneaky little ninja toddler that if you take your eye off him he'll disappear.

He's like Batman in The Dark Knight. Just when you think that you're talking to someone, giving vital nuggets of wisdom you turn around to find he's run off somewhere. Except I don't remember seeing Batman getting himself stuck between a high chair and the wall because he wanted to see if he'd fit.

But that's not really the point. I wanted to recall (to the best of my abilities) the whole experience of welcoming a child into the world. Except that I wanted to talk about it from the Dad's perspective and talk about it in actual terms that relate to people. not like in those rubbish little pamphlets they give to dads.

I've joked about it in the past, a Dad getting a small piece of paper with "go ask your mother" written on it.
You know what you get? This:

                                         I think my thumb looks weird in this picture....


I mean seriously? How insulting is this? The general consensus that dad's will only need to know what's on a fold out A5 piece of paper. Even more insulting is that most of it is website links.

Fuck that.

I want to talk about what I went through.

Before I continue I'm not taking anything away from what women have to go through because, frankly, I'm eternally grateful that I didn't have to push a tiny person out of me. But there are aspects from a male perspective that are often overlooked. I want to address that. But I'll add a humorous picture or two.

The time came when my wife was scheduled to go into hospital to be induced. At this point the baby was 12 days overdue, my wife being such a good hostess that the little guy didn't want to come out. Thankfully, we had relatives that the boy could go to, otherwise we'd be have to take him in and try and stop him setting a record for pressing the call help buttons.

So we went in and we waited. And waited. This, I had forgotten about. The amount of time just waiting for people to come or things to happen was surreal. The wife wasn't in labour at this point so I didn't feel that guilty about spending a large amount of time on Twitter, busying myself with trying to be witty and taking picture of things that seemed rather odd. If you follow me you might've seen some of them, the best of these probably being the toilet roll holders that looked like breasts.

Don't believe me?

Have a look:


I mean, what were they thinking? Well, I think we all know what they were thinking. How could you not look at the finished product and question why they've somehow designed holders that appear to lactate paper? I suppose the maternity ward is the one place where it would work, but it's not subtle.

Anyway...

The first night, the baby was not forthcoming, and because of the particular hospital I was in, I couldn't stay after 8pm, so I had to go. I got back to make sure that the boy was still sleeping and that he hadn't driven his grandmother insane. Her sanity was intact, and I sat down.

It was weird, being in the house and the wife not being there. It reminded me of when the boy was born. The only difference was that he had already been born at the point where I had to go home. That was hard as well. Knowing my family was in the hospital and coming home to an empty house. But this time I was coming home to my first son, so I could busy my feeble brain with being there for him.But my mind always snapped back to the hospital and my eyes were never far from my phone, waiting for a call to say that I could come.

So into day two. The boy was handed over to grandparents again. I got back to the hospital and had the waiting interspersed with buying the most expensive pasties ever from the cafe (seriously, ten quid for two cups of coffee and two pasties?) and strolling past the hospital radio station that had a surprisingly good choice in music. But there was still nothing happening, so I had to leave again.

The boy was still up when I got back, and after he went to bed I got a text from my wife saying that she was officially in labour. I hit the bed and thought I'd get in some sleep while I still could. I was laying in bed, phone in hand, checking the signal and the battery to make sure it was in optimum condition. It probably wasn't due to the fact that I was checking it every two seconds. I wondered if I would get to sleep at all that night.

Seconds later, I fell asleep.

I was awoken around one in the morning to find that my wife was phoning me. At this point I was still ninety percent asleep and my brain was telling me that she was downstairs, and questioning why she would be calling. After the conversation reality slapped my brain across the head with the dad pamphlet and I kicked into gear. Grandparents were summoned once more and I made my way to the hospital.

The car journey was the scariest one I'd ever had, mainly because it was the heaviest rain I'd ever driven in and, between Port Talbot and Bridgend, there aren't many lights on the motorway. I got there in one piece, parked, unclenched my buttocks from the hair-raising trip and tried to figure out how to get into the now closed hospital. I got there through A&E, which was surprisingly empty considering it was a Friday night in South Wales.

I got to the birthing room and all the memories for the first time came flooding back. My wife was lying there, gas and air pipe in hand (which despite my the best efforts, they never let me try) and I sat.


It was in moments like this when I felt I could pretty much do nothing. All other times I could get things, go to the shop, let people know what was happening. But when it came to down to it, my wife was having the baby and I couldn't help.

And then comes the weird emotional roller coaster, because even though it turned out wonderfully and we had a new baby, that time before he was born, those hours and minutes, you're watching someone you love go through so much pain and suffering and there's nothing you can do. So you're excited that you're about to meet the offspring, but you're utterly heartbroken and distraught at seeing her having to go through this.


But then she took my hand and I felt useful again. I told her to squeeze as hard as she wanted. She could break my fingers off and shove them up my nose if it helped in any small way. If it helped, then I was happy with that. I was watching her giving birth and I fell so in love with her all over again. And again. She fucking rocked. At this point my hand had gone from being held to being bitten. I was a man, I could take it. Until she really went for it and I said (and I think this is how you spell it) MMEEAARRRH!

And he was there. The new boy, all kinda purple and crying. You will never forget or experience anything like the first time you see your child. Thinking about it now I remember the exact same feeling of shock of seeing both of them, the feeling of  "Oh my god, it's an actual person" kinda thing.

The next part is when you just sit there and look at him, and take in the last moment of quiet normality you're going to experience for a fair few years. This point is when the Dad file downloads in your brain. The dad file helps you get your head around the fact that you're now a father and disables the parts of your brain that gags at the sight of poo or sick or objecting when someone urinates on you. It also alters your way of thinking and your perception of reality. It will makes you think that this child has been with you al your life.  This was version 2.0 for me, which is a refreshers course and a resigning of the agreement.

I went home again. I sneaked in a quick hour of sleep and then me and the boy went to see the other half of the family and there we were. Our family of four. That phrase still makes me smile with joy and bewilderment.
We came home and it was like there had been the four of us all along.

So to sum up, if your a man and your going to be a dad, this sort of thing will happen to you. You will travel around, you will keep family members updated. But right at the point of when you other half is actually performing this amazing miracle of nature you will feel useless. You will want to tear open the sky to find the entity that is subjecting the woman you love to the pain that she is going through. But you will be strong for her and as soon as you see the little boy or girl every emotion other than love will drain away. You will be a family.

So there you go.

Next time, stuff about Dr Who. Probably....













Thursday 28 July 2011

The answer to the question of the meaning of life and the correct amount of cakes to have at any one time

So it's potentially hours to go until the birth of the new boy.

Chances are that this post will have a rather large gap between me starting it and finishing, pending on when the time comes. Nevertheless I'll push on with it.

So, two boys. Brothers. Siblings. Cohorts. No matter what, it's going to be interesting. Prep has been done, Wotsists and Jaffa Cakes have been bought. Special Agent Oso has been recorded. When the time comes the boy will be spoilt rotten and basically kept quiet by whoever is watching him with the aforementioned tasty treats. That is if I can keep my hands off them myself. I swear those wotsits are laced with cocaine (have I said that in a previous post? I can't remember...). Once the new boy is in the world I'll wrench the then orange faced toddler away from his favourite animated TV panda to come and meet his sidekick and then we come home and we are a complete set. The four of us.

Four is a number that seems to fit. The thought of us all in the house together instantly makes more sense that just the boy as it is now. The more I think the more it seems such a perfect set up. Also I'll have the right amount of children to explain the amount of grey hair I have. Sweet.

Life is funny sometimes and most people ponder the eternal question, what is the meaning of life? I used to, but I don't any more because I have my own answer to that (I'll tell you later).

The things I ponder these days are stupid things. I've pondered that phrase about having your cake and eating it too. Is that not what a cake is for? To be eaten? Why would you just have one and not eat it, it makes no sense.

Before you starting thinking that I've missed the point I'm aware of the phrase and what it actually means, but fuck that I want to take it literally. And if you ever have someone say that to you, tell them that you want two identical cakes. That way you can have one and eat it too. Simple.

Anyway, enough of that. I ponder other things but I can't think of anything other than cake right now so I'm off to go and get one.

By the way you might notice some minor Amazon related changes up top and below the blog. I'm just trying something out. If you think it's a getting in the way or something let me know I'll take it off. I'm here for the art dammit.

Just click on the other adverts a million times so I can buy an iPad2.

Unless inspiration hits I'll probably post after the new boy has been born, so God only knows what time it'll go up.

Oh yeah, the meaning of life. If someone ever asks me that, my answer?

To live. So go live it. Preferably with two identical cakes.

Wednesday 6 July 2011

Ultra Violence & a very angry man: My love for Total Recall

There are films. You know this of course, you might've seen one or two of them in your time.

Sometimes these films are good, sometimes bad. Sometimes they're the most amazing pieces of visual artistry that you will ever see and they will move you to tears, and sometimes you get Battlefield Earth.

But then sometimes you get films that are so bad, you can't help but enjoy them and like to watch them again and again just to laugh at how poor it is but you thoroughly enjoy it every time. They're generally referred to as guilty pleasures.

Total Recall is not one of these films, mainly because it's awesome.

An explanation might be in order here then. Total Recall has been a favourite in this house for a while now. I can't remember where it started but I'm assuming it had something to do with large quantities of alcohol and a lack of things to watch on TV. There's something about the combination of story, acting, the fact it was made in the eighties and Arnie (I utterly refuse to type his surname; whos got the time?) that is truly magical.

You might think it's rubbish, you may have a point. But then I'd want to throw a piece of Austrian oak at you and see that you got the irony as it bounced off your head.

If you haven't seen it, it's a classic story of a man who dreams of going to Mars, but can't afford it. He then hears that he can have a memory implant in his head that'll make him think he's been on a nice holiday, but he also has an optional extra that make him think he's a spy and has a dream-like adventure. Unfortunately due to the fact that this is Arnie's head, the implant knocks out all that was in there (which probably amounts to thoughts about guns, boobs and a monkey starching his arse) and unlocks the fact that he's actually a spy in real life but he can't remember anything else. So he does what anyone else would do and kicks the shit out of anyone who looks at him funny.

And that's essentially it. From this point on the plot goes out the window and he just goes and get's the biggest handgun I've ever seen and blows snooker ball sized chunks out of anonymous henchmen whilst trying to get to Mars to meet a girl and help some Jim Henson creations. Or something.

I never thought about the plot that much, it's just waiting to get to the bits that you remember and cheering him on as he inexplicably manages to kick to people in the face at the same time whilst being held down. The film is an example of the eighties style 'ultra violence' that was popular in other films like Robocop and Scarface, which is so so over the top you can't help but laugh at seeing someone getting his head blown off. Or in the case of one of Recalls most iconic scenes using a fake head to blow up other peoples heads. You know the one, right?

                                           An everyday occurrance in eighties cinema...
                                       
One of the key ingredients to making this film awesome is Michael Ironside, who plays the (almost) main bad guy Richter. I'm sure he's a great actor, but this is one of those 'have fun and get paid' roles for him .

Richter is a very angry man indeed. The main problem is that he can't seem to be able to shoot a man who is six feet wide and stands out like a giant ogre in a pub full of hobbits


                                Pulling this face for a two hour film deserves an award in itself


But it's his pure fury (and to be honest I don't think he even knows why he wants to kill him after an hour) that leads him to his down fall and possibly the most missed opportunity for a quip in cinema history.

Basically he get's his arms ripped off by a lift. Arnie is left waving said arms and he says "See you at the party Richter!" This is an Arnie film. No arm quip? Seriously? This is the guy who shot a crocodile and said "You're Luggage"

*sigh*

Which lead to the main attraction of Total Recall; Arnie Himself.

Lets face it, any Arnie film without him would be a straight to video affair. But eighties Arnie could do no wrong. His huge range of emotions he shows is without equal.

Actually he has two expressions, one of which is:

                                            How has this man never won an oscar?


He's is without doubt, awful. When he's supposed to be in pain he sound like he's reading it straight from the script.

But that's the charm of big dude. People didn't want to see him act, they wanted to see him destroy things. And people. And dialogue. He was at the peak of his powers doing this film and it shows. The effects may look rubbish now, the music and script is terrible and the acting is not even phoned in. Faxed in would be more appropriate.

But it's just perfect for what it is. You know the saying two wrongs don't make a right? Well a shitload of wrongs apparently is what it takes it to make one of the most unforgettable and entertaining films your ever likely to see. It's probably on ITV2 or one of the sky channels now. Go watch and enjoy.

Plus how can you not enjoy a film that gives you a moment like this;

Saturday 2 July 2011

It's good, but it's not right....

I saw a man having the fat sucked out from behind his nipple. I'm hoping it's the one and only time.

That was Embarrassing Fat Bodies on Channel 4. Sadly, there's not an amazing story that culminates in me having to witness the aforementioned operation to figure out how to stop the terrorists by recreating the moves of the surgeon to disarm the nuclear bomb on the way to the White House, It was just on when I walked in the room.

At first I thought there was some sort of uncooked pizza on the TV. Then, the horror. The horror when I realised what I saw.

This is today's entertainment. It shows how TV has changed in the last twenty-odd years. I'm not going to rant on about it being rubbish compared to TV "back in my day" because my my day there was a lot of filler as well. It was called ITV.

(It still is, by the way. ITV is fucking terrible. All that needs to be done is for the BBC to buy TV Burp, and then ITV can be shot in the head and buried at sea, like that guy was the other day. You know the one, that beardy guy?).

The embarrassing bodies series actually quite deceptive. You can look at it and think that it's just to laugh at fat people, but if you actually watch it, it shows the full extent of issues that some people in society face. It shows surgery as well, something I can't watch because I'm a bit squeamish.

It also shows that TV is these days quite deceptive. I only realised the other day that a few of the programmes I watch are essentially game shows in disguise.

I watch The Apprentice. (In fact next year I'm thinking of setting up a blog to run alongside the series, but that's another thought for another day) and the appeal for me is to watch supposedly the best business minds in Britain making complete tits of themselves. But then I thought that they're competing for a prize, complete tasks and a few get knocked out every week.
Is that not what crackerjack was all about (I think, I'm actually too young for that one...) or The Generation Game? Or Big break? Or EVERY FUCKING GAMESHOW EVER!?!?

The only difference is that it has a shiny business like veneer instead of novelty buzzer noises and the chance to see what they could've won. Well they know what they could've won, it's 250k and Lord Canderel as a matey blokey-bloke business partner instead of a 1978 Vauxhall Astra, or a weekend away for two to Benidorm.

I love it though, Nick's expressions alone are TV comedy gold.

Another one I watch is Four Rooms. A new one from Channel 4 shows people bringing in all sorts of stuff to try and sell to dealers who presumably flog it off for a huge profit and laugh like a manically insane bond villain whist kicking kittens through an electric fan. I assume. They may just go home and eat their tea, I'm not sure.

This one is quite compelling. Basically people want to sell their stuff. They get greedy and usually go home with nothing. Four people make them offers. These people include someone who looks like Sean Lock, someone who looks like Phil Jupitus's Dad, the 'Simon Cowell' of the group who's surname is a breed of fish I can't remember and a woman who looks like she's a big fan of Tim Burton's work.

The main draw on this is the fact that you can see people go into these rooms and have a game plan and as soon as they get a whiff of an offer more than they thought you can practically see the pound sign in their eyes. But again, it's nothing more than a game show. It's a game show that's a unholy hybrid of Deal or No Deal, Dragons Den & Cash in the Attic (love and hugs to my wife for this comparison) but a game show nonetheless. They go in to win a prize and they either win or lose. It should be hosted by Roy Walker, he's a legend.

So if I think about it, I watch Sci Fi, cleverly disguised game shows, QI & American sitcoms about people who watch Sci Fi.

I still haven't seen Werner Herzog eat his shoe yet.

Saturday 25 June 2011

Thoughts about Future boy

So there's about six weeks until the new boy is born.

I have an apparent sense of unnatural calm. The ministry of clichés tells me that it's the calm before the storm, but I'm not sure that's the case. It could be, I'm frequently wrong about things including, but not limited to, correct lottery numbers and government legislation.

I think my brain is going with the fact that since we have a son already that the knowledge contained is backward compatible. To an extent I think this is correct. But of course everyone is different, and the situation wont be exactly the same. For a start there's also the fact that there's going to be a new baby and an twenty month old toddler, so that's different. But my boy has a good soul (and a cheeky smile that'll get him out of any situation) so I have no worries about him reacting to the new addition to the household. He'll probably just think it's the norm and just carry on dancing to Chugginton.

In a practical sense the fact that we're having another boy is good as we have several layers of baby clothing that can be used again. Looking at the tiny t-shirts and sleep suits have questioned my sanity. Did we ever have a son who was that small? Surely not, he's a big, walking toddler now. Was he ever a little sleepy thing that can't support his head and is discreetly sick down my back? There is lots of photographic evidence that proves me wrong, yet part of my brain states that this wasn't the case.

There's another part of my brain that clearly remembers him sleeping in a Moses basket next to the sofa right next to where I was sitting, whilst I was blubbing (like a marine I might add) whilst Thor was giving up his life to enable Captain Kirk and his Mother to live on another day.*

I think it's fair to say that on occasion that my brain can't be trusted. For God's sake just this second I literally just stopped writing because I remembered that I wanted to watch the new Captain America trailer and watched that instead of finishing my sentence.

I'm sure I had a point when I started writing this, but it's gone. So I'll leave with this.

I love my family. For all the irrational fears I may have about what's to come I can't wait to meet the new guy and welcome him into the world.

Then the consensus between me and my wife is that we'll be investing in large amounts of contraception and Googling: "vasectomy procedures".










*In plain English I was watching Star Trek.

Friday 27 May 2011

Clowns, bears & vomiting trains (aka I'm not ripping of Charlie Brooker, it's a more of a sycophantic homage) .

In the last 17 months, I’ve watched a lot of kids TV. It’s been there to on occasion to distract the boy whilst being changed or just general to keep him quiet while me and my wife catch a breather.

Originally there were mutterings of these programmes not being as good as they were in our day, but it took an absurdly long time to realise that these programmes weren’t aimed at me, rather the children.

I also realise that there was a lot of terrible programmes on in my day. Finger mouse springs to mind, it was just some middle aged guy with a piece of paper wrapped around his finger for God’s sake. At least the Tellytubbies put a bit of effort in.

But we did have Dogtanian, Thundercats, Dungeons & Dragons, MASK and Going Live among other things. So it was pretty good.

So if it's okay with you I'm going to a poor man's screen-wipe style look at some of the programmes I've seen on the last year and a half.

In the beginning there was nothing. Then there was Disney. Specifically Playhouse Disney and it was colourful and weird. Disney was a good place to start because you know that they’ve been entertaining kids ever since they took over Korea with a bunch of heavily armed animators.

They know their stuff, but you do notice that it’s pretty much all CG. Not even good CG, it looks pretty basic; like someone is using a mouse to drag the arms back and forth and doing their best to try and not makes any wanking gestures. But again, you remember it’s for infants and toddlers and they don’t care if the texture on Special Agents Oso’s fur is correctly lit. They care if he falls over or not in a funny way.

Speaking of Oso, he’s been the biggest hit in this house. Maybe the boy has an appreciation for Sean Astin’s body of work, I’m not sure. Whatever the reason he’s the go-to bear around here. To start I was concerned that Oso was a special agent who forgot nearly everything that he’d been told literally seconds ago. He wouldn’t last two seconds in the real world, he’d be picked off by rival agents and water boarded for information. But he would’ve forgotten everything anyway so he might be alright. Or killed instantly. So to begin with I was dismissive, but then something happened that made me smile. I think it was Oso jumping a bike into a tree. After that it began to grow on me and now I consider it positively Shakespearean in its design. It’s the little things that get you.

Mickey Mouse was a big hit for a while too, the same level of CG and that chirpy voice that will make you develop a nervous twitch every time you hear it. He’s got a club house that looks like someone has chopped him up and planted the dismembered corpse randomly in a field. He’s also got a train that’s vomits its own rail track piece by piece when it moves. What a horrible tortured existence that poor fucker has. He’s in his garage somewhere shying away from daylight begging not to be made to move for fear of losing his mind and whatever he's eaten for lunch.

The writers in this one are a bit cheeky. I swear they put in innuendo that goes over the kids’ heads. I noticed a few but my wife caught the best one. Minnie Mouse was on the hunt for her missing muffin (the cake, but you can see where this is going). She asked Daisy Duck if she’d eaten it. Yeah they went there, the dirty bastards.

This one made a bit of a comeback due to the hot dog dance they do at the end (I have no idea so don't ask), and my boys burgeoning dancing skills.

(He’s a right little mover and got a shoulder wiggle that’ll melt your heart.)

There's also the Imagination Movers. An American kids' band who work in a TARDIS warehouse and one of them has a TARDIS hat. They're awesome. I'd love to say something funny about them but they're the most likeable Americans I've ever seen and they're music is really good. Sometimes a bit Kraftwerk inspired which is a bit weird, it's a bit like seeing Bob the builder covering NWA.

More recently Cbeebies have been incorporated into the viewing. The BBC has still got it when it comes to entertaining the kids, but it took me a while to notice the quality. I was instantly charmed by Disney and their cheap thrills but the beeb have got class.

They incorporate proper presenters and have great shows to learn with. Stuff like arts and crafts and cooking and gardening and reading.
With Cbeebies one of the biggest and still one of the best for the boy is Alphablocks. It’s still the only thing that he sits there for the entire episode; it’s just a shame that the episodes are only three minutes long.

A happy accident from the recording of Alphablocks overrunning was catching a programme called ‘Something Special’. At first it looked like some random bloke dressed up as a clown called Mr Tumble and falling over, much like those cheap ones you saw in school that would tell you about traffic awareness. But as I watched it showed that it was about taking children with disabilities out on a day they wouldn’t forget. Any snide sarcastic quips I might've made were washed away by a double wave of guilt and shame.

One of the elements of the programme is clown dude using sign language and teaches it we the episode progresses. I’ve learnt a fair bit myself. Granted, I should’ve paid more attention to more important words other than “barbeque” but it might come in handy one day.

So in your face Disney, the Beeb are showing equality and tolerance to children from a young age. You don’t see Mickey doing that do you? They’ve got a presenter with a disability as well which shows that Cbeebies have got more balls than nearly all other TV channels put together.
Kudos.

They also have Rastamouse. 'Nuff said.

The only one I’ve got an issue with is in the night garden. It’s just mental, frankly. There’s a ninky nonk, a plinky plonk and others that defy any logical and grammatical explanation.
I’m just glad they stopped when they did otherwise you’d have splinky wink, a minky mank a tooble tum and one day they’ll maybe show the unaired episode involving the gropy pope.

It seems that kids TV is in good hands. You’ve got the kind of programmes that you can use to catch 5 minutes for yourself and you’ve got the usual BBC quality, the same as it ever was.

Of course, you should probably take them outdoors once in a while as well…

Tuesday 24 May 2011

Hope I die before I get…..oh bugger.

My son can eat like his old man, I’m very proud of this.

You can tell when he likes something by the simple “mmmmmmmmm” noise he makes. It’s awesome and man, can he pack it away.

Using Sherlock Holmes’ deduction methods I’ve come to the conclusion that he is some kind of human TARDIS.
There’s no other explanation. He simply must be bigger on the inside.

I used to be like that, but lately I’ve feel like it’s no longer happening. When I have a curry I tend to spend the rest of the night propped against the sofa like a tree that hasn’t quite fallen over. Well, either that or the foetal position, but that’s mostly reserved for when the boy accidently kicks me in the gonads.

He’s got a hell of a kick by the way, once I was changing him and he delivered a kick so powerful that it made my balls bounce of the top of my ribcage and back down again. I sounded like Frank Spencer for the best part of the day.

But anyway, I may have mentioned it before but using Holmes’ methods once more I think I’m getting old. Not just old but premature mid-life crises. There’s plenty of evidence.
First of all, I’m going grey. But that’s been happening for a while. I’ve got a line of white in my hair that would make peppe le peu jealous. Or possibly aroused.

(Great now I’ve got the disturbing mental image of peppe le peu trying to hump my hair).

I don’t like much new music, mainly because its horrible generic Godawful shite. The stuff I like I thought would still be cool. But then one day I saw an advert. That advert has for the “Best Dad rock album in the world, ever!!!” and my insides died a little when I saw that it had a lot of stuff on there that I like. I know I’m a dad, but come on. Those albums are for stuff from the sixties surely?

I often think the dreaded phrase “in my day”. But it’s true, have you seen the price of a chomp these days? Seventeen pence? Surely they’re only supposed to be ten pence. Fifteen at a push.
Teenagers annoy me, I’m looking to see what’s on G.O.L.D far too much and I make a very old man noise when I sit down. There really is no hope.

Technology I’m still ok with though, but I fear it’s only a matter of time before it’ll get the better of me. I imagine it’ll happen when I have to ask one of my boys to help me with a computer or phone, and when that day comes I’ll buy myself a rocking chair, a cardigan with leather elbow patches and blow my brain out with the nearest ray gun.

But I’ll probably need help with that too.

Sunday 22 May 2011

Meet the card carrying members of the numpty-verse

As previously mentioned, Port Talbot is bat shit crazy. But it appears we are not alone.

Don't get me wrong, since I last mentioned it I've seen some fantastic shout outs from the nutter posse (as some "yoof" might say...well I think. I'm not exactly on the same wavelength).

I was wondering down the shop; probably for the second time that night because I've got a memory like a sieve that been massacred by an AK47, and I overheard someone clapping. This you may think is not uncommon, but the claps were getting louder. As I wondered what to expect when I turned the corner, a man walked past. As he was walking he was clapping in time with his steps (concentrating very hard I might add). He looked up and saw me and instead of looking embarrassed or giving something of a sane explanation, he simply gave me an approving nod. For what I have no idea.

Why would he approve me? Was he respecting my choice to walk normally? He also had a crutch hanging from his arm, something that just added to the hundreds of questions that popped into my head in the space of those two minutes.

The other particular highlight was when I was taking the boy to town. During one of his games of "Lets see how many times I can throw my hat on the floor and get Dad to run over it", two men walked past on the opposing pavement. Usually I wouldn't listen in to other people’s conversation but it’s hard not to when one person says: "And then he went like this...."

He then proceeded to hop backwards down the pavement like a New Zealand player doing the Hakka who's been stuck on rewind on the TV, and the spun around and did what I can only assume was an impression of a javelin thrower and making a noise that can only be written thusly:

"FNNNEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWMMMMMN"

His companion said nothing. Neither did I. Frankly I was bewildered by the whole thing. The only thing that would've compared to that level of madness would've been if a leprechaun had appeared out of thin air, jumped up and slapped me and rocketed off to the moon.

But that's Port Talbot.

I was in Swansea the other day. At the start it was relatively sane, but it was only when I got on the train that things went a bit strange.

Turns out it was rather packed, and rather than walk through all the carriages and catch a line of people on the back of the head with my bag (my record is seven in a row), I took one of the seats by the door. I figured that I’d be getting off in fifteen minutes or so it wouldn’t be an issue.

Unbeknownst to me, I had chosen a seat that had ‘toilet attendant’ written above it. I assume I did considering the situation that unfolded. A middle aged woman approached and asked if anyone was in there. After stating that there wasn’t (that I was aware of) she proceeded to press a button to open it.

Well, that’s what she thought. She was pressing a part of the wall that was quite clearly blank. Maybe she thought it was one of those magic wall buttons that blend into the background that we all use on a day to day basis. There’s not a day goes by where I don’t see someone franticly groping a wall to get into buildings that don’t exist. I pointed out the clearly marked button. She went in.

Going back to my world blocking out music, I noticed when she came out that she began pressing this newly discovered wonderful non-camouflaged button. She pressed a lot of times. She then asked me if said action would close the door. Avoiding the billion sarcastic comments that entered my head I said that it probably closes by itself.

She went away. I sighed relief.

Not two minutes later a man walked up and pressed the button to open the door. This guy was obviously ahead of the curve. Except that he was standing outside the cupboard doors that were right next the actual door, patiently waiting for them to open. Meanwhile the actual door was (loudly) opening mere millimetres away. I waited for as long as I could before my newly self-appointed toilet attendant instinct kicked in and I had to point out the three foot gap that had suddenly appeared to his right.

He entered. I stifled a laugh to myself.

Another two minutes later the first middle aged woman showed up again, only to have who I assumed to be her mother in tow. She began to show her mother the wondrous button she’d discovered only five minutes previously and pressed awaiting a gasp of amazement from her mother. Except that it didn’t open. She turned to me as the keeper of the gates and asked if there was anyone in. As she asked me I couldn’t help staring that the massive red “TOILET ENGAGED” sign just to her left.

I was biting my lip so hard that I almost felt blood dripping down.

I pointed out the sign. The doors then opened and the guy left and the mother and daughter went in.

Thankfully the train pulled up at the station and I exited pondering if I could be the best toilet attendant the world never knew about.

I’m not looking down on the people around here. Well, maybe a little bit but no more than other people probably do to me when I’ve been out. I’ve been in town sometimes and when I’ve got back I’ve noticed my hair. On occasion when it’s long enough and I haven’t done anything to it I can look like Wolverine who’s let himself go and got baby sick on either shoulder. Then I’ve noticed it down my back and front.

I’m sure that there’s a genius on every street, it’s just I’ve got a habit of seeing the card carrying members of the numpty-verse.

But I can’t complain, it gives me something to write about

Monday 2 May 2011

Herds and herds of geeks and nerds...

Going slightly off topic on this one. I'm not normally this abrasive (my anger management counsellor will tell you that) but the stuff below really does annoy me.


As previously mentioned, I kinda like gadgets. Grown up toys and generally things that are shiny and bleep. Me and the boy have this in common. But sometimes people can spoil this by taking so-called sides to rival tech firms.
For example; recently the Playstation network game thingy went down (or it broke, as normal people would say) and the Xbox crowd went mental. Not as mental as the Playstation users that had to cancel their credit cards, but still they were rather boisterous. They were going on about how shit Sony are and how Xbox live and Microsoft were far superior.

Hmmm....

My brother handily pointed out that Microsoft (aka Bill Gates' empire of nerd) owns and operates Internet explorer. you know, that amazing blue 'e' symbol that sits on the desktop and has never broken down or been infected with viruses for crashed unexpectedly or....I forget my point.

If it sounds like that I'm taking Sony's side, I'm not really but I do tend to go for the their consoles over Microsoft. But it's not like I'd not get an Xbox either. If I was offered an Xbox I wouldn't go on about how I wouldn't dare have such a thing in my home and then pledge my allegiance to Sony by having the Playstation symbols carved into my forehead. I'd probably say "ta very much" and lose the next 3 hours of my life to it.

It just the snobbery of the people who decide the open source/more techy/more likely to get them to see boobs tech is the best and spend their time shaking their head in disbelief and snorting contempt at the lowly folk who dared to show the ability to express free choice.

you can also get into this type of conversation:

You: "I have this console"

Tech snob: *snort* "why did you buy that?"

You: "I had a look at all the options and decided this was the best one for me"

Tech snob: but that can only do (drones on about processing power or some bollocks) whilst my
machine can (even Goddam longer) and also (your now thinking of ways to kill him).


At this point they're explaining everything they know about coding and other things, by which time you've already made the mental note to de-friend them on facebook.

The one that really gets me annoyed it the whole shebang that I'm going to call "the apple-android smackdown" (I may change that).

Why this "grinds my gears" more than anything is that I've had experience of both sides. I'm currently with an android powered phone. I have had an iPhone in the past but made a change (for reasons i'm not going into). I can already hear the pro android army making approving noises, but I prefer Apple. I just do.

I've literally read people saying that the iPhone is rubbish. Well no, frankly. It's clearly not.
If it were rubbish it wouldn't sell, and it has sold lots.
"But wait" I hear the tech snobs cry, "the Apple service is a walled garden environment and you can only get software through itunes".
That may be, but the app store is great. and correct me if I'm wrong but I'm pretty sure you can download music from other places like Amazon and then put them on your phone.
Besides, Eden was a pretty big walled garden, that seemed like a nice place to be.

Yes, I will concede that the lack of flash support on the iPhone was on occasion a pain in the arse. "At least" I thought "Now I can do all that flash stuff I didn't realise I wanted to do or never really thought about now with my android powered gadget".

Yeah. My phone doesn't support flash. My Android phone.

So I cant use the BBC iPlayer (fuck me there's a lot of things with an "i" in front of it these days) on it to catch up on any TV & radio stuff I might have missed, LIKE YOU FUCKING CAN ON THE IPHONE!!!!!

I'm not saying that Apple is perfect. It's not. iTunes can be a right fuckwit a lot of the time, and registering the phone itself is a pain. But I think it's better. Granted, I havent got the best phone for the android experience but I can't see how it would make much diffence. And before you say anything you can take the words "widgets" and "customisable" and "open" and source" and shove them up your arse. I don't want these things.

I suppose there is a point in this uneven stuttering rant.

The point is, people choose things that right for them. If you force an opinion on them and bully them into thinking they're stupid, then fuck you. You are no better than the people who probably bullied you in the past because you could set up a computer and they could throw or kick a ball really well and yet somehow they get to be more popular.

By the way it may appear to some that I'm focing my opinion on you. I'm airing what annoys me about this topic. The next time you want to get something (whatever it may be, a phone, a car, a gimp mask) but have doubts about what people might say, ignore them do what's right for you. Don't conform for other people, you'll never be happy that way.

Or something. I don't know I'm just some idiot with a blog...

(Also I realise the title makes no sense.)

Next time, my theory on how my son is a human TARDIS.

Monday 18 April 2011

"Assemble the Pentagon of Comfort..."

The boy is now walking. This is cool.

He's got a Frankenstein's Monster walk going on at the minute, with occasional stops to do the occasional squat or he'll just turn around and toddle off the way he just came. This however brings it's own new set of issues. There are now things that are head hight that that weren't before.

I'm considering buying 5 new matresses that I will assemble around him and I will dub this "The Pentagon of Comfort" so he can bounce back and fore all day long without him giving his mother and I terminal migranes.

Also the door handles are now not mere conundrums, just objects that provide access to previously unacessable parts of the house (which is what they are designed for I suppose) The table is a climbing frame, on which trying to get up he does a fantastic karate style kick movement.

On the stairs he's reached a level of speed comparable to this.

The teething is still an issue. They're slowly getting there, but knowing that he's suffering from it has made my brain imagine a situation where I'm threatening to punch out the tooth fairy. This might be unfair however, as I'm not sure if the tooth fairy is responsible for putting the teeth there in the first place. So I could be threatening a poor mythical creature who's just doing their job without having to worry about Kato style attacks coming from all angles.

I can't wait for him to start speaking properly. At the moment he's got "Mam" under his belt (despite the fact I've been told that "Dad" is quite often the first word. I'm not bitter...), a selection of quizzical noises that combines with a hand expression that's reminiscent to someone discovering a series link recording of The Wire has actually turned out to have recorded Dad's Army instead.

For reasons my brain can't explain, I sometimes expect him to start reciting the opening passage of Pride and Prejudice (though I'd have to check with my wife first as I've never read it). But whatever his next foray into language may be, I'll adore him for it. I'll hug him and ask him to say again and again.

Of course I'll be cursing the day I wish for him to start speaking when he's said "cake" three hundred and fifty two times in the space of 5 minutes.

Wednesday 13 April 2011

Things you never thought you'd say: Volume I

-In the last year and a half, conversations have gone a bit wierd.

Along with the usual kinda things, there's a whole sub directory of things have been added that when you hear it back make you wonder if your brain realises you said it out loud. So instead of a normal blog, here's a list of some of the strangest things said in the last 16 months:

Don't sit on curly!

This doesn't belong in the stickle hippo...

How's the consistency of the poo?

That amount of sick isn't too bad...

He shot me with his poo cannon!

That crocodile sounds terrible.

The school bus driver doesn't go in your mouth.

I think this toy should be called pineapple B skellig...

They've stopped doing the jiggle wiggle!

The nappy exploded...

Mickey looks like he's planning something...

I seem to have forgotten how to count up to 3.

I think we should name the Zebra, Winston. Do you think anyone will get the ghostbusters reference?

I think the cookie jar is melting my brain...

That bear should be called pierre.
Why?
I think he looks French.

That's some of the highlights, there'll be more posts with this sort of thing on the future as soon as the subconscious unlocks it.

Wednesday 30 March 2011

All Hail the Sheen! (Not that one, the other one..)

I watched Quantum of Solace again the other day, as part of my continuing 'Bondomania' thing, and also partly because when I saw it the first time I didn't really like it. I thought it was too dull and pretentious and just... meh.
But I wanted to give it another chance as Casino Royale was pretty darn cool, and I'm sure it wasn't as bad as I thought.

And it wasn't. I enjoyed it this time around, but there were still a few things that bugged me. First was the fact that I thought I was watching an Aston Martin advert at the start, which made me think that I've never actually seen an advert for Aston Martin. Not that they need to, they've got $150 million dollar film with the hero driving said car every two years.

 Speaking of advertising, the other thing that really bugged me was Bond breaking into an apartment, but as I was watching I realised that I was staring at his watch. For ages. The realisation was that staring at his watch was probably what I was meant to be doing, and I felt used, dirty. But more than that I appeared to want to buy a new watch.

But yeah, other than that, and aside from Bond dropping on a car and shouting "We have a mutual Friend!" at a man he then killed an instant later (seriously, what the hell was that about?) it was good. I just hope for the next film they're going to get Q and Moneypenny back and start being proper Bond again. Just not too much like the Roger Moore era, in which we saw a fiftysomething running around who only apparent skill was to turn up an eyebrow whenever a woman said something a bit rude. For the next one I've heard from my sources (i.e read on the empire website) that Michael Sheen is going to play the main villain, which is awesome purely as he's from Port Talbot. Might not be true, but I hope it is.

Thank's to Michael "I'm always playing real life people, me" Sheen, Port Talbot has a bit of a buzz about it at the moment. If you go into the town there's posters up with his face on it asking if anybody's seen him as he's gone missing (I saw him in town the other day funnily enough, his hair is fucking huge). It's all for this new play he's doing in the town. Well, I say play, but I was looking at the flyer for it and he's taking over the town on the Easter weekend. There are staged events everywhere and the scale of it is pretty big.

Whilst in the town I took some pictures to show non Port Talbot people (aka the norms), the sort of shenanigans that's being going on:


oooooh!


                                        Of course I've seen him, He was in Tron: Legacy....


This is why I've got a huge amount of respect for the guy. He's doing something that everyone can be involved in, something that is not an everyday thing for pretty much everyone around here. It'll be something that children can watch, be inspired by and be a part of, and they'l talk about it for ages and show them what they can do if they put their mind to it. I only wish my boy was older so he could watch or be a part of it.

I'm looking forward to it, and I can't wait to see what it's all about.

I may just end up staring at his hair (it's fucking huge).

Tuesday 22 March 2011

Wonders of the Whoniverse

One of the advantages of being a Dad is being able to play with toys for longer than you can otherwise get away with.

Every male like to play with toys, but as they get older the terminology changes and "toys" become "gadgets". When a male is 12 they want the latest computer or console. Add another 10-15 years to that and they want the latest smartphone, which with the first look they try to find a simulator for the computer they wanted when they were 12. So these days it's not uncommon to see someone hunched over an iPhone trying to get a world record time on act two of the Green hill level on Sonic the Hedgehog, only to curse the name of the person who's just interrupted their attempt by calling their phone asking why their 2 hours late for work. Of course if their playing angry birds that's a different matter.

There'll be a bank holiday for that game one day, mark my words.

But sometimes when your older you can get away with being bought toys with the "irony clause" (i.e. being bought as a supposed joke). This is generally for a) geeks and b) fans of programmes that handily have fantastic merchandise. Which funnily enough is normally sci-fi programmes, which lands you back in the a) geeks category. The thing is that the irony clause is, like a government general election pledge, a thinly veiled lie that you go along with in the slim chance it might actually turn out to be true. The male just wants the toy. Subconsciously everyone knows this.

I tend to opt out of the irony clause, mainly because I have a very understanding wife who knows my geek nature (she refers to me as 'her geek' which is something that makes me fall in love with her all over again) this is why I have an unashamed love for Doctor Who, and as a result I own two sonic screwdrivers.

Yes, I know that a 29-year-old owning a toy generally aimed at the younger fans of Dr Who can be seem as, well weird. But it's not like I put a huge scarf or bow tie on and prance around pretending to be a 900 year old alien who has a fucked up time machine. Sometimes you've just got to make concessions for the child in you because otherwise you'll become another person who wears beige and drives a Vauxhall Astra, and everytime you buy a coffee on the way to work wearing a shirt and tie you die a little inside. And probably burn your tongue.

Also having said toy is a reason why I'm looking forward to when the boy gets older and starts watching Dr Who for himself. If he's ever scared I can use the screwdriver to check under his bed for monsters and assure him that I can get in touch with the Doctor if the need ever arises. When your that age your Dad (or Mam) needs to be your hero, and if a part of getting there means using a plastic toy for kids I'm not going to argue.

So yeah, I'm looking forward to the new series. When it finished the first time around (I believe in 1989) I was seven. So since it kicked off again in 2005 I'm making that concession for my inner child and geeking out with the Doctor. And why not? It's a well written sometimes thought provoking, fantastic piece of family entertainment. Go seek out the episode "Blink" and "The Family of Blood" two-parter from David Tennant's second series and tell me the're not brilliantly constructed stories. They also contain great performances including one from an oscar-nominated actress.

So come the Easter weekend, I'll be there watching. But I'll be longing for the day we can sit with our kids, each of us with our own sonic screwdriver and we can watch it as a family, as it was always meant to be.

(The new version of the theme music is a bit rubbish though...)

Thursday 17 March 2011

Dear son, your going to have a sidekick...

I've been outwitted by a one-year-old. 

A few times as it goes. It's mainly sneaking past me to get to the staircase. He never gets a chance to get up them but what signifies the "win" is the laughing as he wings it around the corner. Other times I'm trying to play with him but there's something on the TV, and so he gives me a toy to play so he can get on with it. 

I worry about when he gets older, when he starts asking lots of questions about all the random things I wont have the answers. One option is to make up spectacular lies, another would be to actually learn everything in the world. I think the former has more potential for fun, but ooh he'll be angry when he gets older. 

But it'll be fine. I know this, he's a smart boy and I just feel he's going to do well. I also know he's going to be a great older brother as we found out this week there'll be a new boy in the house in the summer.What's great is that all we've learned is backward compatible for the new baby so we're confident in what we're doing. 

Of course that's the theory. 

Also the one-year-old will be going on all sorts of trips with various grandparents for some peace.

I'm only kidding of course, I fall in love with that cheeky monkey every day. Every day he'll try to outwit me and every day he does something that makes my heart glow and, when the new baby comes, seeing them together will probably combust into a waterfall of tears and other patchy metaphors.

*Serious bit*

Not that I'm under the impression that this blog will be read by millions or even hundreds (I'm hoping maybe dozens...a man can dream), but I've noticed that I've gathered some readers that are in other than the UK. Tomorrow (Friday 18th of March) is the day for the charity Comic Relief and if you ever saw the films that they do showing what the living conditions for some people in Africa are like,  you'd want to do whatever you can. I've posted a link below to the site where, if you can spare *anything* you can donate some money. £5 can buy books for schools, help get running water for villages and help prevent needless deaths of children. Check out what's being done and what some people are doing to help. It's well worth it, it can save lives. 
I'm not being preachy, I just want to help.

I'll try and be funnier next time and talk about How I'm childishly excited about the new series about Dr Who, and how I've got two (yes two) Sonic Screwdrivers.


Sunday 13 March 2011

[Insert your own Bond related pun here]

I've become a bit fixated with James Bond as of late.

it started with an an old Bond reference book i found the other day and read to death, and the fact that ITV2 have nothing but Bond films and Shaun of the Dead to put on. I've been watching all Bond films that have been chucked out on that godawful channel. (Don't protest, it's *shite*)

I think that's this has come about due to several factors. The first would be that I've always been a fan of the Bond films as far back as I can remember (with the exception of Octopussy, which only left me with a massive fear of Octopuses.....don't laugh). Another factor is my son being a fan of Special Agent Oso, which is kind of a kids version of Bond but with a teddy bear voiced by the guy who played Sam in the lord of the rings films.
I'm really not making this up.

Oso is a bit of an oddball. He's proficient is all types of vehicle usage, he drives like a pro and seems to BASE jump a lot. But sometimes he can't tell left from right. Or what colour orange is. Or if he's wearing a hat. Personally, if I were him, I'd being having existential crises about how a stuffed teddy bear came to be sentient. Maybe it was that mother nature. First Superted, now this...

Anywhoo...

Apparently everyone has a "Bond". It's like which incarnation of  Doctor who you grew up with (i'll probably talk about him in the future, I bet you can't wait!!).
For me it has to be Brosnan. For me he even beats Connery. I reckon it's because Bond is technically a civil servant, and he's the only one of the actors who can kick seven different types of pain induced noises out of you, and still look convincing if he was doing the paperwork explaining why he beat someone to death.
Or if could be that he was the first Bond  I saw in the cinema.

 I was in the civil service. I never got an Aston Martin company car. Which is probably good as I would've spent my time firing people who say OMG off the severn bridge with the ejector seat.

I dunno, maybe the dad thing is speeding up my midlife crisis, I'm grey enough for it. I'll let you know if I get leather trousers and a Harley, but you'll probably be able to hear the laughter from 20 miles away.

Friday 11 March 2011

Werner Herzog is waiting for me to watch him eat his shoe

I freakin love technology.

If I won the lottery I'd have a room of my own in a big house that i'd convert to look like the bridge of the Enterprise. It would probably just be a lot a iPhones glued to tables (but stylishly so) and one massive iPad for a view screen. Thinking about it that's not the best idea because you'd need a stepladder to reach to the top of it and a small army of redshirts to swipe the screen across (and one of them would somehow get injured). Tell you one thing though, my bridge would have a clearly marked toilet in there.

(Seriously not once did you once see anyone taking a restroom break in Star Trek. Or a toilet. Wouldn't it be great to just once, see someone in there with a copy of Klingon Wives just as the ship gets hit by a photon torpedo, and they get flung clear off the seat?)

One of my current favourite bits of tech is the V+ box (otherwise known as Sky+ for cool people). It's a Godsend when changing the boys nappy, as he can watch the programmes he likes instead of taking a rather opposing attitude to clean underwear. But I've recently been feeling like it's starting to get the better of me.

We record stuff on there all the time. All the things we don't normally have time to watch and want to save it for a different day (i.e when Masterchef isn't on) or things that look interesting but clash with our more popular viewing (i.e. Masterchef) We also record for the boy as aforementioned decoy tactics. So at the moment we have a number of films and programmes, punctuated with episodes of Special Agent Oso & Imagination Movers. I haven't watched any of the things I've meant to.

It's not because I haven't got time, in the evening if we look and there's nothing on I don't turn to the stored intellectual goodness, I'm watching the Simpsons (which I'm also recording just in case). And there are things on there that demand to be watched by title alone.

There was a programme called "Werner Herzog eats his shoe". The title alone demands viewing. This is a man  who was baptised in a bowl of crazy and I will refer to bullet points for some of the highlights:

  • He made people drag a massive boat over a mountain for one of his films.
  • He threatened to shoot his leading actor in front of the crew.
  • He was actually shot during an interview.

    Why haven't I watched this yet? Why hasn't everyone watched this yet?
     He eats a fucking shoe!


    I'm sure I'll get round to it this weekend. Unless Masterchef is on....





    Monday 7 March 2011

    Daddy Fool

    Port Talbot is Batshit crazy.

    Hardly a revelation I know, yet it's true. You walk through the centre of town on any given day and you will see some fantastic examples of the unhinged massive in all their fist-shaking, world-cursing glory.

     For instance there's someone who I saw with what was either a massive MP3 player or a home made PKE meter. He had a Sporticus backpack. He was at least 60 years old (ear hair gives it away).
    I also saw a man shout at his sandwich and throw it on the floor. He then walked away composed himself and on his way back he lost it again. He stamped on it so hard a piece of tomato flew out and hit a nearby bin and slowly slid down the side of it like the local drunk after a White Lightning binge.

    You see, my worry is that (and I think it's starting to happen) when you're exposed to this insanity it'll start to rub off. You can think something that seems perfectly normal and when you say it out loud you get a look that's half bemusement and half "keep him happy while I call a specialist". But what some people don't realise it that being a parent to a one year old will speed the process up. I'm sure that other parent's can back me up on this.

    With children you will do all sorts of things and make all sorts of noises to keep them entertained. You'll try anything to get that one or two nuggets of fried gold that'll amuse them and you build up a repertoire that will stop them figuring out the conundrum that is the door handle.

    With my Son I have several of these nuggets. One such example it running back and fore holding him, shouting "CHARGE!". For him it's the equivalent of Morecambe and Wises' Breakfast sketch. Another such one is pretending to eat his chest or hand and uttering the immortal phrase "nom-nom-nom".

    Like I say, any other situation and they're after you with the butterfly nets.
    But it works, it makes him laugh and makes him happy which is all we want to give our children; happiness and love. The Disney channel helps as well.

    So after a day when the boy has gone to bed me and my wife can sit in the lovely silence (not including the buzz of the baby monitor), we can reflect on the wonderful son we have and look forward to the arrival of the new baby at the end of July. We had such a day and I took my wife's hand to hold and gave it a gentle kiss.

    Except I didn't.

    I meant to, but instead I uttered the immortal words "nom-nom-nom".

    The insanity continues...