Putting on a Show

Went to the school show last night, which was surprisingly good.

My daughter was dressed as an antelope in this animal focused extravaganza. We craned our necks to see, and to avoid all the other parents going wild with their digital photography. A least three people were filming it, and the others held their cameras or mobile phones up in the air, snapping randomly.

A very good choice of music, including a rousing 'Sun Rising'. Mainly children running round in their animal costumes, with other children either dancing furiously or not dancing at all. A few kids dressed as construction workers danced (or didn't dance) to 'I've got the power'. The headmaster gave a tearful speech at the end.

Watered next door's garden again this evening as they are supposed to be on holiday but I met a strange man with a beard down there! He'd been to Glastonbury, apparently. Now, this could have been the webmaster, but I was unsure and didn't bring occupations into it.

Read it in Books

My sister in law was enthusing about the two Jonathan Coe novels 'The Rotters Club' and 'The Closed Circle'. Surprisingly, she had not read any of his books before. I see 'What a Carve up' going down on the Christmas list for her.

Although once a big fan, I cannot fully share her enthusiasm and am struggling to get through 'The Closed Circle' at the moment although I cannot abandon yet another novel after forsaking 'The Piano Tuner' and 'The Bell Jar' in quick succession.

I did get through the recent Tony Parsons, but only just.

A novel I did enjoy was 'Little Green Man' by Simon Armitage, which I picked up in a charity shop in Brighton. Now that was quality time, and I believe he has another book coming out round about now.

Quality Time

Without realising it, I may have been enjoying a lot of quality time recently.

What is quality time? We went to visit some friends once and one of them was missing. "He's just out enjoying some quality time" said the wife helpfully. Quality time? He should be here with us, I thought, that's quality time. I think those who enjoy quality time define it as the time spend enjoying things you seldom get time to do. Like writing a blog, watching a DVD or reading a book, which are all things I have done lately. I would even go as far as to say that my recent cleaning exploits are quality time, as I am not wasting my time avoiding the cleaner who used to visit.

I also go along with the quality time of others, such as visiting Ikea or watching 'Pink Panther' cartoons.

Nobody for Tennis

Another year has almost gone by with me missing the entire Wimbledon fortnight.

How is this? It now goes by like a flash, although it seemed to drag on forever when I was a child. It can't just be to do with age, although it won't be soon before I am going to be older than the parents of rising Wimbledon stars.

I used to watch entire matches, lounging in front of the television for whole afternoons of tennis. I remember once watching until light stopped play. More recently I have only caught a game at the most, perhaps only a point, as I passed through from one job to another.

Now the jobs are too plentiful to even pause for tennis. Tonight we were getting ready for my stint helping out with the local Woodcraft Folk, although it didn't go according to plan. We were late because I had agreed to water the 300 flowers next door; in the car it started to rain outside and by the time we got to the allotments the few still there were worn, wet and depressed. The Woodcraft leader handed out some broad beans and we made our way home. Outside now, the rain and lightning continues.

Bring back the June heat and scorched court grass. I long to see it one day.

Travelling Light

One day we will travel light.

By this I mean going somewhere without half a dozen suitcases and food bags in tow, and without having to return to the house at least once after we have set off.

Headed for the wedding on Friday last in this manner, although I shouldn't complain because:

1. We arrived without incident.
2. A splendid time was had by all.
3. None of the guests attacked any other guests.
4. Nannies looked after the children in the evening (even though the children did escape from the nannies at one point) whilst the adults ate and drank wine.
5. We managed to squeeze in a sauna.
6. Although I managed to wrench off the whole door knocker during one of our return trips to the house, it's now firmly fixed back on.

The newlyweds had two children and have been together for years. Apparently these late weddings are not all that unusual; the bride's cousin had done the same thing a couple of years ago and spoke at length of the virtues of doing it all the wrong way round. He almost had me convinced, although a wedding must be stressful enough with two children, especially if they escape from the nanny. And travelling can never be light.

I, Webmaster

Our next door neighbour called round last night, asking me to print something from the internet as her printer wasn't working. I managed to do it after much huffing and puffing. On her way out she said proudly "my new tenant's a webmaster".

I thought for a minute and said proudly "I am one too", although she seemed less impressed with me than her new tenant.

Seeing is Believing

Everywhere I turn I see Gordon Ramsay. Even repeats of 'Room 101' are featuring him.

Phoned the cleaner and told him we'd be laying him off for a while. I was worrying about how to approach it but I think he sounded quite relieved. Imagine Gordon Ramsey having such qualms, I expect he's hiring and firing all the time. My wife appeared to be more upset about my actions than I'd expected. We'd been discussing the ins and outs of it for weeks. I'm sure she still doesn't rate my cleaning prowess. Gave the kitchen a good going over just to prove my good intentions. I may have to work quite hard these first few tentative weeks. She must see the fruits of my labour.

My daughter wants a cat and I can't put her off any more. The foxes in the garden have gone now, so no danger there, and by September we will be back from our holidays. Until then she'll have to make do with the sea monkeys, horrible things that they are.

I remember seeing the adverts in American comics for tiny sea creatures that apparently came to life when you added powder to water. It was as simple as that. The creatures, or sea monkeys, were always depicted in cartoon form, smiling and waving at you.

We received a sachet of powder, some sea monkey food and a tiny tank for, weirdly, an Easter present. We added water to the tank, poured in the powder and sat back to wait. To be honest, I didn't expect anything and was ready to throw the water away when I noticed something tiny zig-zagging up and down in the water. Since then we have had several generations of sea monkeys swimming around.

What to do with them? I don't know. Buy a bigger tank or feed them to the cat.

Watched 'Elephant' on DVD. A truly bizarre and astonishing film, if such words are allowed to be used together. Up until now I'd never cared much for Gus Van Sant, but this gets the thumbs up from me.

The Next Generation

Coming back from the walking bus this morning I was confronted by a young man in shorts and trainers standing outside our house. My wife thought he was in his pyjamas. He was from next door, had locked himself out and wanted to use our phone. I told him to take a seat and he sat at my desk. We had a number for his landlord, but it turned out to be for Social Services. The young man was asking 'does he work there?' but I knew it was fruitless. In the end I sent him down the road to look for a ladder. This is normally the rule in such circumstances, isn't it? I'm sure at one point, much later, I saw the lady next door striding along with a ladder, but when I looked again she had gone.

I keep thinking I could have helped more.

In the park after school, some small boys were running up and down with one arm outstretched and shouting "I am a Dalek!". After much more running around they began to argue about who was going to be the Doctor and who was going to be the Daleks. One boy kept repeating "I'll be the Tardis".

I'm sure these are the games I played in the early 1970s.

Hoegaarden

School fair yesterday and I'm slightly disappointed. There are no good stalls, I spend a fortune on raffle tickets and win nothing and it's far too hot. My daughter and her friends spend most of the afternoon crowding round the jewellery and fake tattoos.

We can't make a decision about what to do for my birthday night out. It's too hot to see the new Batman film, especially when I find out that it's over two hours long. Watched the last Doctor Who and went out to meet our friend Pops and his wife. We go to a gastro pub - their choice - and I make the unusual step of drinking Hoegaarden all evening. It goes down quite well, and Pops joins in with it too, but I wake up at six in the morning with a terrible headache. I remember that the only painkillers in my possesion are in the car, so I stumble out into the bright light outdoors to retrieve them.

Don't know why I try to recreate my hellraising days of old once in a while, as it always ends the same way.

I am allowed to lie in as it's Father's Day, and it's just as well, although my daughter comes into the bedroom at seven to try and rouse me. She gives up and eventually gives me my card and present at nine.

Sat in the park this afternoon with the papers, although it seems overcrowded with the middle classes. Chops tonight but no Hoegaarden. Surprisingly, Pops had never heard of it, although I had always thought of him as a knowledgeable drinker.

Cakes

Pressed on with the cleaning this morning although I had a slight hangover. We got through a couple of bottles of wine last night watching 'Layer Cake' on DVD. Some good actors in it, but a confusing film (especially with wine). I also found it disturbing to see Michael Gambon using such foul language. He's usually such a sweet gentleman.

Anyway, worth seeing if I didn't fully understand it. Good soundtrack, and a few nods to 'Get Carter'. Threatening behaviour at the top of tall buildings etc. Hoped the DVD had some extras on it to explain the film but it didn't. Thought about watching it again but the wife said 'it was just a series of double crossings' which I suppose sums it up.

They bought me a lovely birthday cake, which my daughter couldn't keep her hands off. You could see the temptation of all that chocolate getting hold of her. She gave me a card and wrote on the envelope 'my beautiful dad'.

My mother sent me a card saying 'I can't believe how old you're getting'.

They want to go and see 'Beauty and the Beast' so I went down to the theatre and booked some tickets. Very simple, although it cost as much as a small holiday. The woman in the box office kept asking 'is it hot out?'

The car keeps making a clunking noise. I tried to ignore it but it wouldn't go away, although it only clunks when the car is going slowly.

A man held the lift for me in a mult-storey car park and said 'it's very wet out' in a strange accent. He did indeed look very wet. I'd parked too near the top. Too deserted, too 'Get Carterish'. I got in the car and clunked away.

Hullabaloos

They ask me to do some peculiar things in my job.

I had to phone a BBC newsreader to tell them how to send an attachment with an email. They managed to do it after much trial and error and general confusion. Made me think of the recent hullabaloo about newsreaders being overpaid. No comment. Then I was supposed to visit someone at a school who was unable to send an attachment via email at all. They have so far been unable even to return my telephone calls.

Have started carrying around one of those USB memory sticks on my keyring. Seems to be some kind of fashionable thing to do, the adult version of the woolly hat in summer. Unfortunately it doubles the bulkiness of my already huge set of keys. And all that memory in my pocket, it's unnerving.

It's my birthday tomorrow and I don't know whether to mention it at work or not. I don't really want a hullabaloo. They get cakes out every day as it is.

Wish I'd stuck with the digital radio plan. My wife was going in and out of cupboards last night with various bags and telling me to go away, so I don't know what's in store for me really.

Hot Enough for June

Had the terrible realisation that my daughter's ticket for the walking bus was still in the pocket of my 'falling down trousers' when I washed them. Rushed down to the kitchen and checked through all the damp pockets, finding a sodden mush of yellow stuff in the last one. The remnants of the washed ticket. Think I overpanicked for a while, as it shouldn't be too difficult to get a replacement.

Made some progress on arranging our trip to the south of France. Well, at least now we have booked the ferry crossing which turned into one of those long internet nightmares. I didn't have the strength to look for any hotels to stay in.

Keep humming 'Lazt Old Sun' by the Kinks to myself. Went for a run humming it, my first in a while. God knows how I'm going to get through this half marathon in October. Although it isn't really all that hot for this time of year, I am drenched in sweat after twenty minutes and still sweating as I tap away now.

Cotton Horses

Normally I watch anything with Richard Burton in it, but I just couldn't find the time for 'The Medusa Touch' last night. I'd missed the beginning and I think I was tired. I was also disappointed with the horror offering on Channel 4. So many recently made films are shown on television, and they are all so similar. Although 'The Medusa Touch' isn't an argument for any golden age of cinema.

Walking bus this morning and I think I'd be getting the hang of it if they didn't stop faffing around. The bus made several stops, at one point breaking down entirely and holding up other walkers. For some reason they were measuring the distance from Oddbins wine shop to the school with one of those wheel things.
Walking back after we finally got to school, I began to consider the implications of my commitment to the walking bus. I'd noticed that the lady who introduced me to the scheme now no longer actually walks the bus. It's like I have taken her place, and like some terrible money chain, will have to keep walking until I have found someone to replace me.

I was in the car with my daughter yesterday discussing annoying fashions. High on the list was the wearing of woolly hats in the summer (the girl next door does this), wearing shorts in the winter (usually the same people who wear woolly hats in summer), and what my daughter called 'falling down trousers'. By this she meant baggy, enormous, long trousers, hanging down round people's bottoms.

'That's a nice phrase you just said', she suddenly said, 'cotton horses'. I agreed, although I don't recall saying it.

Keep changing in and out of long trousers. I'd got overconfident with the shorts and sandles. I worry that the trousers I have been wearing are too baggy and could be mistaken for 'falling down trousers'. I'm sure my wife, who is always cold, had the heating on for a short time last night. It's not quite woolly hat weather, but I might have to dig out a pair of warm socks.

Fashion victim.

Dreading the Wedding

Summer heat and sandals. I'm teaching my daughter how to write limericks and she is already better at it than me. I was struggling to find a rhyme for 'Bristol' and she came up with 'crystal' without any effort at all. There was a young lady from Bristol, who went out and bought a crystal, we decide.

Met some gentlemen from a local society to talk about designing their website. We sit in our sandals in the summer heat. It appears there are several candidates offering their services and it isn't clear how they are going to decide between us. There were some gentlemen from Bristol...but I can't find the rhyme.
Perhaps we'll just all muck in together. It goes reasonably well, and I leave armed with a small amount of literature.

My wife is away in London for an evening. Our daughter has made friends with the little girl from number 36 and goes round to play with her. Later she allows me to watch Doctor Who after I bribe her with strawberries. After she has gone to bed I watch a DVD of 'Enduring Love' and then Doctor Who again on BBC3 as there's nothing else on. Went to bed partly considering an extremely creepy performance by Rhys Ifans and the Dalek annihilation of Earth.

Drove over the expensive bridge into Wales and went to a quick party. Loads of excellent food and they had a digital radio. 'I love it', said the hostess, 'I have it on all the time'. It was switched off and I didn't like to fiddle with it.
I have noticed that if I am listening to the radio through the internet, and my wife has the television on in the kitchen downstairs, I can't hear the radio unless I huddle over the computer with my ear to the tiny speaker. Stuart Maconie on Radio 6 has just lost out to the Antiques Roadshow.

I am beginning to dread the wedding we are going to in two weeks. One of the reasons is that we will have to look after two extra children during the ceremony. One of them, although now five, is still a big baby and will probably start struggling and screaming. Another reason is that the groom's mother has apparently lost her marbles and has started to attack people. Apparently she attacked her hairdresser quite recently. Such behaviour a jolly wedding doesn't make, especially as, knowing my luck, she will probably attack me.

Bones of Contention

The time has come to sack the cleaner.

It has been a sore spot between my wife and I for a long time. She wants the cleaner and I don't. The thing is, the money we give him to shuffle around for three hours could go towards something more worthwile if I took over the cleaning. Like a couple of CDs and a book. But my wife doesn't trust me, and says I won't do the cleaning properly. But the cleaner doesn't do the cleaning properly, I argue. And so it goes on.

Last week my wife was here when the cleaner called. He said his goodbyes after shuffling around for two hours instead of three. I pick up the thread of our argument, saying I could do the cleaning, but the wife informs me that we will only be paying him for two hours in future. I consider ways to reduce him to one hour for a few days when he calls with a mysterious message saying that he will be 'away' for two weeks.

I see my chance. I spend my day off cleaning. It becomes like an episode of 'How clean is your house'. I realise how unclean the house has actually become. I know my wife will return tonight and embark on a full inspection, perhaps even producing the 'white glove'. I clean on regardless, plotting the end of the cleaner after his two weeks 'away'.

I've finished now and the house is gleaming throughout. I'm off now to buy a couple of CDs. Before my wife gets back.

Mr Blue Sky

Fairly early mornings all this week, although leaving the house at eight isn't so bad this time of year. A local headmaster told me that he'd been up at five marking reports, so I shouldn't complain.

You get older and getting up gets easier. Lying in becomes a thing of the past.

I asked my wife for a digital radio for my birthday next week. I've started listening to a lot of Radio 6 as an alternative to Radio 2, at least when Tony Christie isn't blaring out. When it's my turn to pick up our daughter from school, I always catch the end of Steve Wright's oldies and there are some oldies I'm sick to death of. I really never want to hear 'New song' by Howard Jones again. Typically, Radio 2 have also started playing 'In the summertime' by Mungo Jerry a lot.

So I asked my wife for a digital radio for my birthday next week and she says 'but you've already got a digital radio'. It takes ages to go through it all, how our current radios are non-digital, and how, yes, I do listen to digital radio through the internet but people keep coming into the room and saying 'what are you doing? What are you doing?'

We research digital radios and I'm beginning to lose the argument. They appear very small and are very expensive. I am unable to answer the question 'can you listen to it in the car?' I can only explain that I'm listening to Radio 6 now as an alternative to golden oldies on Radio 2. I'm thinking hard about alternative presents, but the only other things I need are a new car and a new watchstrap.

In one last ditch attempt, I drive to The Mall to look at digital radios. Up close, they are extremely small and are very expensive. I pick up a very small amount of literature to take home and read. It isn't clear if you can listen to them in the car or not.

Back at home, I sit down in the 1950s chair and start to read my literature, then reach over to switch on Radio 6 through the internet. Bizarrely, in almost the middle of June, they are playing the golden oldie 'Driving home for Christmas'.

Radio 2, all is forgiven.

Keeping up Appearances

A warm June evening and a smoky smell wafts into the room, brought in by a soft breeze. All is quiet, the CD player firmly turned off and 'is this the way to Amarillo' no longer echoing through the house.

My wife has gone out and asked me to record a television programme about a woman with multiple personalities. She kept asking me if I was sure I knew what side it was on. How many programmes about women with multiple personalities are on tonight?
I'd better check.

We'd spent hours tidying up the house before she welcomed in her friend. I used to hate this tidying business, moving things around and hiding things just because people were coming in for five minutes. This was until last weekend, when we visited our friends BP and his wife. Their house was a complete mess, with no attempt at even minor tidying, and I felt strangely offended. Were we not even worth a little tidy?

So I think the future for us lies in more tidying; battling the onslaught of junk and hiding the clutter. I've even spent some time tonight putting CDs back in their boxes. We might even make an effort when BP and his wife call.

Old Times

I keep receiving emails from Friends Reunited detailing a school reunion in July. I doubt if I'll go, but it set me off on another hour of fruitless Googling of past names to see if I could find anything on anyone. In the middle of this I receive an email from my friend KLAAG. He has been going through old boxes and ruthlessly emptying them into the bin. He mentions some old cards he has found that I'd sent him. I email him back saying I'm surprised he has kept them for so long before throwing them out.

I keep Googling and find the website of my old friend Ant, now very big in IT. I think about getting in touch for a few seconds. KLAAG sends another email, sounding slightly hurt, saying he has not thrown away my cards, and adding 'should I?' I forget about Ant, and head for Friends Reunited to read up on the reunion and who is involved. Some of the names I don't recognise, others I expect to see aren't there. I look up my other schools to check reunions. I eventually stop looking at Friends Reunited and think about going through the old boxes in the cupboard upstairs. I decide against it; it's old stuff going back more than twenty years. I need to go through all of them at one point and throw the lot away.

I email back KLAAG and tell him to keep my old cards.

Very big in IT.

The Great Outdoors

I used to secretly plan to get rid of all the televisions in the house.

During our recent holiday in Brighton, we managed to survive for nearly a week without one. This was due to my forgetting the remote control for the portable (which you need to retune it, apparently), rather than any direct forward planning on my part. For the first time in years though, I didn't have the constant wining of Pauline Fowler in the background. I could relax without having to leave the room to avoid Kat Slater. My blood did not boil due to the sight of Kirsty Allsopp. We went for walks, listened to the radio. I got through two books. I finished a Sudoku puzzle.

My wife went mad on the last night and had to borrow a television to watch 'Desperate Housewifes'. Desperate she had become. We are now back to normality with three televisions and the security of Freeview. Our Brighton holiday is just a distant memory.

Pass the remote please.

I Walk the Bus

I don't know about you, but Monday mornings are always harder at the start of a new term. I'm completely exhausted after a day in Oxford yesterday, visiting our friends BP and his wife. What's more, I'm now part of the school walking bus, garbed in luminous yellow and holding up the traffic for our small posse as they cross the numerous dangerous junctions. Although officially still untrained, I hurl myself in front of cars with arms outstretched to guard our little ones.

The rest of the day does not compare, although I do go and buy 'Is this the way to Amarillo?' The woman in front of me is buying 'Crazy Frog' and keeps saying 'is this the right one? It has to be the right one!'

Requiem for a Frog

My six year old daughter is keen on acquiring 'Is this the way to Amarillo?' I promise to buy it but am horrified at the £3.99 price tag. Yes, I know it's for charity, but I haven't bought a single since 'Do they know it's Christmas'.

Perhaps I can 'download it'. How would I go about this?

My wife bought a mobile phone. The shop assistant had a badge describing him as a 'phone trainer' but he was still indifferent to our simple questions, such as 'how do we turn it on and off?' and 'does it also do texting?' When he began to explain about ringtones I exclaimed 'maybe we can get the silly frog!' but he pretended not to hear me.

We watch Top of the Pops for 'is this the way to Amarillo?' but it has slipped down the charts. The mad frog is at Number One, but there is no frog in sight, just a load of stupid dancers. Where is the frog? We feel cheated. We want the frog!

An early frog.

Crazy for the Doctor

I'm sure that in the 1970s there was always a Doctor Who exhibition on at Longleat. The good old Marquis of Bath - an obvious Who fan. But I never went to any - always too far away, always far too expensive...

Bank Holiday weekend and we are on a family visit to Brighton. There is a Doctor Who exhibition on the pier! I try to talk my six year old daughter into the idea as we walk towards it. Of course, there are no real aliens! We get to the doors, the Doctor Who music wafts out towards us and this is enough to scare her. We turn back.
Things WERE different in the 1970s. Children weren't allowed to go to Doctor Who exhibitions because they were too far away and far too expensive. On Brighton pier I see blokes in their thirties dragging their children in.

Later in the day, I sneak back and go round on my own. The huge dome that houses the exhibition seems much smaller on the inside. At five pounds entry, it really is too expensive.

There are no real aliens.