Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Monday, 29 March 2010
Sadly for him (and for his parents' prospects of getting some sleep tonight), the Teething Devil has arrived for what must surely be his final visit.
And the result for our boy is a sorry combination of painful gums, a tickly cough, a runny nose and lots of bad nappies - hence the sore "seat" (yes, I know, that was more polite).
That said, I would still describe Lewis Hamilton as an arse. I really want to like him but I just can't and yesterday's spoilt child act - after Jenson Button, possibly my favourite current sportsman, had the cheek to win the Australian Grand Prix instead of him (let's not talk about the other four drivers who also finished higher) didn't help.
However, as it's turned out, my description of Brat Boy (don't worry, I won't say arse again) was timid compared to the tag pinned on him by the Victoria state Roads Minister (pictured above).
You may have heard that Stroppy Features (still didn't say arse) was arrested on Friday night after deciding to show off his flash Mercedes by doing wheel spins in a public street.
Sunday, 28 March 2010
I can therefore only conclude that the age old "myth" is actually a truth - Yorkshire folk really don't throw good money away.
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Friday, 26 March 2010
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Vanessa’s headed off to London this morning for work and isn’t due back until tomorrow.
Before Jamie moved into ours, this was a scenario I used to look forward to. Perhaps it’s just a boy's thing, but having the option to eat what you like, (drink what you like), watch what you like on telly and generally make a mess is something approaching luxury in my sad little existence.
But since Sproglet descended amongst us, the prospect no longer has the same appeal.
If I tell you he was up at 4.30 this morning and refused to go back to sleep, well, you’ll have a fair idea of what I mean.
But tonight, before I get anywhere near bed, an added complication will confront me.
A couple of weeks ago I mentioned here that Jamie had been invited to take part in an Easter Bonnet Parade at nursery with all participants being awarded a small prize.
Vanessa had a plan in place to make something for him but, about an hour ago, I discovered we’d got our dates wrong.
And instead of next Wednesday, the note on our fridge advised that the parade is actually tomorrow.
So at some point today, I’m going to have to nick out of work and buy whatever raw materials I can find.
And then tonight, I’ll make my son an Easter bonnet.
I genuinely have no idea where to start or what it’s going to look like. I didn’t even know boys were supposed to wear Easter bonnets. In fact, I’m fairly certainly they’re not.
What I can say is that I keep having images of the Gay Cavalier flashing into my head. And I’m not going to send him out looking like that.
Or am I?
I will show you what I come up with tomorrow.
Monday, 22 March 2010
He referred to the fact that the Government had been ordered to drop two adverts based on nursery rhymes which, in the view of the Advertising Standards Agency, had "exaggerated the risks of so-called global warming."
One of the ads, from the Department of Energy and Climate Change, went as follows:
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
Seriously - and we, as taxpayers, footed the bill.
Sticking to the theme, Littlejohn then set about adapting several other well-known nursery rhymes to reflect "modern Britain."
Below are what I thought were the best:
The Grand old Duke of York,
He had 10,000 men.
But he told the Chilcot inquiry he would have had 20,000,
If Gordon Brown hadn't cut defence spending.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
So they took him to an NHS hospital,
Where he caught MRSA and died.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children by a number of absentee fathers,
So the council knocked two houses into one and bought her a plasma TV.
Hey diddle diddle
They claimed it was within the rules.
Four of them had their collars felt for fraud,
But the rest ran away with the money.
Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown.
Trying escape the lynch mob who think he's a paedophile.
When they catch him they'll string him up, the dirty *******.
Jack Sprat would eat no fat,
His wife would eat no lean,
So social services took away their children and put them in a home.
Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,
To get her poor doggie a bone.
When she got there,
It was groaning with oven chips, turkey twizzlers, bumper bags of crisps and lashings of fizzy drinks.
But there weren't any bones because health and safety had threatened to prosecute the butcher if he didn't stop selling them.
Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!
Have been taken of the shelves by the diversity department,
In case they offend Muslims.
Ding dong bell,
Pussy's in the well,
Who'll pull him out?
It's no good asking one of those community support officers.
Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep,
That's because the Government slaughtered them and threw their carcasses on to a bonfire during the foot and mouth panic.
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away did run.
But he got let off with an Asbo,
And now he's doing burglary and dealing drugs.
Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run.
This ward's been crawling with mice since the NHS contracted out the cleaning.
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
They're all consenting adults and they got a grant for it from the council.
Doctor Foster went to Gloucester,
But when he got there
He found they'd already given the job to a foreign GP who can't speak English.
Pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry,
Now he's on the sexual offenders' register.
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Friday, 19 March 2010
Thursday, 18 March 2010
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Monday, 15 March 2010
But here’s the thing.
We’ve all encountered those annoying, clever-dick dogs that bring their leads to their owners when they feel like a stroll and a dump on the pavement.
Well, Jamie seems to have modelled his “I’m A Toddler Get Me Out Of Here!” act on one of them.
Because, in order to get his message across, he’s taken to going into the kitchen, picking up his hat and coat from his pram, dragging them into the living room and dropping them at the feet of either Vanessa or me to wrap him up in.
And, whilst his new trick is undoubtedly very cute, it’s not always very timely.
For example, the picture above was taken shortly after seven o’clock this morning – and, yes, he is still wearing his pyjamas.
There is an obvious plus in what he’s learnt to do i.e. we can now be certain when he wants to go out (I told you it was obvious).
But there is another way of looking at it.
If he has actually learnt his new habit from some mangy mutt somewhere, might it not be possible that at some point he gets too much into character and attempts to drop his nappy in the street?
That would definitely be my fear.
Yes, perhaps it’s best for me to develop a new habit of my own – and carry a pooper scooper around with me. Just in case.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Saturday, 13 March 2010
Friday, 12 March 2010
To explain, the painting above – I couldn’t find a photograph – shows the building known as One Parliament Street (I’ll leave you to work out why that might be). Inside you can find the Westminster offices of probably a hundred or so MPs, as well as a couple of restaurants and, most relevantly for the purposes of what I’m about to tell you, Bellamy’s Bar.
I have very fond memories of Bellamy’s Bar. For example, I encountered the only real person I’ve ever met called Elvis in there, he was Welsh. And I have some bad ones – it was in Bellamy’s where I watched Ryan Giggs’ extra-time wonder goal sink Arsenal in that famous 1999 FA Cup semi-final replay.
One of the principal reasons I liked Bellamy’s was, essentially, because it was the researchers’ bar. MPs themselves were rarely seen there and journalists were actually banned from going in. So it was “our place” where we could talk freely amongst ourselves without either bosses or hungry newshounds getting in the way.
I think it had become a bit rundown in recent years and, a little while ago, I read it had been refurbished at a cost of £400,000. You could very easily argue that this amount was more than a little over-the-top – it certainly sounded that way to me – but there you are.
However, what have our moralistic, whiter-than-white, not-in-the-least-bit-greedy-or-self-serving MPs now decided to do with Bellamy’s?
Get this – they plan to spend another £400,000 of our money turning it into a nursery for their children and other assorted relatives.
To quote Labour MP Joan Walley:
“The important thing is that we treat the House of Commons as the workplace of parliamentary democracy.
“After 22 years of my being here, there may be a workplace nursery for my grandchildren.”
Whatever you think dear – and dear, you and many of your friends certainly are to the rest of us.
Not to mention grasping b*stards.
Thursday, 11 March 2010
- Clearly my items might not be in the sale, and
- It had already taken me 10 weeks to get round to walking into the shop. Would I really be bothered to go back next week on the off-chance of saving £3?
I hummed and hawed for a bit before suggesting I would just go ahead and buy my new bag and jacket while I could.
But my sales friend would hear none of it.
The eventual outcome was that my desired items have now been reserved for me until next Wednesday so that I can go back the day before and see if they did end up in the sale.
How odd and, again, fair play to my new pal.
But for his sake, I do hope he's not working on commission.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Monday, 8 March 2010
It's a journey we have made many times in the last couple of years, principally because Vanessa has a card which gets us in free, she's from Yorkshire, is therefore as tight as a duck's wotsit and, well, you get the picture.
But whilst there, I thought I'd pass the time by doing something I thought might be interesting - you can make up your own mind whether it is or not.
The photo above of Jamie was taken yesterday. But below you can see the same shot placed alongside one snapped exactly 51 weeks ago when we went on our first Harewood trip of the 2009 season.
As an aside, our man had something of a surprise when, at one point, he decided to go off in search of small animals.
Because he only bumped into his Uncle Wee John.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Friday, 5 March 2010
Thursday, 4 March 2010
Shortly after writing yesterday's daily dose of trash, I began to develop very painful cramps in my stomach. I obviously hoped they would go away as quickly as they arrived. But that turned out not to be the case.
What lay ahead was an evening, a full night, a morning and an early afternoon of aching pain which all manner of drugs was unable to shift. Thankfully, the last 90 minutes or so have heralded a bit of respite, although my headache - which started around lunchtime - still refuses to go away. Fun, fun, fun.
But, as ever in life, you can find a laugh if you're determined enough to keep looking. And, this morning, I uncovered a gem.
I was lying in bed, staring at my mobile phone with one eye open and trying to find an answer to the question of how to get rid of stomach cramps (desperate times and all that).
I was led to a site called wikiHow which, appropriately enough, had a whole section entitled "Cure Stomach Cramps." Excellent.
It listed all manner of suggested solutions, but one paragraph in particular caught my eye. It read as follows:
"Allow yourself to pass gas, even if you are in polite company. It may be somewhat embarrassing, but you do not want to allow yourself to become bloated or let the cramps become more serious and painful."
The words "pass gas" were linked to another section of wisdom, which I promptly clicked onto.
And here is where it took me:
"How to Pass Gas Unnoticed in the Office
This article is a brief guide for those who struggle to get relief from pent up gas without anyone noticing. Typical office cubicle layouts usually consist of four or more cubicles per cluster. You won't be able to perform this completely unnoticed, but hopefully in such a way that the finger won't point to you in person.
1 Move your chair forward as far as possible, until your stomach touches the desk.
2 Now slide down, keeping your legs straight until you're sitting right on the edge of your chair.
3 Grab the sides of your chair, and pull yourself down as hard as possible. This will eliminate the possibility of a noise, seeing as the soft seat will muffle the sound.
4 While maintaining downward pressure, relax your stomach muscles just enough to let go at an even, medium flow.
5 Bounce up and down a few times just to empty the smell which may still be caught in the seat, then return to upright position and continue your work.
6 If done correctly, the smell should rise in the middle of the cubicle cluster, making it impossible to determine who it was.
Prying your cheeks apart is also a very effective manner of avoiding the noise associated with passing gas.
Try getting out of your seat to walk to the other side of the room. If it smells and others are in the room, look around in slight disgust to pretend it wasn't you."