People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones...
But if you're on a public beach with your sister, you're free to fire at will. Fortunately, Toby's about as aimless as his mother, and couldn't hit a barn door from ten paces, so I was probably at more risk of being injured than Amelie.
Anyhoo, since Boxing Day evening, my family and I have been holed-up in St Leonards, eating everything we can lay our hands on. We've been joined on this gastronomic adventure by both my siblings and their respective loved ones, but to be honest, none of them have eaten as much as I have. I'm single-handedly illustrating the diabetes time bomb.
On the plus side, the fact that everyone was here meant they could all contribute to my Christmas present, which this year was a cloud...
I wanted nine, but I only got one. Obviously I've had my own personal cloud for quite some time, but it's been more like Perkin's in that episode of The Flumps. This one will enable me to access photos of myself from anywhere in the world, which can only be a good thing.
Sadly, I'm not contributing much to that store at the moment, as I was so busy packing my camera batteries, battery charger and camera-PC link lead, that I forgot to pack my camera. So I'm restricted to taking selfies with my iPhone...
I'm an elf service manager, so I'm expected to wear clothes like that.
Amongst the highlights of the festive season was of course mine and Amelie's performance of 'Love is an Open Door', which was not only a musical triumph, but also demonstrated that Amelie really needs a microphone if she's going to stand any chance of being heard above the foghorn voice of her father. She was drowned out for most of the song by the sheer force of my personality. I was like George Michael to her Andrew Ridgeley. Video footage of the event was posted online without my permission, and I'm currently pursuing legal channels to have it removed, but in the meantime I'm optimistic that we'll be on Britain's Got Talent in the spring.
Big Sis and her sidekick went home on Sunday, but the rest of us battled on into yesterday, enjoying a trip to the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill...
The pensioners on the prom are my parents, and the girl with cold ankles my niece. The old man is my brother. The rest of my family were busy throwing stones at each other, just out of shot. Personally I was keen to experience a bit of culture, but the only person who wanted to see the art with me was Amelie, and I wasn't keen on answering her questions.
We did venture inside the pavilion for an ice cream, but having seen the prices, we soon ventured back out again and headed down the road (and down market) to the nearby Poppins restaurant, where I fought Toby for a banana boat, and Amelie texted all her friends with pictures of her milkshake...
We did lose my Dad for half an hour, after he gave us the slip and made a break for it down Bexhill high street, but we soon located him, and dragged him back inside, where he was forced to endure a cheap sausage roll with the rest of us.
Tonight, however, it's me and Lisa who will be making a bid for freedom. I've promised her an all-expenses-paid trip to Pizza Express on the proceeds from my new job. Not my salary, obviously, but the Clubcard points from my petrol. It seemed like the least I could do.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, December 26, 2014
I've never seen the kids so happy...
Obviously there are more chins than people in that photo, so not all of us were happy, but that aside, we managed to get through Christmas Day without too many tears, breakdowns and punch-ups. Here's Toby showing his heartfelt appreciation for our generosity by politely requesting another gift...
Having opened them all, and left wrapping paper everywhere, he then looked around at the living room floor and said "Mess". Before expecting us to clear it all up.
But to be honest, they did seem to like their presents. For a while, at least. Amongst Amelie's 'Most Wanted' this year was the big-eared character on the right...
That's a Furby Boom, a delightful (and surprisingly pricey) creation which has been carefully designed to annoy adults and give small children hideous nightmares. Its drawbacks are perfectly highlighted by this blog post, which I discovered last night after a brief Google search that I carried out whilst comforting Amelie at the computer and trying to reassure her that despite all impressions to the contrary, her Furby probably wouldn't kill her the moment she got within three feet of it.
Fortunately she cheered up and calmed down enough to go to bed, and we had twenty enjoyable minutes of blissful peace and quiet before she got up in tears, convinced that an army of angry Furbies was coming to get her in the darkness. Furby actually spent the night on a shelf by the front door, which is as close to being out with the rubbish as I could bear for something which had just cost me more than forty quid.
We might have paid for our lack of due diligence where Furby Boom is concerned, but fortunately we had more luck with an impulse buy I made down at the marina last weekend. Despite being aimed at kids aged 6 and above, I saw this remote control car for under a tenner, and picked it up for Toby...
He spent most of the afternoon trying to run over his sister, and refusing to let anyone else drive. He's like a two-year-old Jeremy Clarkson.
But the real star this Christmas, the saviour, the bringer of joy, elf and happiness, has been my deer wife, Lisa. There's snow one like her. Starting a new job in November has changed my life in numerous ways, and meant that Christmas has dropped way down my To-Do list, just below hiring new staff, ordering an OCT machine, and buying a dozen new computers. I've been out for 12 hours a day, busy most weekends, and working right up to Christmas Eve. Which means that Lisa has been left holding the baby Jesus.
But rather than forgetting Christmas this year (which, let's face it, I have), Lisa has single-handedly ordered all the presents, written all the cards, and liaised with my family about our festive arrangements. The fact that any of my relatives are getting gifts this year is entirely down to her. My only contribution was to visit Santa and ask him to pay for it all.
Lisa's done all of this whilst wrangling an over-excited six-year-old and a toddler who's putting the deafening "ERR!!!" into 'Terrible Twos' for thirteen hours a day. And she hasn't once complained. Possibly because she's too exhausted. The happy smiles on those kids' faces, and the fact that I've still had a Christmas to enjoy this year, is all thanks to my beautiful wife. She's done an amazing job, and I love her more than words can say. In fact, I regret not buying her a present now.
Obviously there are more chins than people in that photo, so not all of us were happy, but that aside, we managed to get through Christmas Day without too many tears, breakdowns and punch-ups. Here's Toby showing his heartfelt appreciation for our generosity by politely requesting another gift...
Having opened them all, and left wrapping paper everywhere, he then looked around at the living room floor and said "Mess". Before expecting us to clear it all up.
But to be honest, they did seem to like their presents. For a while, at least. Amongst Amelie's 'Most Wanted' this year was the big-eared character on the right...
That's a Furby Boom, a delightful (and surprisingly pricey) creation which has been carefully designed to annoy adults and give small children hideous nightmares. Its drawbacks are perfectly highlighted by this blog post, which I discovered last night after a brief Google search that I carried out whilst comforting Amelie at the computer and trying to reassure her that despite all impressions to the contrary, her Furby probably wouldn't kill her the moment she got within three feet of it.
Fortunately she cheered up and calmed down enough to go to bed, and we had twenty enjoyable minutes of blissful peace and quiet before she got up in tears, convinced that an army of angry Furbies was coming to get her in the darkness. Furby actually spent the night on a shelf by the front door, which is as close to being out with the rubbish as I could bear for something which had just cost me more than forty quid.
We might have paid for our lack of due diligence where Furby Boom is concerned, but fortunately we had more luck with an impulse buy I made down at the marina last weekend. Despite being aimed at kids aged 6 and above, I saw this remote control car for under a tenner, and picked it up for Toby...
He spent most of the afternoon trying to run over his sister, and refusing to let anyone else drive. He's like a two-year-old Jeremy Clarkson.
But the real star this Christmas, the saviour, the bringer of joy, elf and happiness, has been my deer wife, Lisa. There's snow one like her. Starting a new job in November has changed my life in numerous ways, and meant that Christmas has dropped way down my To-Do list, just below hiring new staff, ordering an OCT machine, and buying a dozen new computers. I've been out for 12 hours a day, busy most weekends, and working right up to Christmas Eve. Which means that Lisa has been left holding the baby Jesus.
But rather than forgetting Christmas this year (which, let's face it, I have), Lisa has single-handedly ordered all the presents, written all the cards, and liaised with my family about our festive arrangements. The fact that any of my relatives are getting gifts this year is entirely down to her. My only contribution was to visit Santa and ask him to pay for it all.
Lisa's done all of this whilst wrangling an over-excited six-year-old and a toddler who's putting the deafening "ERR!!!" into 'Terrible Twos' for thirteen hours a day. And she hasn't once complained. Possibly because she's too exhausted. The happy smiles on those kids' faces, and the fact that I've still had a Christmas to enjoy this year, is all thanks to my beautiful wife. She's done an amazing job, and I love her more than words can say. In fact, I regret not buying her a present now.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
As I suspected, Amelie and I were pretty much word-and-note-perfect on our first run-through of 'Love is an Open Door'. The extended family are in for a real treat on Boxing Day. We're like Renée and Renato, but with better dance moves. Unfortunately, and with great personal sadness, I can't actually supply any video evidence of our musical tour de force just yet, owing to the fact that I've gone down with a heavy cold in the past twenty-four hours, and no one really wants to hear the part of Hans voiced by Barry White. But trust me, we're good.
On the downside, I wasted a lot of time printing out the lyrics, and putting Amelie's lines in red, mine in blue, and our joint lines in purple, only to discover that Amelie knows them all anyway. She also does a mean 'Let It Go', which she'll be performing as an encore on Boxing Day while I pop to the bathroom to wash the rotten tomatoes off my Christmas jumper. I can't wait.
In the meantime, and with just four sleeps to go, we've finally met the big man himself...
He's currently residing in a garden shed at the South Downs Nurseries in Hassocks. And he hasn't changed a bit in the last two years...
Although he's got rid of the office chair, and given his beard a loose perm.
We don't like to hassle the man, so we didn't go to visit him last Christmas, but after a two year trial separation, we were naturally pretty excited to bump into him again yesterday. This was Amelie in the queue beforehand...
And this was me...
There's obviously only a subtle difference between my excited face and my King Kong face...
... but I think Santa could tell the difference. I didn't get a present myself, but having been told by the nearest elf that my daughter was a six-year-old called Amelie, he welcomed her warmly into the grotto, called her Emily and gave her a game for eight-year-olds and over. He then believed her when she said she'd been good. I'm beginning to wonder if he was the real deal after all.
On the downside, I wasted a lot of time printing out the lyrics, and putting Amelie's lines in red, mine in blue, and our joint lines in purple, only to discover that Amelie knows them all anyway. She also does a mean 'Let It Go', which she'll be performing as an encore on Boxing Day while I pop to the bathroom to wash the rotten tomatoes off my Christmas jumper. I can't wait.
In the meantime, and with just four sleeps to go, we've finally met the big man himself...
He's currently residing in a garden shed at the South Downs Nurseries in Hassocks. And he hasn't changed a bit in the last two years...
Although he's got rid of the office chair, and given his beard a loose perm.
We don't like to hassle the man, so we didn't go to visit him last Christmas, but after a two year trial separation, we were naturally pretty excited to bump into him again yesterday. This was Amelie in the queue beforehand...
And this was me...
There's obviously only a subtle difference between my excited face and my King Kong face...
... but I think Santa could tell the difference. I didn't get a present myself, but having been told by the nearest elf that my daughter was a six-year-old called Amelie, he welcomed her warmly into the grotto, called her Emily and gave her a game for eight-year-olds and over. He then believed her when she said she'd been good. I'm beginning to wonder if he was the real deal after all.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
There comes a time in every young man's life when he's tempted to try cross-dressing...
Toby might only be wearing his Mum's slippers, but by heck, he's loving it. I'm the same with Lisa's bras.
Of course, he's not the only one dressing up at the moment. Amelie has spent a lot of the build-up to Christmas looking sheepish with a group of ram-raiders...
I think the one on the right is saying "I love ewe". Personally I'd give her the chop. You can't pull the wool over my eyes, and I think my daughter's being fleeced.
Anyhoo, one person who definitely isn't mutton dressed as lamb is my mother, who celebrated her birthday on Wednesday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY to her. I'm only saying that because I was up to my ears in work all day, and completely forgot to phone her. But hey, it's the thought that counts. Although I didn't give her one of those either.
The good news, however, is that after seven weeks of work-craziness, I'm now officially getting into the Christmas spirit. I was up before dawn this morning, watching The Search for Santa Paws on Netflix with the kids. They were fairly unmoved (although Toby did feel moved enough to chuck baubles at the TV), but frankly I was blubbing like a baby. It's not every film that features a cute five-year-old singing about the death of her parents on the steps of the orphanage a week before Christmas. I think the only reason it went straight to video was because the cinemas couldn't supply enough tissues.
The other thing currently reducing me to tears is the thought of having to go to Asda on the weekend before Christmas, but I'm putting that to the back of my mind, and attempting to solve the problem by writing to Santa and asking him to bring me a loaf of bread. Let's face it, he won't be bringing Amelie anything, because with a week to go before the big day, she's suddenly changed her name by deed poll. For reasons which completely escape me, she's now calling herself Ameelieamelie. She's a bit like Marky Mark and Flava Flav, but with more talent.
It means we've started to receive cards like this...
And formal notices like this one...
If Banksy would only follow her example, Clacton council could have saved themselves a lot of embarrassment.
Anyhoo, I'm working right up to Christmas Eve this year, so I'll be arriving home with Santa on Wednesday, but I plan to spend this weekend immersed in festive preparations. Lisa's in charge of the presents, the wrapping, the shopping, the cooking and the cleaning, while I'm in charge of this year's Christmas turn. I plan to get Amelie to perform a duet of 'Love is an Open Door' with me. I've already downloaded the karaoke backing track and printed out the lyrics. We're both quite musically talented, so I don't expect it'll take us long. I'm thinking maybe twenty minutes rehearsal time, and we'll have it off pat. Watch this space...
Toby might only be wearing his Mum's slippers, but by heck, he's loving it. I'm the same with Lisa's bras.
Of course, he's not the only one dressing up at the moment. Amelie has spent a lot of the build-up to Christmas looking sheepish with a group of ram-raiders...
I think the one on the right is saying "I love ewe". Personally I'd give her the chop. You can't pull the wool over my eyes, and I think my daughter's being fleeced.
Anyhoo, one person who definitely isn't mutton dressed as lamb is my mother, who celebrated her birthday on Wednesday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY to her. I'm only saying that because I was up to my ears in work all day, and completely forgot to phone her. But hey, it's the thought that counts. Although I didn't give her one of those either.
The good news, however, is that after seven weeks of work-craziness, I'm now officially getting into the Christmas spirit. I was up before dawn this morning, watching The Search for Santa Paws on Netflix with the kids. They were fairly unmoved (although Toby did feel moved enough to chuck baubles at the TV), but frankly I was blubbing like a baby. It's not every film that features a cute five-year-old singing about the death of her parents on the steps of the orphanage a week before Christmas. I think the only reason it went straight to video was because the cinemas couldn't supply enough tissues.
The other thing currently reducing me to tears is the thought of having to go to Asda on the weekend before Christmas, but I'm putting that to the back of my mind, and attempting to solve the problem by writing to Santa and asking him to bring me a loaf of bread. Let's face it, he won't be bringing Amelie anything, because with a week to go before the big day, she's suddenly changed her name by deed poll. For reasons which completely escape me, she's now calling herself Ameelieamelie. She's a bit like Marky Mark and Flava Flav, but with more talent.
It means we've started to receive cards like this...
And formal notices like this one...
If Banksy would only follow her example, Clacton council could have saved themselves a lot of embarrassment.
Anyhoo, I'm working right up to Christmas Eve this year, so I'll be arriving home with Santa on Wednesday, but I plan to spend this weekend immersed in festive preparations. Lisa's in charge of the presents, the wrapping, the shopping, the cooking and the cleaning, while I'm in charge of this year's Christmas turn. I plan to get Amelie to perform a duet of 'Love is an Open Door' with me. I've already downloaded the karaoke backing track and printed out the lyrics. We're both quite musically talented, so I don't expect it'll take us long. I'm thinking maybe twenty minutes rehearsal time, and we'll have it off pat. Watch this space...
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Obviously children are a blessing, a constant joy, and the only thing that makes life worth living, but frankly a weekend with our kids is enough to make the colour drain from your face...
The sign suggests washing your hands after handling animals, so I was never far from water yesterday. It's probably just his age, but Toby's like an unbroken horse at the moment. Getting him into the car is a bit like trying to force a feral cat into a basket. Only more dangerous. By the end of yesterday afternoon, I'd been kicked in the head, Lisa had been bitten, and we both had mud on our clothes.
Fortunately, Toby rarely gets mud on his clothes. But that's only because he refuses to wear them. Now that the weather's turned genuinely cold, he's decided he no longer needs a coat, and he'll fight anyone who says otherwise. I ended up walking him to the shops yesterday in a t-shirt, stopping every twenty yards for another futile argument about appropriate dress codes. In the end, I decided that social services would be easier to reason with, and let him get on with it. Let's face it, people rarely die of exposure on their way to Lidl. Unless it's the one in Orkney.
As the photo above demonstrates, we did manage to get a coat on him at one point, when we dropped in to Mile Oak Farm on our way to the hairdressers, but by the time we reached the salon, he'd chucked the offending garment on the floor and was running amok between the sinks and the Christmas tree, attempting to bring an entire business to its knees.
Personally I was my knees by the end of it, but that was nothing compared to our trip to Marks & Spencers afterwards. The less said about that, the better. Suffice it to say that the time he spent causing mayhem in the fresh food aisle was dwarfed considerably by the amount of time he spent screaming about getting back in the car. I genuinely thought we'd never get home. On the plus side, we can rest assured that he'll never be abducted. Anyone who can bundle him into a car in less than half an hour deserves to get away with it.
As if Toby wasn't hard enough for us to handle, things are even tougher at the moment, as Lisa's lost the use of one arm. She slipped over on Thursday whilst waving to passers-by, and has somehow sprained her right arm. She can't raise it past chest height, so her waving days are over, and she's struggling to get dressed in the morning. I feel like I'm caring for an elderly relative. Which, in many ways, I am.
But on the subject of people getting older, today is a very momentous day, as Amelie has just lost her first tooth...
She's been throwing a wobbly for quite a few weeks now, and this morning, one of her bottom front teeth was finally forced out by a much wider tooth, which appears to be coming in at a far jauntier angle, and will no doubt need the kind of expensive orthodontic work her father can't afford. I might have to keep the Tooth Fairy's cash as a deposit.
The event seems to have confused Toby, who's now wondering why his bottom teeth aren't falling out...
But in a lot of ways I wish they were. It might make his biting less painful.
The sign suggests washing your hands after handling animals, so I was never far from water yesterday. It's probably just his age, but Toby's like an unbroken horse at the moment. Getting him into the car is a bit like trying to force a feral cat into a basket. Only more dangerous. By the end of yesterday afternoon, I'd been kicked in the head, Lisa had been bitten, and we both had mud on our clothes.
Fortunately, Toby rarely gets mud on his clothes. But that's only because he refuses to wear them. Now that the weather's turned genuinely cold, he's decided he no longer needs a coat, and he'll fight anyone who says otherwise. I ended up walking him to the shops yesterday in a t-shirt, stopping every twenty yards for another futile argument about appropriate dress codes. In the end, I decided that social services would be easier to reason with, and let him get on with it. Let's face it, people rarely die of exposure on their way to Lidl. Unless it's the one in Orkney.
As the photo above demonstrates, we did manage to get a coat on him at one point, when we dropped in to Mile Oak Farm on our way to the hairdressers, but by the time we reached the salon, he'd chucked the offending garment on the floor and was running amok between the sinks and the Christmas tree, attempting to bring an entire business to its knees.
Personally I was my knees by the end of it, but that was nothing compared to our trip to Marks & Spencers afterwards. The less said about that, the better. Suffice it to say that the time he spent causing mayhem in the fresh food aisle was dwarfed considerably by the amount of time he spent screaming about getting back in the car. I genuinely thought we'd never get home. On the plus side, we can rest assured that he'll never be abducted. Anyone who can bundle him into a car in less than half an hour deserves to get away with it.
As if Toby wasn't hard enough for us to handle, things are even tougher at the moment, as Lisa's lost the use of one arm. She slipped over on Thursday whilst waving to passers-by, and has somehow sprained her right arm. She can't raise it past chest height, so her waving days are over, and she's struggling to get dressed in the morning. I feel like I'm caring for an elderly relative. Which, in many ways, I am.
But on the subject of people getting older, today is a very momentous day, as Amelie has just lost her first tooth...
She's been throwing a wobbly for quite a few weeks now, and this morning, one of her bottom front teeth was finally forced out by a much wider tooth, which appears to be coming in at a far jauntier angle, and will no doubt need the kind of expensive orthodontic work her father can't afford. I might have to keep the Tooth Fairy's cash as a deposit.
The event seems to have confused Toby, who's now wondering why his bottom teeth aren't falling out...
But in a lot of ways I wish they were. It might make his biting less painful.
Saturday, December 13, 2014
I see my current role within the NHS as a five year mission to explore strange new worlds; to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldly go where no man has gone before. So I spent Thursday evening here...
The aim was for NHS managers to look for lightbulb moments and explore methods of queue reduction. But with a slightly different spelling of queue. It was an illuminating evening, featuring toasted marshmallows, mistletoe and mulled wine. Although I eschewed the latter in favour of hot chocolate, as I'd left my car in Wimbledon and still had to drive home.
I actually spent Thursday evening being treated to 'Christmas at Kew' by my new boss, as an end-of-year reward for all the months and months of hard work I've put in since November. This is me on the managerial merry-go-round...
There's a suffragette in the background, trying to throw herself under the nearest horse. Or chicken. I also had the chance to go around in circles whilst heading downhill fast...
But I get enough of that at work, so I chose not to ride the helter-skelter. I did, however, have a surprisingly enjoyable evening strolling through beautifully lit landscapes, and watching some amazing musical light shows. I didn't quite get the point of the sword-fighting display by the greenhouse, but the rest of it was fab. It even beat our earlier trip to Pizza Express, which as praise goes, is about as high as it gets from me.
Of course, it's all very well to follow a festive trail through a magical land of illuminated flowers...
... but if you really wanted to see a show, you should have been at Amelie's school this week...
In 2013 she was Mary; in 2014 a sheep. So I'm looking forward to next year's show. With this kind of evolutionary progress, she'll be playing a flea on the donkey.
The aim was for NHS managers to look for lightbulb moments and explore methods of queue reduction. But with a slightly different spelling of queue. It was an illuminating evening, featuring toasted marshmallows, mistletoe and mulled wine. Although I eschewed the latter in favour of hot chocolate, as I'd left my car in Wimbledon and still had to drive home.
I actually spent Thursday evening being treated to 'Christmas at Kew' by my new boss, as an end-of-year reward for all the months and months of hard work I've put in since November. This is me on the managerial merry-go-round...
There's a suffragette in the background, trying to throw herself under the nearest horse. Or chicken. I also had the chance to go around in circles whilst heading downhill fast...
But I get enough of that at work, so I chose not to ride the helter-skelter. I did, however, have a surprisingly enjoyable evening strolling through beautifully lit landscapes, and watching some amazing musical light shows. I didn't quite get the point of the sword-fighting display by the greenhouse, but the rest of it was fab. It even beat our earlier trip to Pizza Express, which as praise goes, is about as high as it gets from me.
Of course, it's all very well to follow a festive trail through a magical land of illuminated flowers...
... but if you really wanted to see a show, you should have been at Amelie's school this week...
In 2013 she was Mary; in 2014 a sheep. So I'm looking forward to next year's show. With this kind of evolutionary progress, she'll be playing a flea on the donkey.
Saturday, December 06, 2014
I think Lisa needs to be more careful when arranging our Christmas treats in the kitchen...
Or maybe it's just me who read that as something else.
Anyhoo, if Rodin was alive today, I'd give him something to think about...
That's Amelie pondering the meaning of life, the universe and the state of her felt-tip-covered fingers whilst on stage last weekend, giving her all as a pirate in the musical of Peter Pan. It's what theatre critics call a thoughtful performance. Sadly, that's also the only picture I have, due to photography being banned in an effort to help flog their DVD of the show. It's essentially video piracy.
But having failed to get footage of my daughter singing songs about crocodiles whilst chasing Captain Hook, we took her to Hove Park on Sunday where she followed in her brother's footsteps from the day before...
The only difference is that Amelie asks me to film her, and then finishes with a flourish. Not that she's a show-off at all.
No really, she isn't...
As it happens, she's been doing her best to look after Toby this week, who's been barking like a seal with a sudden bout of croup following a nasty cold. His sister's the only one who can cheer him up...
Personally I'm cheered up by food, so yesterday was a very happy day, as it featured not one, but two Christmas meals, barely three hours apart. Having enjoyed turkey and stuffing with my new colleagues in Wimbledon, I dashed straight back down the M23 to stuff myself with my old colleagues (not literally) in Brighton. We chose Pomegranate, largely for five-a-day reasons, and enjoyed a Kurdish meal which involved surprisingly little lemon.
It was a good day, rounded off with a cup of Sleepy Time Tea round at Stefan & Andrew's, and a return home shortly after midnight. So naturally I'm paying for it today. I'm far too old to be staying out past 9pm on a Friday.
Or maybe it's just me who read that as something else.
Anyhoo, if Rodin was alive today, I'd give him something to think about...
That's Amelie pondering the meaning of life, the universe and the state of her felt-tip-covered fingers whilst on stage last weekend, giving her all as a pirate in the musical of Peter Pan. It's what theatre critics call a thoughtful performance. Sadly, that's also the only picture I have, due to photography being banned in an effort to help flog their DVD of the show. It's essentially video piracy.
But having failed to get footage of my daughter singing songs about crocodiles whilst chasing Captain Hook, we took her to Hove Park on Sunday where she followed in her brother's footsteps from the day before...
The only difference is that Amelie asks me to film her, and then finishes with a flourish. Not that she's a show-off at all.
No really, she isn't...
As it happens, she's been doing her best to look after Toby this week, who's been barking like a seal with a sudden bout of croup following a nasty cold. His sister's the only one who can cheer him up...
Personally I'm cheered up by food, so yesterday was a very happy day, as it featured not one, but two Christmas meals, barely three hours apart. Having enjoyed turkey and stuffing with my new colleagues in Wimbledon, I dashed straight back down the M23 to stuff myself with my old colleagues (not literally) in Brighton. We chose Pomegranate, largely for five-a-day reasons, and enjoyed a Kurdish meal which involved surprisingly little lemon.
It was a good day, rounded off with a cup of Sleepy Time Tea round at Stefan & Andrew's, and a return home shortly after midnight. So naturally I'm paying for it today. I'm far too old to be staying out past 9pm on a Friday.
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