In the battle of the discount fashion chains, Peacocks are keeping a close eye on Primark...

Whatever Next?

Anyhoo, we had a right royal time at the Woodlands Family Theme Park yesterday. Which explains why we dressed Amelie as the Queen Mother...

That's her pretending to choke on a fish bone. The pearls cost 50p from a Honiton charity shop, which is her token attempt to prove she's in touch with the common people. In reality, she knows she's far superior. She's only keeping that peacock around in case she needs a new hat.

Anyhoo, we made it to Woodlands Park at 12:15pm yesterday, which was a shame as the guinea-pig handling was at noon. We probably shouldn't have spent so long driving around Totnes looking for a Costa coffee. Our seven-day wristbands turned out to be bright green, so I feel like I'm permanently showing my support for the environment, but it was definitely a good idea to get them. We stayed at the park till it closed, and saw less than a quarter of what's on offer. Amelie's determined to go back today.

Within five minutes of arriving at Woodlands, it became pretty obvious where it got its name. Walking around the park is a bit like spending a day as the Gruffalo. Rather than wandering across an endless expanse of tarmac, it's all woods, hills and winding paths. It's the kind of place you could spend all day exploring, and easily get lost. So I had to keep a close eye on Lisa.

Amelie fulfilled her Queen Mother role by building a few castles...

That's where they got the name Sandringham. But the main focus of the day was the rides. The white-knuckle, death-defying, thrill-seeking rides that require nerves of steel and the courage of ten lions. Or failing that, a slide...


Lisa says the best part of that video is the look of contempt I give her at the beginning when I'm forced to come back down the steps and explain how to use my camera for the twenty-seventh time. But personally I think it's the way Amelie tells me how to use the sack, despite never having done it herself.

The important thing is that I led by example, and managed to break at least three of the health & safety rules...

I'm leaving the others for another day. It's important to have something to aim for.

Of course, the problem with us adrenaline junkies is that once you're hooked on the drug of excitement, it inevitably leads on to harder stuff. Amelie and I completed the Tornado Toboggan Run five times...

And it was all downhill from there. Minutes later, we'd taken leave of our senses and were scaling the heights of the Rapids Water Coaster...


That's what I call a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Or 'never again'.

Toby's loving his rented high chair...

And I'm loving the wi-fi in the chalet. Twelve quid for seven days' access. That's only two quid more than the high chair. I might stay in all week and play Candy Crush.

If it wasn't for those pesky kids. Amelie had me out on the clifftop at 8am this morning, watching her climb a tree while Disco Bear splashed in the puddles. I was forced to eat my Branflakes al fresco with a baby in my arms.

Amelie's now itching to go to Woodlands, and Lisa's in the shower. I'm supposed to be making the sandwiches. And luckily, having spent an hour in Morrisons last night, the fridge is too full to leave them there.

We've arrived in Brixham! And Amelie's already taken her first photo of Disco Bear...

That's him relaxing on the sofa in our luxury chalet with his good friend Kayla the cat. We've been here for six hours and we still haven't managed a family photo, but the cuddly toys were being papped within five minutes of arrival.

Anyhoo, this is where we're staying...

You wouldn't get that for fifteen quid in The Sun. It's worth at least twice that. It's bigger than our flat and has nicer furniture, although by the time we've been here a week, it'll probably be just as stained.

It's also conveniently situated on a cliff...

That's Amelie checking how quickly she can run from the cliff edge to the patio doors in the event of a sudden landslide. The coastal path is on the other side of those bushes, and we've got views over St Mary's Bay. It's actually very nice.

We got here from Brighton in just under seven hours, which isn't bad when you have a family who can turn a five minute toilet stop into an hour-long eat-athon. I've no idea why they call it fast food. We spent an hour and a quarter at the services on the M27, and another hour in Honiton. Although the latter was surprisingly pleasant.

Of course, if we'd brought our own food, the stops might not have been necessary. And the good news is that I spent a considerable amount of time this morning preparing peanut butter sandwiches for Amelie, and freshly baked ham & tomato ciabattas for Lisa. The bad news is I left them in the fridge. So if anyone wants a free lunch tomorrow, my Mum's got a spare key.

It's Father's Day! And there's no better way to spend it than with my children. Which is why I've let my Dad have Amelie for the day.

My parents have been kind enough to take the girl off our hands for the weekend to allow us to pack for our holiday and fully brace ourselves for the week ahead. Which reminds me, I must pack my earplugs. As things stand right now, we haven't actually packed anything, but the time hasn't been completely wasted. We had a very nice pizza last night.

I've also cleaned my car inside and out, and shampooed all the carpets in the flat, so if we're burgled while we're away and then crash on the way home, we should impress all the emergency services. As long as I've got clean underwear.

Despite being one child down, I've been presented with a (rather small) Father's Day card and the gift of an Alison Moyet CD. To be honest, I'm more interested in her weight loss tips than her music, but I liked her last single, and we virtually grew up together (that's only a slight exaggeration) so it's a nice gift to get. Thank you, Toby.

In return, I've been planning the children's holiday itinerary online. I was tempted to book advance tickets for Paignton Zoo, not because they're any cheaper, but because they automatically add a £1.45 'donation' to every ticket to aid their conservation work, unless you specifically request otherwise. So if you buy online, it saves you the embarrassment of standing at the ticket desk and explaining that you just want to look at the animals, you don't want to save them.

I have, however, purchased tickets for the Woodlands Family Theme Park. Their slogan is 'Go Wild at Woodlands', which accurately describes my school days, and whilst they charge £17.10 for a day ticket on the gate, you can spend £15.60 online and get entry for a full seven days. Amelie is charged as an adult due to her unnaturally freakish proportions, but it does mean that she can go on all the rides, and with free entry for a week, we may not go anywhere else.

On the downside, we'll all have to wear Woodlands wristbands for the entire holiday, so I hope they're not day-glo pink and covered in glitter. As the crow flies, the park's only about 8 miles from where we're staying, but unless that crow will give us a lift over the River Dart, we'll probably have to go by road. Which is more like 17 miles.

It should be worth it though. If yesterday in St Leonards is anything to go by, Amelie quite likes parks...


I'm not sure seven days will be enough...

Is this the CD you're looking for..?

Yes, with Amelie it was videos, and with Toby it's CD-roms. If I wasn't using such outdated technology, we wouldn't be in this situation. I should be storing it all in the cloud.

To be honest, I think it's my lack of technological innovation which is holding Toby back. We were watching 'Child Genius' on Channel 4 the other night, and it featured a mother who claimed that her son was speaking in sentences at the age of eight months. Admittedly, she didn't offer any video evidence of that, but he'd probably asked her not to film him.

Toby will be ten-and-a-half-months tomorrow, so if he's ever going to reach genius level, he really should be speaking in rhyming couplets by now, and challenging us with some decent conversation. In reality he can only say Mama, Dada and Bubba. Which is barely even a rap. The boy's bordering on stunted.

But they say that travel broadens the mind, and the good news is that as of 5pm today, I'm officially on annual leave. As Cliff Richard so eloquently put it, she's just a devil woman with evil on her mind we're all going on a summer holiday, no more working for a week or two. My fortnight's break has already got off to a rip-roaring start with a visit from Stefan and Andrew, who brightened my day and lifted my spirits by dropping round for an early evening fruit juice and the kind of good conversation I'm not getting from Toby.

So with a spring in my step and the weather turning wintry, I'm off to start packing for my summer holiday.

If you think Amelie might be capable of posing for a decent photo at nursery, here's your proof...

Unfortunately it'll cost us fifteen quid to turn that stamp-sized proof into a ten-inch reality, so I think we might stick with a keyring.

Toby's in the swing of things...


He's putting the chill back into wind-chill by relaxing in the wet and blustery sub-zero temperatures of mid-summer. It's no wonder they call it Flaming June. I'm looking forward to Flippin' Heck July.

But the good news is that we're all set for our holiday. Yes, hold onto your hats, get with the groove and blame it on the boogie, it's DISCO BEAR!!!

He's the cousin of Jive Bunny. And I think he knows Hep Cat. But either way, Disco Bear will be leading us a merry dance and partying on down with us in Devon next week, thanks to an exclusive arrangement we've reached with Amelie's nursery.

In addition to a couple of goldfish and some headlice, the nursery is home to a bear called Barnaby, whose main responsibility is to go on holiday with the children and have his photo taken. It's the kind of job I'd like. If it wasn't for the children. In the past couple of years, he's travelled all over the world on various different passports, so I think they're using him as some kind of drugs mule.

Unfortunately, Barnaby's a hard bear to pin down. He's currently living it large in Germany, and isn't expected back until next week, which is a problem, as Amelie's desperate to take him to Devon. So having discussed it with one of the ladies yesterday (you know, the ladies we nominated for a Hospital Star Award), they went straight to the nearest charity shop and sourced DISCO BEAR especially for our daughter. He's like Michael Palin's understudy. And he travels on a budget.

Amelie brought him home from nursery this afternoon, and in addition to that fine jumpsuit and sparkly cape, he also has a fetching pair of wellies. Amelie has informed me that he can wear them if it rains. So I've told her to put them on now.

They say your school days are the happiest days of your life...


That's Amelie grinning from ear to ear at the very thought of starting school. Obviously she's hiding it well, but she doesn't like to get over-excited. She's more the chilled-out, introverted type. At least she is in my dreams.

To be honest, I don't think she really wanted her photo taken. As a general rule, Amelie's 100% dedicated to the attention-seeking lifestyle for about 23 hours and 45 minutes a day. I just happened to catch her during her 15 minute break. The moment I tried to give her my undivided attention with a camera, she wouldn't play ball. Although if I'd asked her to play ball, she'd have jumped at the chance. Repeatedly, and off the sofa.

Anyhoo, Lisa struggles to get herself ready on time for pretty much everything, but when it comes to our daughter, her preparation skills are immaculate. Amelie doesn't start school for another three months, but Lisa's already got her uniform. The girl's currently four-and-a-half, and the uniform's age 6-7, so there's every chance she'll have grown out of it by September. She's already wearing pyjamas that are age 7-8. I'm thinking of getting her work in a freak show.

Needless to say, the multi-coloured hairband isn't part of the Catholic dress code, so the hands-on-hips pouting should come in useful when they start telling her she can't accessorise. I'm expecting a tantrum when she's banned from wearing her Cowgirl hat in the classroom.

Unfortunately, her first telling-off is going to have to wait a little longer than anticipated. We received a letter from the school on Saturday, which said this...


That's all very lovely, but sadly it's for Monday of next week. Which is when we go on holiday. We're planning to leave for Devon at 9am, so by 2 o'clock in the afternoon we'll be about three miles outside of Brighton, arguing about who to blame for our tardiness. There's no way we can make the meeting as well.

Fortunately they're also holding a couple of "informal sessions" (which sound right up Amelie's street) in late June and early July, so we'll be attending those instead. It should be an interesting experience. I bet no child has ever been expelled before they've actually started school, so it gives Amelie something to aim for.

Here's a fab video...


And here's a fab blog. I should probably stop moaning about how knackered I am from trying to raise two perfect kids, and start appreciating what I've got.

Someone's in a fowl mood...


That's Amelie playing chicken with a couple of roosters. It was basically a hen party, but with more big breasted birds than you could shake a stick at. And believe me, Amelie tried.

But that aside, if there's one thing I like to do at the weekend, it's to visit the hairdressers. I'll be forty in a few weeks time, and I plan to have a mid-life crisis and start spending all my money on Regaine, so it's important I check out the latest styles. I don't want to look like an idiot when I'm out clubbing.

As the photo above illustrates, Amelie was on the fringes of a bad hair day herself. It's like she's permanently peeping through a hedge. As for Lisa, she doesn't need much persuasion to visit the nearest salon, and she's even more keen to visit the one in Portslade. So the upshot of it all is that we headed out west yesterday afternoon to take in the bright lights of the Old Village, and the Outshine Hair and Beauty salon.

Which just happens to be down the road from a farm. To be honest, I'd never heard of Mile Oak Farm until a colleague mentioned it to me on Friday, but I'm all in favour of free places to visit, so with the sun shining almost as much as the weather forecasters had predicted, we decided to put the baa back into barber by stopping off there on the way.

And very nice it was too. Here's my wife posing next to the health & safety information...


That was pre-haircut, of course. I had her dipped and sheared shortly afterwards.

To be honest, the public part of Mile Oak Farm is basically just a farm shop and café, with some chickens, ducks and goats, but when you're four years old, that's pretty much all you need. Apart from ice cream, of course. And fortunately they sell that too...


Like mother, like daughter. It's a good job Toby and I can laugh at them.

Anyhoo, we spent 30p on a bag of corn for the chickens, and Amelie spent an enjoyable ten minutes flinging it at them like birdshot. Despite the evidence of yesterday's animated gif, she warmed to the poultry considerably and even ended up stroking a rooster, which is surprising, as she won't touch chicken at home. By the time we'd tickled a few rabbits and watched a bit of duck sex, we'd all had a very nice time.

The true test of an afternoon out, however, is the size of the tantrum you get when you leave, and on that evidence, Mile Oak Farm was a hit. Which is what I was tempted to do to Amelie. Still, at least Toby had a smile on his face...


Right up until we got to the hairdressers...


I think he wants to grow his hair like his father.

I've always dreamt of having a family which is at one with nature...


Dream on. I think I'll adopt the bloke in the background who's hand-feeding a chicken.

Something smells fishy...


Yes, forget the Gruffalo and Barry Scott, the most popular fictional character in this house is currently Mrs Stink, a brand new comic creation from the genius that brought you Twinkling Stars in the Night. At least I hope she's fictional. I'm slightly concerned she might be based on Lisa. Those are clearly Belgian Buns stuck to her head.

Amelie drew that picture yesterday and, as she explained to me at the time, not only is the character called Mrs Stink, but you can actually see the smells coming out of her. Which is a delightful mental image made flesh. She's also fat and angry, which is understandable given her physical shortcomings.

Clearly a book deal is only a matter of time, and the best part is that I can leave Amelie to do the pitch to the publishers...


Never mind Mrs Stink, I can sense the sweet smell of success...

The nominees for this year's Hospital Star Awards were announced on Monday, and inexplicably I've failed to get a nod in either the 'Mentor of the Year' category or the 'Outstanding Leadership Award', both of which I thought were virtual shoo-ins. In fact I've failed to get any nominations at all. So it's a good job I'm only in it for the money.

Happily, however, some people we know have been nominated. After a year of spending their danger money on stress therapists and pills for their nerves, the staff of the 'Owls' Pre-School Room at Amelie's nursery have been recognised for their hard work in looking after our daughter. They've been nominated as the 2013 Team of the Year. And I'm pleased to say that Lisa can take all the credit for that. Although she deserves virtually none of it.

A few weeks ago, I put in a nomination for someone else (I couldn't possibly reveal who), and as a result, Lisa suggested that maybe we should nominate the ladies at the nursery. The admin side of the business sometimes feels like it's being run by the children, but the actual childcare is excellent, and we're big fans of the four young ladies who take charge of our big bundle of trouble.

So three weeks ago I spent an entire lunch break at Horsham Hospital producing a finely crafted 400-word essay extolling the virtues of the pre-school staff, and making them sound like a cross between Supernanny and the staff at Eton College. I then e-mailed it to Lisa, and she told me to submit it. Under her name.

Naturally I always do as I'm told, and I didn't want the organisers of the awards thinking that I'm responsible for all the nominations, so I filled in the form myself, added my own essay, and put Lisa's name at the top. I was basically taking on the role of a Secret Millionaire with no money, so I was quite happy to go along with it at the time. But that was before Lisa began being lauded as the new Warren Buffett, and taking all the glory for herself.

She had to e-mail the nursery about something a few days later, and casually added a line at the end saying that she'd nominated the Owls team for a Hospital Star Award. Within forty-five minutes, the nursery manager had e-mailed back to say how wonderful that was, how grateful they are, and how much it means to them, and by the following day the staff had been informed. As a result, the arrival of Lisa at the nursery is now treated like the second coming of Christ. For the past two weeks, she's been welcomed there like Bill Gates with a blank chequebook, and is routinely ushered towards the pre-school room on a metaphorical red carpet lined with curtseying staff members applauding her unbounded generosity.

So naturally she hasn't told them it was all her husband's own work.

And in the meantime, the plaudits keep coming. The quarterly nursery newsletter came out last week, but now that the award nominations have been made public, the manager handed out an extra sheet of additional news yesterday, which said this...


That line is the one Lisa crossed by taking all the credit. But still, it makes me glad I gave up my lunch break three weeks ago. Although clearly my wife's the one who'll end up with a plaque on the nursery wall.

A couple of years ago, when Lisa first started schmoozing the local Catholics in the hope of getting Amelie into a decent school, she asked the priest if it's wrong to lie to your children. Fortunately he's a forward-thinking man of the world, and he said no. So we started telling Amelie about Jesus. She now talks to him on a regular basis, whilst kneeling at the side of her bed in the hope of staying up a bit later. Although I think her actions owe more to this episode of The Simpsons than any Biblical teaching...


Unfortunately, as time goes on, it's getting harder and harder to lie to Amelie. Not because we don't want to, but because she can see through us like the gap above the windowsill where the net curtain used to be. Whilst at Peppa Pig World a couple of months ago, I shouted "Look, Amelie! It's Peppa Pig!", to which she responded "No, Daddy, it's someone dressed as Peppa Pig", so she's nobody’s fool. Apart from Toby's, in a medieval sense.

Yesterday teatime, however, her suspicious perception reached new heights with the arrival of her evening meal. Lisa had lovingly defrosted some home-made lasagne, which Amelie used to love, but which she's gone off since Lisa cooked it and stuck it in the freezer. She now wrinkles her nose at the mere mention of the word, and refuses to even try it.

But as luck would have it, she's still a big fan of 'I Can Cook' on Cbeebies, hosted by the lovely (and currently pregnant) Katy Ashworth, who's a bit like Delia, only less inclined to get drunk at a football match. As far as I know. Amelie enjoys logging on to the Cbeebies website, printing out her recipes without permission, and then badgering me to make them, so having heated up Lisa's lasagne in the microwave, I chopped it up to make it less identifiable (which isn't usually a problem with Lisa's cooking), and then presented it to Amelie as 'Katy's Pasta Bake'.

She didn't even try it. Heck, she didn't even look at it. I placed it on the table with a flourish, told her what it was, and without so much as a glance towards her food, Amelie looked up at me from the sofa with an expression of total disdain, and said:

"Daddy. I know that isn't Katy's Pasta Bake. You didn't even print out the recipe. You're just pretending you did so I'll eat it".

In the end, she had beans on toast.

With hindsight, I'm not sure I should have put that net curtain in the tumble dryer...


This time yesterday it touched the windowsill, but let's face it, the windowsill is generally filthy and covered in mould, so I think it's far better to have it hovering ten inches above. I'm trying to sell it to Lisa as a café curtain. And it has the added bonus of allowing Amelie to spy on the neighbours without lifting it up. Not that she's much of a spy. She tends to wave at anyone she sees.

Anyhoo, the good news is that Lisa's currently distracted from my laundry efforts by doing some washing of her own. I came home from work today to find her in the shower, which was worrying as she'd already had one this morning, so I knew she was either having an affair or trying to be Bobby Ewing.

After some tough questioning, she finally broke down and admitted that she had met someone this afternoon, but it turned out to be her friend Lorraine, who is nowhere near as filthy as you might think, and doesn't usually warrant a shower. This time, however, they'd spent the afternoon at Queens Park, and having sat in the sun for five hours, they'd ended up with a fate far worse than skin cancer.

Apparently a seagull had pooped all over them. Lisa was forced to walk all the way home stinking of rotten fish, and looking like Amelie after a session with her face paints. Her delicate woollens are currently in the wash. I'll be tumble-drying them later.