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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.

Thursday, January 01, 2015

It's a well known fact that Lisa and I watch a lot of foreign films. Mostly American, but also Australian, and sometimes Canadian too. As long as it's in English, we don't care. But it's been documented here before that in addition to their excellent pastries, we're also partial to a bit of Danish drama. So with last night being New Year's Eve, and the spirit of celebration coursing through our veins, we thought hey, what better way to see in 2015 than with a bit of child sex abuse. And subtitles.

Happy New Year, by the way.

Oddly, Lisa and I weren't invited to any New Year's Eve parties yesterday, which was handy, as it saved us the trouble of coming up with excuses not to go. Ironically, I had a good one this year, as I'd returned from St Leonards yesterday, only to head straight to the doctor's. In addition to spending Christmas with a cold, a touch of sinusitis, and a son who's like a Gremlin after midnight, 2014 drew to a close with the recurrence of this old chestnut. It's my greatest hit, and likes to be re-released every couple of years.

As well as giving me floppy eyes, the tamsulosin I've been on for five years has kept my prostatitis under control, and I've not needed antibiotics since 2012. But that all changed on Tuesday, and as of yesterday afternoon, I'm back on the trimethoprim. And feeling better already.

So having popped a pill on New Year's Eve, the scene was set for a night of fun and ecstasy, and we ended up watching this...


As the poster says, "this is cinema that sinks it's claws into your back". Much like every cat I've ever owned. I'll be writing to Robbie Collin of The Telegraph about the correct use of apostrophe's, but that aside, The Hunt was a very good film. You can track it down on Netflix. In common with many Danish films, it features quite a lot of Fanny, but only because that's the name of the main character's dog.

Anyhoo, Lisa and I both enjoyed it, but it has reduced the chances of either of us volunteering at Beavers. Not that I'll have time in 2015, as my new year's resolution is to get into graffiti. I'm going to vandalise buildings with moss. I've got some yoghurt in the fridge, so I'm just a few weeks away from having a sign on the front door like this...


Except ours will be better. Let's face it, when it comes to moss graffiti, The Gardners is far more appropriate.