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Saturday, May 31, 2014

Just look at that pair of troublesome kids...


They're always bleating about something, and if you don't get them food when they want it, they're liable to headbutt you in the stomach. I'm all in favour of locking them up.

But goats aside, these parents look pretty happy...


It's a look which says "We're seven miles from our children, and we're in no hurry to get back". That was me and Lisa down The Well at Bulkington on Thursday evening, celebrating our anniversary and reflecting on which half of our decade together was better: the first half without children, or the second, exhausting, sleep-deprived and stress-filled half with them. Oddly, we decided on the latter. Although we always feel like that when they're not there.

While Lisa and I were out enjoying ourselves, Big Sis was busy texting us photos such as this one, to prove how well the babysitting was going, but as I said to Lisa at the time, until we get at least one confirmed death, we're not leaving the restaurant. And even then, there's no need for us both to go back.

We'd actually had a very nice day, which surprisingly is possible in Wiltshire. It might not be much more than a collection of fields, but some of those fields contain animals, and when you've got two small children, that's pretty much all you need for a good time. Admittedly, the weather wasn't always great, but anyone who says it's not possible to play golf underwater is sadly mistaken...


I told Amelie that was called Crazy Golf, and having attempted to hit the ball through a lake, she turned to me and said "Daddy, this is crazy". We gave up shortly afterwards.

But whilst some parts of the Hope Nature Centre required the use of stilts to avoid getting your feet wet, we mostly managed to avoid the deep mud and flooding, and get up close to some animals. Amelie met her match in the cuteness stakes when she stroked a two-week-old rabbit...


... and I proved that even whilst on holiday, I'm always thinking about work...


I've taught my daughter a lot about infection control too.

Bearing in mind that Toby's been known to pass out with fear at the mere sight of a domestic cat, I was quite impressed by the confidence he showed with the animals. I don't know if it was watching Amelie which helped him, but after a slightly cautious start, he was right in there, feeding goats, poking rodents, and trying to ride a little pony...


He was definitely the mane man. In fact, I was proud of them both. We might have our ups and downs...


... (mostly on trampolines)... but as a family, we're remarkably happy, and I love those three Gardners to bits. It's been the best decade of my life. Although I've aged about twenty years.

Friday, May 30, 2014

In the latest edition of 'World of Survival', Ray Mears demonstrates that you're never really lost in the woods when your wife has your mobile number...


Unfortunately, Toby's just put my phone in a glass of water at the side of the bed (he heard the word 'bluetooth' and assumed it was a set of falsies), so if we venture out today, we may never return. I think it's about time we headed back to Brighton...

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Ten years ago today, Lisa and I officially became an item, so if our actions were judged as a crime of passion, we'd both be out by now. In reality, however, this is a life sentence, and I don't plan on letting her go. Ever. I'll be like Norman Bates in Psycho. Which is handy, as I look good in a wig.

We're celebrating the occasion 130 miles from Brighton, in an attempt to recreate how far apart we were living at the time, and this evening we'll be reminiscing about what life was like before we had children, by going out for a romantic meal. These days we're lucky to get two minutes to ourselves at the McDonalds drive-thru, but tonight, Big Sis is leaving work early in order to babysit for the evening, so that Lisa and I can renew our vows at The Well at Bulkington. That's our vow to eat our own body weight in food.

As a token of my love, I wanted to give Lisa a romantic gift signifying ten years of passion, companionship and understated elegance, so I bought her 'Behind the Candelabra' on DVD. I might get Sis to play the piano later too. Amelie gave her flowers, and a card which said "I'm glad you love Daddy". I told her to write that.

But in the meantime, we're still on holiday. And despite the pouring rain, bitterly cold winds, and mild flooding, we're off out for a few hours. Mainly to buy an umbrella and some more jumpers, but also to revisit The Hope Nature Centre near Trowbridge. Our main hope being that the weather might improve when we get there.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

It's a well known fact that Devizes is the Alton Towers of Wiltshire, and that no visit to the town is complete without experiencing the white-knuckle thrill rides of the local toddler park. The 2011-2013 promotional video did a lot to sell the sheer excitement and danger of the place...


... but it's always worth updating your material. So here's the 2014 director's cut...


By 2015 I'll have Toby climbing up that ladder, and Amelie smoking a cigarette with the latchkey kids on the swings.

Anyhoo, if you're wondering where Lisa was in that video, she was just out of shot, running for the hills with her passport and a one-way ticket out of Dodge. Suffice it to say that family holidays are never really holidays for the parents. Unless you trust your childcare to luck and head for the nearest tapas bar. The kids are as challenging as usual, and the environment even more so, with Big Sis's house on three floors, and filled with white furniture and precious breakables.

But in addition to that (or possibly because of it), Toby's had a bit of a funny turn. We thought he was unwell on Monday, as he seemed dopey and miserable all day (which is more Amelie's shtick), and when we attempted to take him shopping, he screamed down the supermarket and went wild in the aisles to such an extent, you'd have thought Dale Winton had hoved into view.

That coincided with a text message from Brighton, informing us that the birthday party being held this Saturday for one of Amelie's friends has had to be postponed due to an outbreak of chicken pox. Amelie has already experienced life as a poxy child and interestingly, she had it at the same age that Toby is now, so it did make us wonder if he was about to break out in spots.

But whilst Amelie's 'Frozen' party was put on ice, leaving a dozen disappointed kids out in the cold, Toby seemed a lot brighter yesterday morning. So in a moment of foolish optimism, we decided to drive them both into town. At which point, everything changed. Toby, who has never had a problem going in the car, suddenly acted as though he'd been offered a lift by Richard Hammond. He screamed, kicked, fought and arched his back to such an extent that we physically couldn't get him into his car seat. Even stopping for twenty minutes, letting him calm down, and then trying again later, made no difference. The moment he went near the car, he started acting like the girl in Final Destination 2.

In the end we had to give up. I took Amelie into town, while Lisa stayed at home and Toby had a tantrum. On the bright side, Amelie was as good as gold, which is not like her at all. It's like both of them are ill.

Lisa recovered slightly while Toby napped after lunch and Amelie and I watched 'Frozen' on DVD for the seventeenth time in three days, after which I took them both to the nearby park and watched them go down the tubes...


The evening gave me the chance to experience a massage from Big Sis's boyfriend, which taught me that I must never allow them to split up, but the highlight of today so far is this picture of an elephant drawn entirely by my daughter...


Not only is she making good use of the felt tip pens I bought her in Tesco yesterday, but she's included a nod to UKIP by adding the Red Tractor logo. That elephant can be traced back to a British farm.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Love is... hugging a sibling at the play park.


In reality, of course, he's got his hands around her neck, and she's making him walk the plank, but it looks like a touching scene of love.

Anyhoo, that was Sunday afternoon on the army assault course at Le Marchant Barracks in Devizes. We'd spent lunchtime feeding our faces in front of a badly painted wall at Pizza Express...


... so we needed to work off a few calories, and as luck would have it, the nearby park has some outdoor exercise equipment. I took on a key role akin to that of Burgess Meredith in the first three Rocky films, and sacrificed my own fitness in order to bark orders at everyone else. And take embarrassing photos. None of which I have permission to publish.

Amelie, who's obviously no stranger to extreme physical training, was quite sweet, helping Toby around the assault course...


... although when she tried to drag him up the eight-foot cargo net, I decided to intervene. By the end of the afternoon she was dropping him on his face in the mud, and trampling across his back, which is clearly the kind of character-building experience that will not only make a man of him, but turn him into a serial killer.

Fortunately, our Bank Holiday Monday was a bit more laid back. We headed out to lunch at The Rowdey Cow, which is not so much a spelling mistake as a farm cafe in the village of Rowde. They sell sixteen flavours of ice cream, made with milk from their own cows, which was our main reason for attending and ensured that we didn't want to leave, but as it transpired, they also make decent lunches...


That's what £7.95 buys you in Wiltshire. Half a herd, a ton of bubble & squeak, and a Yorkshire Pudding the size of a cowpat. My pot of tea made four cups. It was a miracle I still had room for three flavours of ice cream.

So I stuffed myself silly while the ladies indulged in some serious conversation...


... before heading outside to pose for some photos with a couple of leggy birds...


That ruffled a few feathers. But while I was being hen-pecked by a big-breasted female, Big Sis was swinging with my daughter...


So after a quick game of 'Duck Duck Goose', we headed back home via the world's narrowest road, in an effort to test the collision sensors on Big Sis's new Mercedes. That left us just enough time for Toby to scream his way around Morrisons, Amelie to get some bad news about chicken pox, and Lisa to be left without food. But I'll have more on the ill health (and manners) of my family tomorrow...

Sunday, May 25, 2014

You know you're on holiday when you start dressing like a deckchair...


Yes, I'm typing this with a knotted handkerchief on my head and my trousers rolled up, from the luxury and comfort of Big Sis's house in Devizes. We've only been here since yesterday and I've already strained a thigh muscle going up and down her stairs.

Due to the financial pressures of raising two children and a tadpole, I didn't think we could afford a holiday this year, but that was before I came up with the idea of inviting ourselves down to Wiltshire, and suggesting that Big Sis gives up her bed for a few days. We're currently living off the fat of the land by helping ourselves to her butter.

As it happens, I've got more money than I expected, as I successfully managed to save this family a hundred pounds on Friday. I'm like Martin Lewis, although in my case, the term 'consumer champion' refers to my success in competitive eating. I received a letter this week from the Automobile Association (they're the 4th emergency service, after the police, my parents, and Asda home delivery) which began like this:

"Dear Mr Gardner,
I'd like to thank you for choosing the AA for 7 years. You really are one of our most valued members."


Obviously alarm bells were ringing at that point. No one's that flattering unless they want something. And sure enough, the letter went on to inform me that they were rewarding me for my loyal and valued custom by putting up my annual breakdown cover to a whopping £219.77. Which is about two hundred quid more than I have in my bank account.

Lisa helpfully suggested that I call them and tell them I'm going with Red Flag instead, but I felt that might be counter-productive. If they saw through my elaborate (and well-researched) lies, it could be like a green rag to a bull.

But I checked the AA website, and the exact same cover for a new (and slightly less valued) member is £124.95. So I phoned them. The nice chap I spoke to pointed out that the £125 is an introductory offer, available to people who aren't currently members. So I asked if I could cancel, and rejoin at that rate. He said I could, but I'd have to wait six weeks before I could rejoin. So I pointed out that in that case, they're effectively charging me £95 for six weeks membership, and I'd be better off having no cover for a month and a half, taking my chances, and saving that money.

He responded by putting me on hold for thirty seconds, speaking to his manager, and then coming back to say that actually they could match that price for me after all. I don't know whether to be pleased that I saved myself ninety-five quid with a five minute phone call, or annoyed that they're clearly just pushing their luck by trying to charge me a fortune. If I'd done nothing, they'd have automatically renewed my cover and taken almost twice as much from my bank account in a couple of weeks time.

But with my money saved, we packed our bags on Friday night, and first thing yesterday morning (it was before lunch, anyway) we hit the road for our holiday. Unfortunately, so did everyone else. The M25 was essentially just a car park for most of the day. You could get onto it and off it, but you could barely move around it. Brighton to Devizes took us almost five hours, although that did include an hour at a service station, eating McDonalds and having a go on those coin-operated massage chairs.

Big Sis welcomed us to Devizes by making us a cup of tea with milk that was five days out of date, and was sitting in the door of the fridge next to a cholera vaccine. That's Wiltshire for you. Apparently it's easier to immunise than to sort out the sanitation.

We spent the evening eating an unwise number of chocolate chip cookies, muffins and brioche, but by breakfast time this morning, the kids were fighting over some healthy wholemeal bread...


The main argument being over who has to eat it, and who gets the pain au chocolat instead. We'll get some protein into them at some point. But possibly not today. We're just heading out for lunch at Pizza Express...

Thursday, May 22, 2014

I'd just like to state for the record that given the choice between a week's worth of heavy clinics in Crawley, East Grinstead and Damascus, featuring hospital transport patients, nonagenarians and blind people with learning difficulties, anger management issues and highly infectious diseases, AND the chance to have two of Amelie's friends round for tea again, I'd definitely go for the former. It would be a lot less exhausting. And I'd be more likely to get out alive.

Suffice it to say that I'm spending my annual leave counting down the days until I go back to work. Or I would be if I had any strength left after spending an hour in the park with three five-year-olds and a toddler. We only went out because they were wrecking the flat, but by the end of it, they were wrecking my nerves. Frankly I need a holiday. And the tragedy is, I'm already on one.

Anyhoo, the good news is that the builders have gone...


Although they left one of their hard hats behind. I tried to shout after them, but they couldn't hear me through our new double-glazed windows.

By the time they'd finished, the entire place was covered in brick dust and I'd developed a nasty cough, but on the plus side, I'd formed a close personal bond with one of the window fitters. It transpired that he lives in Basildon, which is where I grew up, and has been commuting to Brighton on a daily basis for the past few weeks just to fit the council's new windows. He and his colleagues have been driving for four or five hours a day, in order to work a nine hour shift, five days a week, with nothing but a cup of sweet tea from yours truly to keep them going.

Putting aside the issue of why Brighton & Hove City Council is employing window fitters from Essex, it led to an interesting conversation about how much Basildon has changed over the past twenty years, which featured two uses of the phrase "I'm not racist, but..." (neither of them from me) and one excellent and unexpected use of the term "breeding like rats". I tried to change the subject at that point, but all I could think of was the upcoming European elections, and I wasn't sure that was a good area to move into.

Anyhoo, the good news is that it's all done. I did have to spend most of Tuesday evening hoovering, and Wednesday morning was filled with the sound of drilling as they did the windows of the flat above. At one point, the noise got so bad that Lisa couldn't hear the people shouting on Jeremy Kyle. But by the end of yesterday, a sense of calm had been restored to our world.

Which is why we thought we'd invite Amelie's friends round. We're idiots, but I think we've learnt our lesson.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

I feel I should respond to yesterday's comment from Mrs Trellis of North Wales, by saying that the only circus Amelie would run away to join is this one...


In fact, if Popovich had been there on Sunday, I'd never have got the girl home. She'd now be in Portsmouth with a crate of Whiskas.

As it happens, however, we are currently one child down. I'm typing this on the sofa (it's a smart sofa), surrounded by burly council workmen, who are attempting to fit new windows to our flat, and whilst it would give Toby a good opportunity to use one of his favourite words, "Noise!", you don't really want someone climbing up to the balcony windows...


...when there's just an eight-foot hole in the wall.

So I drove Toby over to St Leonards yesterday afternoon, and deposited him with my parents for his own safety. It means that not only does he escape the noise, danger, dust and inconvenience, but he's also spared the experience of having to sit through 'Jo Frost Family Matters' on ITV. I'm not enjoying it at all. It's just as well I can't hear it over the drilling. I'd probably like it even less.

Anyhoo, it's been an interesting experience so far. We'd been notified in writing that the council contractors would be arriving at 1pm to start work, and would need us to move our belongings at least a metre away from all the windows. Which is nice, because it implies that we have the space to move them into, which, if you've ever visited our flat, and squeezed sideways down our hallway, you'll know is optimistic in the extreme.

Can I just say at this point that it's quite hard to concentrate on a blog post when someone's attacking your balcony door with a sledgehammer about three feet from your head..? I'd go in another room, but frankly they look even more like war zones. I've just had to step over rubble to go to the toilet.

Ok. So having abandoned my son at his grandparents', I returned home yesterday afternoon and began Operation Windows, the biggest logistical undertaking since Bill Gates launched Microsoft. I spent the evening clearing everything from under our bed, so that I could move it a metre across the room, a somewhat dusty task which did at least lead to the discovery of a box containing printouts of all the e-mails that Lisa and I exchanged back in 2003, in the year before we met. I'll be presenting them to Amelie on her 18th birthday. She'll no doubt be living in poverty and need something to burn for fuel.

With that done, I still had every other room to complete this morning, so I was naturally delighted when the workmen rang our doorbell just after 8am to confirm that we were expecting them. I said "Yes, this afternoon". To which the man responded "Ok, we'll see you this afternoon... about eleven-thirty".

As it transpired, they weren't back before twelve, and by some miracle we were ready. I'd had a minor panic attack when I moved Amelie's bed, and found that it was basically being propped up by a foot-deep pile of lost toys, games, hair accessories and miscellaneous debris - I kept expecting to find Lord Lucan sitting on the wreckage of flight MH370 - but Lisa valiantly sorted through it all, while I tackled the hideous mould on the wall. I think it brought us closer together.

As another brief aside, I should just mention that my keyboard is now so covered with brick dust that touching the mouse pad is like scraping my fingernails down a blackboard. The workmen have just apologised to me, using the excuse that this job is "a lot more difficult than we thought". It's a concern, as it's currently 3:45pm and I look like Brody in season three of Homeland. I'm thinking of this scene in particular...


Although our flat is a lot less tidy.

Anyhoo, Lisa left 45 minutes ago to fetch Amelie from school and take her dancing. She's fully expecting the work to be done by the time they get back, which at the moment is looking doubtful. Amelie's not one to complain though. At least not about anything reasonable. She prefers moaning about trivial, irrelevant stuff, so the fact that we currently have a gaping hole in the side of our flat will barely seem worth her mentioning.

I think I've just lost a filling from the vibrations.

Anyhoo, I might not be at work this week, but the good news is that I've arranged for a mystery shopper to go in there undercover and check the performance of my colleagues during my absence. Lisa's Mum is getting her eyes screened at the hospital this afternoon, so I'll be debriefing the woman later and putting the squeeze on her for some detailed feedback on our service. No doubt, heads will roll. Although, knowing her, she'll just say "It was fine" and start talking about the horse racing.

Monday, May 19, 2014

It's Amelie in Russia!


I modelled her outfit on that tent. She's wearing quite a big top.

Anyhoo, I'm on annual leave for the next two weeks, which basically means I'm a lot busier than when I'm at work. But despite that, I managed to find the time to take Amelie back to the USSR yesterday, with a visit to the Moscow State Circus. They'd chosen to give Ukraine the swerve this year, and bring their summer touring show to Brighton instead, so as one of the world's great travelling circuses, I felt it would be a crimea to miss them.

And besides, Lisa paid for the tickets. I think she just wanted me and Amelie out of the house for the afternoon. To be fair though, she also remembers with great fondness the look on my face the first time we went to see Britain's Got Talent, so she knows that my little heart fills with joy the moment I clap eyes on a dodgy variety act, and she was hoping it would be a treat for us both.

And so it proved. Amelie was excited before the show even started...


And I was just pleased that Lisa had paid for the more expensive padded seats, away from the riff-raff. We'd had a late night at the doctor's the evening before, and after very little sleep, I was all ready to curl up for a nap in the dark.

As it transpired, however, the show was quite eye-opening, and a wake-up call to the talentless losers on BGT. I took a number of photos, but having reviewed them in all their blurry, badly-lit glory, I've decided I'd be better off posting this promotional video instead...


That song (Moscow, Moscow, ho-ho-ho-ho-ho - I think I've got those words right) was played at the end of the show, and resulted in me singing it all the way home in the car, which annoyed Amelie no end. But other than that, she loved it. She even liked the clown, who was actually a different chap from the bloke in the video above, and genuinely quite amusing. I was determined not to find him funny, but he won me over in the end.

As for the other acts, they were all quite outstanding, and made you realise what the human body is capable of if you don't spend your life on a sofa eating pies. Amelie particularly liked the ladies on the giant hamster wheel (her words), while my favourite was Zohra the footballer, who can be seen here on the local news, breaking the world record for the most number of keepy-uppys achieved whilst balanced on a giant football and juggling three other footballs simultaneously. It's a record we've all tried to break in our time, and I've come dangerously close myself, but Zohra's actually been there and done it.

Unfortunately for him, Amelie wasn't that impressed, as she told me she thought it looked quite easy. She also wanted to have a go on the giant swing which launched acrobats right into the roof of the tent, which appeared to be on the terrifying side of scary to me, but to Amelie looked like fun. I'll be expecting her to try that at the park. The other highlight for me was the juggling, which reached new heights in a very literal sense, when they attached themselves to poles (it's an Eastern European thing) and juggled clubs across the stage in mid-air.

The other stand-out moment was when they completely fooled us all by making us think that the tiny four-year-old boy who was plucked out of the crowd in the second half to join the clown on stage was just a random member of the audience. By the time he reappeared riding a unicycle and doing break-dancing moves, I think we'd all twigged that he was part of the show. Although I still had to explain that to my daughter on the way home.

By the time we left, Amelie was clutching a £4 tub of candy floss and a £6 flashing wand, while I was holding a noticeably lighter wallet, but we'd both had a good time. In fact I'd recommend it to anyone. Although you'll have to go to Portsmouth to see it. The circus moved on from Brighton last night, and despite all of Lisa threats, it left town without her.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

I'm not certain who was responsible for the carefully placed alarm clock which was set for 3:35am, switched to the 'on' position, and positioned at the side of my bed last night, but firstly I can report that it works remarkably well, and secondly, the fact that it's bright pink and has the word 'Barbie' plastered all over it, gives me a pretty good idea who to kill.

Suffice it to say, I was up quite early this morning. But ironically, it wasn't Amelie who ended up in a box before lunchtime...


Admittedly I was a bit of a killjoy by not letting her make him a steering wheel, but I think she was heading for our best dinner plates at the time.

Anyhoo, when he's not screaming that he wants to go faster, Toby's spent most of the day walking around with a radish, which is the kind of surreal activity you get used to in this house. He's been watching quite a lot of Mr Bloom's Nursery on Cbeebies, so to him, it's not so much a salad item as a Wee MacGregor.

The good news is that even with a root vegetable in his hand, he can still risk his neck in a foolhardy climbing adventure...


The interesting thing is that the first seventeen times he does that, you pick him up and put him straight back down on the floor. The eighteenth time, you film it. And from the nineteenth time onwards, you just ignore it and decide you don't care. At the time of writing, he's still alive, but I don't imagine that'll last.

As it happens, what Toby's actually trying to say at the end of that video is that we now have the capability to watch DVDs again. After a tough week at work, battling a heavy cold and an even heavier workload, I picked Amelie up from the school disco yesterday evening, took her swimming, then headed down to Asda, before finally collapsing on the sofa to watch a DVD with Lisa. At which point we discovered that Toby had spent yesterday stuffing jigsaw puzzle pieces into the DVD drawer, broken the open & close mechanism, and rendered the whole machine useless.

It was ironic, because I'd bought Amelie a new DVD at Asda last night, and she wanted to watch it first thing this morning. Which is possibly why she set that alarm. As a result, she and I were standing inside Argos on the dot of nine-thirty this morning, buying the cheapest model available. Partly because we don't have much money, but mainly because Toby's got a lot more jigsaws.

Fortunately we don't have to worry about the entertainment tonight. Lisa and I have been invited round for dinner by a doctor at the hospital. I think she's conducting a clinical trial about the effects of stress and exhaustion. Or possibly she just needs bodies for her next post mortem. Either way, we'll be asleep before the main course.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

I'm not saying my wife pays me no attention, but Lisa asked me last night if I had any hair gel she could use. She'll be asking to borrow my curlers next.

As it happens, I've been working in Ouse Valley for the past two days, which is appropriate as I currently have mucus flowing through my philtrum. Frankly I'm on the verge of death. Although technically it's just a cold.

By the time I got back to Brighton this evening, I was ready to collapse into a heap on the floor, but fortunately Amelie was there to pick me up with some well-placed words of encouragement. She told me she'd been playing with a Year 5 girl at school today, so in an effort to show an interest, I asked her what the girl was like. She replied "Nice", so I added "As nice as me?"

Amelie thought for a moment, and said "Nicer". She always did exaggerate.

Monday, May 12, 2014

One of the joys of having small children is that you can palm them off with rubbish, and they'll generally think it's great. I'm no stranger to letting my kids play with items from skips, wheelie bins and gutters, and they're usually quite happy. Of course, it works the other way too. Amelie frequently hands us the kind of craft work that makes the Turner Prize look sensible, and we tend to look thrilled and tell her it's fab. And then bin it when she goes to bed.

Only the other day, Amelie and I found a painted wooden fish in the refuse area downstairs, which we retrieved and gave to Toby in an attempt to build up his resistance to germs. He had a whale of a time. But the latest item to be saved from the dustman's clutches is this...


Not the table - that's quality. It just looks like junk. No, it's actually the computer that's on it. Which, ironically, looks ok, but is actually fairly useless.

In addition to two tired children and an extra half stone, I came away from my parents' house on Saturday with my Dad's old computer. He got a new one last summer, after finally accepting that it shouldn't take a PC half an hour to open a browser window and respond to a mouse click. This one's been sitting idle ever since, waiting for someone to put it out of its misery with a hammer and a blowtorch, so I offered to take it off their hands, in the hope that I might be able to restore it to something resembling working order, and then pass it on to Amelie.

As it transpired, my confidence in my own IT abilities was perhaps slightly misplaced. I spent most of yesterday afternoon tinkering with the thing, wiping and reformatting the hard drive, and installing various bits of software, while Amelie stood over me, asking when I'd be finished. I repeatedly told her that there was no guarantee of success, and that it might not work at the end of it all, but the mere possibility of her getting her own computer was enough to send her into a frenzy of excitement. Which is ironic, as she takes the iPad completely for granted.

While I was struggling to fix some broken Windows, Amelie was busy phoning her Nanny with news of her new computer, but fortunately, and to my great relief, I did manage to get it working. After a fashion. It's now much faster, is connected to our wi-fi, and can surf the internet with ease. Which for someone like me is all you need. Unfortunately, Amelie wants more. Namely, computer games on the Cbeebies website. And for anything involving graphics, it's still painfully slow.

But this is where Amelie's excitement takes over. She's so thrilled at having her own computer that she really doesn't care what it can do. She spent yesterday evening playing Peter Rabbit, and frankly those bunnies were crawling across the screen like they were going down with myxomatosis, but every time I pointed out how slow it was, she said "I don't mind, Daddy, I don't mind!". It was really quite touching. I just wish Lisa's standards were that low.

The photo above was taken at 6:45am this morning. She couldn't wait to get out of bed and turn on her new computer. She even let Toby play some games with her. It might be slow and stuttering, but the important thing is that it's hers. As I left for work this morning, I heard her say to Lisa "You need to ask if you want to use this computer". Which is what we always say to her. Clearly possession is nine-tenths of the law. And she's laying it down already.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

If you thought this weekend of great music came to an end when the bearded lady left the stage in Denmark last night, then think again...


That's the UK's entry for next year. I'm pitching it as Liberace meets Les Dawson. They'll love it in Azerbaijan.

Anyhoo, as surprising as it might sound, tomorrow is Big Sis's birthday. I know, another year has flown by and her teeth are falling out fast, but while she can still raise a smile without looking like Shane MacGowan, we thought we'd head over to St Leonards yesterday to pose for a few photos with her...


Oh, hang on, that's not her, that's my Mum. Although it's getting increasingly hard to tell them apart. And not just because my Mum's had botox.

I'm actually slightly concerned that if I dress any darker, I'll start to resemble the bloke in the triangular warning sign, and I'll never get small children to accept my sweets in public, but if the worst comes to the worst, I suppose I can always find another hobby.

Anyhoo, all of that aside, here's my sister...


Amelie's checking the warning sign in the background and resolving never to speak to her aunt in a playground again. I clearly needn't have worried about my outfit. Sis came dressed for an outdoor funeral.

So that's the birthday girl in the centre. The chap standing next to her, who made the mistake of thinking that it might not be freezing on the south coast in May, is her boyfriend. I forget his name...


But it'll probably come back to me at some point.

Sis and her beau arrived in Sussex on Friday to celebrate her birthday with a couple of pensioners, so as old people ourselves, Lisa and I decided to join them for the day yesterday, in the hope of getting some free food and childcare. It also gave us the chance to document the progress of my mother's rhododendrons.

We have 'Young and Virile' in May 2009...


'Tired and Fat' in August 2012...


And 'Old and Grey' yesterday...


I think Lisa looks nice in them all, but I'm not so much wise as wizened.

Fortunately my kids still look fresh-faced...


And they can do modern hand gestures...


Toby's so street. Albeit on the grass, surrounded by daisies.

Anyhoo, the highlight of yesterday for me was when I warned Lisa to be careful on the slippery steps in my parents' garden, and then watched as she tumbled down them five seconds later, taking the plastic handrail with her, hitting a squirrel in the nuts, and injuring her back. I haven't laughed so much in years. But I did so from a position of the utmost sympathy and concern. Whilst saying 'I told you so', and regretting not having filmed it.

That aside, it was just nice to see my sister...


We spent the afternoon in TK Maxx and the local park, and bookended it all with food at my parents' house. Big Sis's birthday presents consisted of the world's most expensive hair straighteners, plus a cheap bag she hadn't asked for. I won't say which of those came from us.

By the end of the day, we all looked like this...


... and Toby was flicking us the V's...


... but despite that, we were all up for a bit of Eurovision, so having stayed late to watch the first half, I eventually drove my family home two hours after the kids' bedtime, whilst listening to the rest on the radio. It prompted Amelie to ask me if I'll enter the contest myself next year, so I confidently said that I would. I've got twelve months to grow a decent beard.

Wednesday, May 07, 2014

When it comes to eating a banana, you can either do it like this...


... or you can take off your trousers, stand on a stool, and lean against the nearest sofa...


That's how a real monkey does it.

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

On a quiet studio backlot, somewhere in the Hollywood hills, filming of the new Spiderman movie is going well...


In addition to the new character of Spidergirl (who has web browsers instead of web shooters, and no common spider-sense), there's also her diminutive sidekick, Spiderboy, who's difficult to photograph as he darts across the web at high speed...


There are no flies on him. Although it's possible he's got nits.

Anyhoo, yesterday was a very strange Bank Holiday Monday. We'd intended to take the kids for a run across East Brighton Park in the morning, but Amelie woke up at the crack of dawn complaining that she felt unwell, and Toby seemed out of sorts too. Amelie's symptoms were a little on the vague side, and included pretty much every condition she's seen covered by Dr Ranj on 'Get Well Soon', while her brother spent the morning stomping around with constant non-specific moaning. Neither of them seemed quite right, but both were still capable of jumping, climbing, shouting and meddling, so we gave Amelie one dose of Calpol, and kept the sympathy to a minimum.

I didn't think anything of it until lunchtime, when I started developing stomach pains. And not just from lack of food. I took to my bed while Toby had his nap, but whereas he was sleeping, I was doing some work on my laptop, and popping Bisodol tablets like bubble-wrap.

By 2pm I was still in pain, but being a veritable trooper who puts a brave face on his eternal suffering and torment, I agreed to take my family over to Hove. They'd combined their considerable talents to successfully break my Sellotape dispenser, so I wanted to buy another one from Staples, and insisted they come with me to witness the look of resentment and destitution on my face (and the bravery I mentioned earlier) as I handed over my credit card.

With that done, and the family finances reduced to a collection of loose change in my pocket, I decided to feed that money into a parking meter down the road, and take my family to St Ann's Well Gardens...


That's Amelie being ill at the top of a slide. To be honest, there didn't appear to be anything wrong with her by then, and frankly anyone who can do the splits, one-handed, in mid-air, can't be in a bad state of health...


At least, not until afterwards. You probably won't notice Lisa in that photo, as she's wearing camouflage gear, but what you will see is her new owl bag. She bought it the week before last, and was particularly pleased to have such a rare and unusual accessory. Until I did a clinic the following day and one of my patients came in carrying one.

But whilst Lisa might share her tastes with a pensioner, the only person who felt close to death yesterday was me. Until we'd been at the park for an hour, that is. By that time, Amelie had perked right up, Toby was running wild like a stampeding elephant, and I was suffering in silence. Apart from the numerous times I belly-ached about my nausea.

At which point Lisa suddenly started getting shooting pains in her stomach. I was busy photographing my daughter with a questionable-looking wood carving at the time...


... but within five minutes, Lisa's symptoms had developed to such an extent that we had to abandon the park (and all hope), and head straight back home at high speed, where she ducked into the bathroom and then collapsed on the bed.

Oddly, by early evening, my stomach ache had passed, and by late evening, Lisa was fine too. We'd all eaten different things that day, so it can't have been food poisoning, but rather than a 24-hour bug, we seemed to have all suffered from a 4-hour bug. It was typified by gut-wrenching feelings of discomfort, so I expect we're all missing the tadpole.

Sunday, May 04, 2014

I'm not saying my children are miserable, but sometimes it's easier to persuade a tadpole to smile for a photo than Amelie...


That's Wriggly the froglet in our old Sea Monkey tank on top of the car. I decided the easiest way to transport him back to the park was via roof rack.

The photo I published yesterday was actually taken on Thursday evening, and I now strongly suspect that Amelie was injecting the thing with growth hormones, because by yesterday lunchtime it looked like this...


How anyone can grow two limbs in less than forty-eight hours is beyond me. I've heard of someone giving you a hand, but this is ridiculous. Amelie was keen to keep Wriggly for another day, on the grounds that tomorrow never comes, but on that evidence, time was clearly of the essence, so I insisted we head straight back to the park yesterday afternoon.

Getting the kids ready to go out is always a speedy and stress-free experience, so having supervised Toby cleaning his teeth while Amelie rolled around on the floor under a cardboard box...


... I soon had them running down the hallway with a live amphibian in a tank. The journey to Queen's Park took about three minutes, during which Amelie managed to hold the tank in the back of the car and spill about half the water. She blamed most of that on my driving.

As for the moment of release, that was a beautiful and touching moment of genuine emotion, the likes of which we haven't seen since 'Man From Atlantis', as the special bond of love between a girl and her frog was heart-wrenchingly broken...


So with our spirits high, and the very real possibility that Wriggly was eaten by a seagull within thirty seconds of release, we headed for the children's playground for some rest and relaxation...


Sometimes I wish we lived nearer to the seaside. Those kids love a bit of sand. Of course, if you're going to kneel in a sandpit, the one thing you want in your hand is a precariously placed Mickey Mouse choc-ice on a stick...


I didn't actually realise until I got home that I'd managed to film the moment when Toby deliberately stuck his ice cream into the sand as though it was a bowl of chocolate sprinkles. It's at 1:41 in this delightful montage of mania, swinging and extreme ultra-violence...


I'd just like to state for the record that Amelie's blue lips are due to a bubblegum ice lolly, and not because I punched her in the mouth.

Saturday, May 03, 2014

Another week has gone by, and I think it's time to get frogs' legs off the menu...


My plan for the bank holiday weekend is to remake 'Born Free' at Queens Park by releasing Amelie's tadpole back into the wild. I'm not sure we can technically call it a tadpole any more, and if we try to keep it in captivity for much longer, there's every chance it might croak it. Toby's already very interested in the thing (possibly because we're keeping it in a biscuit tin), and given half a chance, he'll end up succeeding where Lisa's failed by chucking it down the toilet.

So in the great tradition of Elsa the lioness, Keiko the orca and Ronnie Biggs, we'll be releasing Wriggly back to the safety of the park pond this afternoon. Assuming I can get over Amelie's dead body. She's currently showing very slight resistance to the idea, and is threatening to barricade herself into the bedroom and chain herself to some algae. I think she's hoping that if she hangs on to the tadpole long enough, it'll turn into Zigzoo from Tree Fu Tom and start talking to her.

So before we can film Born Free, we might have to remake Kramer vs Kramer, but I'm confident we can succeed. As for this morning, it's the annual Children's Parade through the city centre, which kicks off the Brighton Festival. Amelie's school is taking part, but sadly they don't involve reception class, so she's not officially invited. Which is a real shame if you ask me. They need all the overconfident show-offs they can get.

And Amelie's made for an event like this. It's supposed to be a moving explosion of music and dance, and only yesterday she was boogieing down the hallway with her brother, performing her own unique version of 'Gangnam Style'. And I'm telling you now, you haven't lived until you've witnessed your five-year-old daughter leading your hapless son in a display of contemporary dance whilst singing "Heyyyyyyy, sexy Toby!"

Although I'm glad social services weren't around.

Thursday, May 01, 2014

In parts of the third world, people often have to walk for half a day to get access to food and medicine. Here in the first world, our equivalent is to trek for half an hour across London for a free lunch at the RSM.

To be honest, I don't visit London very often, but when I do, I like to go on a day when the underground staff are striking, transport links are crippled, and thousands of people have to trudge across the royal parks like refugees in a zombie movie. So I was particularly pleased to be given the opportunity to journey up to our nation's great capital yesterday to spend seven hours in this room...


That's the Guy-Whittle Auditorium at the Royal Society of Medicine. I was there for a one-day conference entitled 'Integration - Where Do I Fit In?'. And having seen those seats, I felt the answer was 'Here'. They were actually very comfortable. It was like being at a 3D cinema. The speakers almost looked real.

Anyone seeing that picture might be forgiven for thinking that someone's left their mobile phone on the armrest, but as it happens, that's the "in-seat audience-response and voting system". The Society's website states that "Rather than waiting for a roving microphone, the audience can vote electronically or text their comments, and the results can be projected instantaneously on-screen in a range of different formats". It's heckling for the 21st century.

In reality, of course, it just meant that we spent seven hours watching people do this...


The ability to speak into the correct part of the wireless handset whilst holding the correct button and orating in such a way that the rest of the room could hear you, was undoubtedly an acquired skill. And one that nobody seemed to have.

But despite that, it was an excellent day. I concluded that where *I* fit in is with my ability to come up with titles which make our conferences sound less like UKIP rallies and more like eye screening seminars, but that aside, there were some very good speakers, including one who summed up I.T. departments by stating that they respond to his requests by saying "The answer's no. The reason is security. What's the question?".

I liked him. But not as much as I liked the chocolate pudding at lunchtime. I have to say, there's nothing like a rich chocolate dessert at a diabetes conference. It really hits the spot. I suspect the menu was sponsored by one of the insulin manufacturers. This one was particularly good, and appeared to have been prepared in heaven by sweet angels of goodness. And then chopped up by the work experience girl. I was tempted to go back for seconds, but was concerned I might end up belching into my wireless microphone. Not that anyone would have heard me.

As it happens, the building was designed by a belcher, so it's what the architect would have wanted, but the advantage of a tube strike is that it gives you the chance to walk off your excess puddings. And having done a 70-minute round-trip on foot from Victoria to Wimpole Street, I felt fully justified in pigging out. I just wish I'd stopped off at number 57. According to Wikipedia, it's where Jane Asher lives. It's no wonder their cakes are so good.