Pages

Subscribe: Subscribe to me on YouTube

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Saturday, August 22, 2015

The waiting is finally over...


After years spent wondering if she'd ever stay in one country long enough to say "I do", Big Sis is now married. And has just left the country again. Possibly to avoid being shown up by 'The Great Big Benefits Wedding: Live' which is scheduled for Tuesday on Channel 5, and is likely to prove that she didn't need to spend more than three hundred quid on a cake.

Obviously the key to a successful wedding is to invite the right people, so Amelie and Toby were first on the guest list, and brightening up proceedings with the kind of calm, dignified reverence that befits a life-changing religious ceremony...


I failed to get any footage of Toby dancing down the aisle, but I feel sure it was what Big Sis had in mind when she said she didn't want children at her wedding.

Unfortunately for Big Sis, the Gardners come as a package, and much as Lisa and I would have loved to spend the day like this...


... our foolish life choices meant that we were never far away from a couple of troublesome wedding crashers...


On the plus side, we had the pleasure of spending the previous night in a high class hotel with its own sauna and steam room. Unfortunately they were located in room 216 of the Devizes Travelodge, with no off switch, and a window that not even a stick insect could get through. Alarm bells should have rung when the receptionist pointed us towards the lift with the words "There's a fan on the shelf just inside the door". I can only assume that room 216 is situated directly above room 666 where they burn the sinful souls of Premier Inn guests in the fiery furnace of hell. Either that or the boiler room.

Anyhoo, Lisa had the pleasure of drying her hair three times on Thursday morning as the sweat poured straight out of her brain, and we were eventually forced to evacuate into the car park in our slippers to avoid passing out from the intense heat. But other than that, our preparations went well. Apart from Toby scattering bits of muffin all over the carpet and spilling his drink on the bed. The nice part was bumping into other wedding guests who told us that they knew we'd arrived the previous evening as they'd heard our children through the bedroom walls. I wouldn't mind, but they weren't all on the same floor. Some weren't even in the same hotel.

The good news is that in the space of a few hours we shed enough pounds to fit into our wedding clothes, and despite dangerous levels of dehydration, we made it to St James' church on time and took our places in the second row...


Amelie had an important role to play, which will surely stand her in good stead for her future career as a Ring Girl (it's encouraging for feminists everywhere that Wikipedia has a page devoted to that job)...


... and my Dad successfully walked his daughter down the aisle and happily offloaded her with a major sense of relief...


With the 'I Dos' done and the rings exchanged without the help of a ring girl...


... we left the painful memories of the Devizes Travelodge behind us and journeyed into the countryside to the far more exclusive (and slightly cooler) surroundings of the Manor House Hotel in Castle Combe. One night's stay costs about a week's salary, but fortunately I wasn't paying, so I was more than happy to take advantage of the facilities by stuffing myself with free food and stealing enough shampoo to last me a lifetime. It was a 50ml bottle.

To be honest, the wedding breakfast portions could have been three times bigger and still counted as snacks, and if you were Jewish, you'd have passed out from malnutrition at the evening buffet, but the breakfast the next morning more than made up for any shortcomings, and allowed me to put on a stone in less than half an hour.

In addition to my stomach, I left with a slightly larger head, following some kind comments about my wedding speech...


Although if you're doing an audio-visual presentation at a wedding, it's a good idea to remember not to walk in front of the projector every time you reach for a glass of water.

The first dance was equally well received...


And in fact, Big Sis didn't put a foot wrong all day. She was the most beautiful bride since Lisa, and didn't stop smiling from the moment she walked into the church to the moment she staggered off the dance floor. Although apparently she was still texting my Mum after midnight, so clearly something went wrong somewhere.

Congratulations, Big Sis. We all love you very much. xxx

Saturday, May 09, 2015

It's been all downhill for the past couple of weeks...


Don't worry, I haven't grown a moustache. Or a pair. If I wanted to experience extreme levels of terror, I'd just ask Lisa to leave me alone with the kids for a day. I don't need to hurtle off a cliff in a plastic log. That's not actually me. And it's not Doctor Eggman either. In fact, the evil hipster who has my daughter in his menacing clutches is none other than our good friend Andrew. He clearly deserves a medal for bravery. Not for going on the log flume at Brighton Pier, but for spending a few hours with Amelie.

Anyhoo, that was Bank Holiday Monday in Brighton. Toby wasn't allowed out due to extreme levels of naughtiness and a refusal to wear trousers, but we needed someone to keep a close eye on Amelie...


... and Stefan & Andrew are always up for a bit of hard work, so I met them on the pier for some white-knuckle childcare. It gave me the chance to treat Amelie to a kids' wristband entitling her to unlimited free rides, and then watch as she refused to go on any of them. Not that she was completely unreasonable. She was quite willing to try all the adult rides for £4 a go, whilst asking for toffee apples, fish & chips and ice cream. It was just the free stuff she didn't want.

To be honest, you have to take your fun wherever you can find it. We'd spent Saturday afternoon terrorising fish with a big stick in the garden of a good friend, which was surprisingly enjoyable...


Though possibly not for the fish. It did, however, inspire me to live up to my name by philling the car with gardnering stuff for the balcony...


Obviously that pot plant had been knocked over by the wind within twenty-four hours, but it would have been dead within a week anyway due to Amelie's excessive watering.

Anyhoo, the big news of the week is that Brighton & Hove are now red and green apples, bobbing in a sea of Conservatism...


I usually turn to food in moments of stress, so I've been doing a lot of comfort eating since Thursday. It's a good job we've got so many food banks. Things are so bleak that Toby's packed a bag and is heading for the airport...


He's not leaving the country, he's going to meet David Miliband.

Fortunately, we still have mementos of the good old days when liberalism meant street artists wearing hats instead of Paddy Ashdown eating them...


The details are a bit sketchy...


He charged me five quid for that. Bloody capitalist.

Monday, April 20, 2015

It's been so long since I last blogged, my son's turned 16...


Admittedly his growth is a bit stunted, but that's what happens when you live on Barny Bear cakes and ice lollies. Frankly it's a miracle he's still alive. If it wasn't for the peanut butter frosting on his cupcakes, he wouldn't be getting any protein at all.

Anyhoo, the reasons for my prolonged absence are best summed up by this Top Trump, which was kindly created for me by Amelie on an NHS iPad...

Clearly my approach to management is half-arsed, but I'm 100% committed to work. I basically lost the entire month of March to this little endeavour, which I felt was enough of a rollercoaster ride to warrant more than a 10 on my adventure score. Amelie always was a tough marker.

At one point I was asked to write 36,000 words in 3 weeks to win a contract worth ten million. So at £278 a word, I said I'd write a sentence for three grand. It's no wonder we're out of the running.

The lesson I've learned is that when you're leaving for work before your kids get up, and arriving home after their bedtime, you don't want to spend your weekends writing a blog. Admittedly, you don't always want to spend it with them either, but in a lot of ways you feel you ought to. Toby was seeing more of the Yodel delivery man than his own father. He'd started looking at me suspiciously if I walked in without a parcel. So, much like Bloomberg before me, I went offline for a while, in the hope of reminding my kids who I am.

Fortunately I've had enough of that now. I had a week's annual leave booked for March, which had to be cancelled at short notice due to health reasons (the NHS needed me), so I'm taking this week off instead. There's no Cheltenham Festival this week, so it's not quite the same, but at least the weather's slightly better.

We took advantage of it yesterday by heading down to the pier for the afternoon. As the Top Trump above demonstrates, I'm a big fan of Paul Hollywood, so I was particularly pleased to bump into Richard Burr and Chetna Makan from The Great British Bake Off as we strolled past the doughnut kiosk. Needless to say, they weren't buying any. According to Chetna's Twitter, the whole gang were down there yesterday...


... but sadly we didn't see the others. I expect they were busy taking that ice cream out of the freezer.

Anyhoo, the sight of Lisa exercising might be shocking...


But even more jaw-dropping than that is the fact that it's now a quarter of a century since this newspaper article was published...


That was posted on Facebook by an old school friend of mine, possibly in an attempt to make me feel old. And bald. I still remember that free bus to Norwich. I've never known luxury like it.

By coincidence, I made a pilgrimage back to the badlands of Essex last weekend to show Toby and Amelie my old school...


And the house I grew up in...


It hasn't changed a bit. You could still have a Rod Hull incident with that TV aerial, and the walls could do with some render. This hedge is new though...


Well, I say new. They could have grown it from seed in the time since I left.

But despite it being 22 years since I moved out, those bollards have stood the test of time, and immediately proved just as irresistible to Amelie as they did to Big Sis three and a half decades ago...


It was all grazed thighs and bruises back in the 70s. But having seen my old stomping ground, Amelie declared that she loved it so much, she'd like to move there. Which demonstrates what life is like for her now. She sees a Basildon council estate as a step up.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Some models are complete dogs...


And Amelie can now produce them at will, using nothing but her nimble fingers and an endless supply of hot air and rubber. It's been half-term this week, so she spent a few days with her grandparents', and whilst some families pass down wisdom through the generations in the form of esoteric knowledge and trade secrets, Amelie's acquired the skill of balloon modelling. It's been putting food on the Gardner family table for years.

Her absence has meant that I've been able to cover myself in glory (and blisters) by achieving my goal of building a set of bunk beds...


It's not so much a labour of love as a labour of Hercules, and the phrase 'never again' springs to mind. At one point I got trapped inside the frame and had to phone Lisa to come and rescue me. But having removed eight sacks of junk from the children's bedroom, moved a wardrobe, a bookcase and a chest of drawers, and thrown out a cupboard, two cabinets and a table, I finally reached the point where the kids could go to bed...


Although at the moment they're mostly using it for playing on my work iPad. And they're still mastering the concept of separate beds.

I've been supported through this endeavor by an eclectic mix of DVDs which I had playing on the kids' portable TV while I worked. I followed Taxi to the Dark Side with the complete box set of Gimme Gimme Gimme, so frankly it's been torture all the way.

Understandably, all of this has taken a considerable toll on both my physical and mental health...


So I could do with a holiday now. Unfortunately I'm back to work tomorrow. But the important thing is that the children can relax...


Not that Toby ever had a problem...


And to be honest, he needed a lie-down after being scared witless by a dinosaur...


Interestingly, Toby's terrified-by-a-prehistoric-killer look is a lot like his watching-3D-TV pose...


He has the permanent look of a Thunderbirds puppet.

As for Lisa, she's coped well with the trials and tribulations of having a husband attempting DIY for a week, but I put that down entirely to the Valentine's gift I gave her. She's been reading a lot about the theraputic aspects of art, and the calming effect that painting can have on the mind, body and soul. Naturally she can't draw to save her life, and I felt that painting-by-numbers might be a step too far, so I bought her a colouring book. It was either that or Fuzzy Felt, and that's harder to stick on the fridge.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

It's a bigamist's nightmare: a card from the wife, but no clue as to which one...


It's true, I have got surprises planned for later. I'm planning to go out and buy myself a new printer. Lisa has no idea. I don't actually need a new printer, but the ink's run out on the old one, and I can't be bothered to find out what cartridges I need.

Anyhoo, it might take two to tango on Valentine's Day, but it only takes one to do the freestyle...


The small print at the bottom states that "THIS CERTIFICATE DOES NOT PERMIT THE BEARER TO TEACH", although it does allow her to boss people around against their will. But contrary to (her own) popular opinion, Amelie's not a qualified dance instructor. She is, however, the proud owner of a turquoise rosette, which is almost certainly the highest and most prestigious award available to six-year-olds in the field of professional dancing. And if you're wondering what kind of intricate steps one has to master to achieve this accolade, here's your answer...


It's not strictly ballroom, but the good thing about Freestyle is that you can basically do what you like. And the reason you can see her stomach is because she's tall for her age, not because she's morbidly obese. No, really.

Anyhoo, while I attempt to solve the puzzle of who knocked Amelie's jigsaw on the floor...


... the good news is that the bunk beds have arrived...


So if I want to leave the flat, I either have to put them together, or lose three stone. The latter might be quicker and easier, but I could do with a lie down, so I'm planning to attempt the former.

Sunday, February 01, 2015

Amelie's on her high horse again...


Yes, after just one hour-long lesson at The Three Greys Riding School last weekend, Amelie's been transformed into a cross between National Velvet and Lester Piggott. That's her coach in the background. The thoroughbred stallion she's riding is called Arundel, which was pleasing news, as she assumed it had been named after the kingdom in Frozen.

We had a voucher for a one-off, half-price lesson, and we're not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so we had breakfast on the hoof and trotted off to the neighbouring village of Pyecombe last Sunday morning. It was an eye-opening experience for Toby, who discovered that horses aren't quite as big as he thought they were...


We could have paid extra for Toby to ride a Shetland pony, but frankly he struggles to stay on a swing, so I thought it best not to involve animals in his list of potential rides. Amelie, on the other hand, was a complete natural, and was soon cantering around the paddock like Harvey Smith without the V signs...


Having witnessed the skillful way she pressed the accelerator pedal by kicking her horse in the ribs, the instructor realised she was some kind of horse-whispering Equus-type figure, and before long, she was the only one allowed to ride around unescorted...


Admittedly, she had the occasional problem with steering, and ended up in the middle of the paddock a couple of times, but having proved her ability on the training ground, she was soon leading her horse to water by heading out onto the South Downs, past a couple of flooded fields...


She was driving one-handed by that point. It'll be bareback and no hands next time.

Of course, if her father has his way, there won't be a next time. I'm not paying thirty pounds a week to freeze my extremities in a manure-covered yard on a muddy hillside. So I'm saying no. Admittedly, I might be shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, as Amelie loved it, and would happily go back daily, but I'm hoping to distract her with something cheaper. Like the washing up.

But one activity that I am happy to invest my time and money in is in eating out. So having reached the point where we could no longer feel our fingers, we headed down the hill for Sunday lunch at The Plough...


One thing I've learnt, however, is that a Gardner Family Fun Day doesn't end at lunchtime. It ends when everyone's lost the will to live. Which is usually early afternoon. So with lunch over, we ventured back out into the big freeze, and headed to Peacehaven beach for a bit of fossil hunting...


Despite Amelie's insistence on lining up her prehistoric finds on a bit of driftwood, those aren't actually old fossils. Although there are a couple in this picture...


If you think Toby looks wet, you'd be right. He'd just been soaked by a wave breaking over the sea wall. It was like the log flume ride at Thorpe Park, only cheaper, and quite a bit funnier. It put Lisa in a good mood for the rest of the day. I'm tempted to take him back there this afternoon so I can get it on film...

Sunday, January 25, 2015

I came home the other night and said "Lisa! Someone just called you an owl!". She looked at me, slightly startled, and said "What??"

Obviously I was aiming for 'who', but to be honest, my hopes weren't high when I started. The good news, however, is that I no longer need to rely on this family's comedy skills to get us onto Britain's Got Talent, because out of nowhere, Toby's developed the ability to levitate...


He can float at will, six inches off the ground. We're going to save a fortune on carpet wear and tear.

As it happens, I'm particularly pleased to see Toby going up in the world, because I'm currently implementing Operation Stack in the children's bedroom, and I need someone to climb this ladder...

Those bunk beds are currently on order, and due to arrive next month on Friday the 13th. What could possibly go wrong? I have to attend a training course on Monday the 16th to teach me how to recruit people without ending up in court for my bad decisions, but I then have four days annual leave in which to throw out 90% of the kids' worldly possessions, take Toby's dilapidated cot to the tip, and single-handedly build a set of bunk beds.

My aim is for the children's bedroom to look more like the one in that picture, and less like the junk shop below...


Obviously it will still feature my mother-in-law in a cowboy hat - that's pretty much unavoidable - but she'll look less like a cowboy in an Indian slum.

Achieving this miracle might require getting rid of the children for a while...


... and ironically, building a set of bunk beds would be a lot easier if we didn't have children at all, but I'll give them the address of the nearest Travelodge, and we'll trust the rest to luck.

Anyhoo, the fact that I'm now going a fortnight between blog posts is a measure of how crazy my life has become. I had a day off on Monday, and spent most of it working from home. I did, however, manage to whisk my wife away for lunch at the marina...


That's a pizza oven in the background, not a condom in my ear.

As for the weekends, we're now taking Amelie to swimming lessons, gymnastics, and - from next Saturday onwards - cheerleading. The aim is to build up her activities to the point where we don't see her.

We also have to factor in the odd Frozen party...


... and this morning we're taking her horse riding. Interestingly, I was chatting to one of the other NHS service managers before Christmas, and she asked me what my children want from Santa. I mentioned that Amelie would quite like a pony, and she started advising me on the price of tack and stabling. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I consider My Little Pony out of our price range, and the closest we'll get to buying a horse is putting two quid on the Grand National.

But that was before Lisa got a Groupon voucher for a half-price, one-off riding lesson. We're getting an hour for fifteen quid. It's usually thirty. And cheerleading is three. Suffice it to say, she'll be getting pom-poms long before a saddle.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

According to this paper by Sir Digby Jones, the former Director General of the CBI and biggest dog in the world, it's important to expose children to risk and encourage their natural thirst for adventure, so that they can build confidence, courage and coping skills. As the study says, "Overprotecting our children – swaddling them in cotton wool – is bad for society, the economy and young people’s preparation for adulthood in a world full of uncertainties".

So I like to spend my weekends watching Amelie try to kill her brother...


To be honest, the only natural thirst Amelie has is for fizzy drinks, but the way Toby keeps shouting "Higher!" when he's on the verge of catastrophic injury does indicate that he's got the adventurous spirit. And no common sense.

In reality of course, that's what they call 'managed risk'. The ground is a lot softer, and my children's heads a lot harder, than they appear. I've also weighed up the risk-reward ratio of an appearance on You've Been Framed. So frankly everything's under control.

But on the subject of near-death experiences, here's an ambulance upside down...


If you think Toby was taking a risk on that swing, try taking a photo on your phone whilst driving past fifteen policemen.

That was the A23 just outside Brighton on Thursday evening, where an ambulance was doing an impression of a dead fly on the northbound carriageway. Fortunately, I was going south. According to The Argus, the ambulance was heading for The Royal Marsden, which is ironic as that's where I'd just come from. I'm glad I didn't ask them for a lift.

I had a meeting in Chelsea on Thursday with the head of something important, whose office is just off the Kings Road. It gave me the chance to stand here, and wonder how my life could have turned out if I'd been more like Tracey Emin...


Less tidy, probably. The circle line was up the creek, so rather than getting off at Sloane Square, I walked from Victoria, taking in the National Audit Office...


... which could clearly do with a clean, before passing numerous exclusive boutiques, and an extremely nice chocolate shop, which tempted me to open my mouth but not my wallet.

It's been a particularly productive working week, which included my first full Saturday, and has left today as a one-day weekend, but the pot of gold at the end of the traffic jam...


... has been the hiring of a potential superstar for my already glittering team. No one has had a more successful Saturday in Wimbledon since Martina Navratilova retired.

So I returned home yesterday evening on a high, impaled my daughter on a pole outside Asda, and did the weekly shop...


After which Amelie stole my iPhone, downloaded a McDonalds app she'd seen advertised on her Happy Meal, and took this photo of Toby...


He's lovin' it. And he's rocking the Dr Evil look. Which is appropriate, as he's currently destroying the world, one piece of furniture at a time.