When a stroke strikes, you have to act FAST...


I saw Amelie's Face turn to a smile, her Arm go up, and the start of a short Speech about how much she loves cats, and I knew it was Time to grab my camera before she got clawed in the face.

Lisa's sister and her family have gone to Wales for the weekend. I'm not entirely sure why, but I think it's some kind of mobile counselling service for depressed rugby fans. So as experienced animal handlers (Amelie can pick up anything smaller than a hippo), we've kindly agreed to feed their cats. The one above is Basil, a sage old cat that Amelie has a lot of thyme for. He's the replacement for Pie, who got a little run down in March.

So like a feline meals-on-wheels service, we drove over to Portslade (or West Hove as Lisa's sister likes to call it) yesterday lunchtime to save a couple of cats from starvation. It's the first time that Amelie's met Basil, but she's an old friend of Tiger. This is what they looked like in June 2010, and here they are yesterday...


They've both grown up so much. Amelie's a lot bigger, and Tiger's a great deal wiser. He kept at least a metre away from her at all times.

Anyhoo, our first attempt at cat-feeding went pretty well. Admittedly, most of the food was eaten by Basil, while Amelie was busy chasing Tiger up the stairs, but the way I look at it, if one of them survives the weekend, we've done a good job. I did ask Lisa if we should empty their litter trays while we were there, but she assured me that we hadn't been asked to do so, and that she's not going within three feet of cat poo without an industrial hazard suit and a face mask. And I didn't know where they kept those. So I hope they've got an air freshener when they get home.

I spent yesterday afternoon doing a bit of Optical Coherence Tomography at the Sussex Eye Hospital with this bloke and the machine on the left. Those are twenty-five words I never thought I'd write. Mainly because I struggle to string a Coherence sentence together. I've never done OCT before, but having looked at the calendar, this seemed like the right month to try it.

In addition to operating the camera, I also posed as a patient and had an OCT done on my own eyes, which was an interesting experience. Suffice it to say that the person who designed the opening titles of The Matrix clearly suffered from macular oedema and was seeing an ophthalmologist. Frankly, Topcon could sue for breach of copyright.

But the moving green grid the patient has to look at is nothing compared to the visuals on the other side of the machine. This is the screen the operator gets to see after every scan of the retina...


That's what you call eye candy.

It's amazing the things you find when you're looking for photos of children on the internet.

Let me rephrase that. After publishing yesterday's blog post, Lisa mentioned that every day this week, The Argus have printed a couple of random shots from their Cute Kids contest, in an effort to encourage more people to enter. Naturally, we're too cheap to buy the paper, so I presume she got this information from her mother, who's the last of the big spenders, and reads The Argus religiously. She's even in it on a regular basis.

So I began idly perusing the Argus website, and the site of The Brighton and Hove Studio, which is home to the photographers who took Amelie's picture yesterday, in the hope of finding some under-age models who could put a smile on my face. BH Studio have some nice shots of Katie Price, and one of Kerry Katona (so they clearly have a classy clientele), but their site also features this announcement: "CUTE KIDS Pictures will be uploaded and on a gallery after all the pictures have appeared in THE ARGUS newspaper (Oct 24-28th)". So there's currently no cuteness available.

But if you think the search was a waste of a time, you'd be wrong. In the course of my investigations, I clicked on a link, and ended up at this website, where you can purchase photos that have appeared in The Argus. There's a red button in the top left where you can search the images 'By Keywords and Date Range', so on a whim, I entered the word 'cat', and the dates of the second week of February 2009, and to my complete surprise, it came up with this:


That's twenty photos of me drowning a cat in the shower, and then strangling it in the living room. Despite worldwide media attention at the time (and I'm reliably informed that Chloe's still pretty big in Lithuania), I'm fairly certain that no more than eight of those were ever published. Twelve of them I've never seen. Let's face it, if they'd ever shown them to me, I'd have insisted they publish this one...


I don't know if I've been airbrushed by The Argus or touched up by The Times, but either way, my skin has never looked so good. Frankly I could pass for a twelve-year-old. Albeit with stubble and premature baldness. You'd never believe I had a four-month-old baby in the next room.

I've checked out the purchasing options for that picture, and apparently I can have it printed onto a t-shirt for £16. So that's Lisa's Christmas present sorted.

Here's a rhetorical question for you:


Although if you need an answer, it's "Duh".

I discovered yesterday that The Argus are running a cute kids contest at the moment. Obviously if Amelie enters, it'll be a no contest, but that aside, if you take your child along to the Churchill Square shopping centre any day this week, you can have their portrait done for free by a professional photographer. The resulting pics will then be published in The Argus, and the great people of Brighton will use their skill and judgement to select the cutest. At which point the person with the most friends wins.

Obviously, Amelie's been caught on camera many times at Churchill Square, but usually it's by security guards armed with CCTV. She's no stranger to being snapped though. Only the night before last, she woke up at 3am, saying a crocodile was after her. To be honest, at the moment she's not so much living the dream, as having a nightmare. She burst into tears at 10 o'clock last night, and when we went in and asked her what was wrong, she told us a talking giraffe had upset her. It's like she's being haunted by the ghost of Johnny Morris.

So while I was slaving over a hot retina at work today, I instructed Lisa to soothe our disturbed daughter by taking her out for a photo shoot. Like all top models, Amelie won't get out of bed for less than fifty quid, which is handy, as that's the prize in each category. I think the word 'great' is a misprint. It cost Lisa three quid to get there on the bus, but that still leaves us £47 up on the deal. Unless you include the 42p we spent on The Argus.

Obviously I wasn't there to witness today's photographic assignment, but I'm reliably informed that Amelie was the very model of professionalism. She marched in there, complained about being kept waiting, then tried to jump the queue, did her best to get into other children's photos, and nearly threw a tantrum when they refused to photograph her dog, Chef. I should explain that Chef is a cuddly German Shepherd I bought from a charity shop. I suggested she call him Shep, but due to a breakdown in communication, and the fact that I was speaking with my mouth full, she mis-heard me, and he's been Chef ever since. It's like we're living in South Park.

Anyway, they took six photos of our little diva this afternoon, two of which Lisa liked, and one of which will be appearing in The Argus on Wednesday, 26th October. So you've got two weeks until I start shamelessly begging for votes.

It's almost a week now since I last mentioned any medical problems (unless you count my morbid obesity), so in case anyone's concerned about my current state of health, I'd just like to reassure everyone reading this that I'm still ill. Frankly I've been at death's door for so long, the Grim Reaper thinks I'm squatting in his porch.

I returned to work last Thursday, so with perfect timing, my throat got a lot worse on Friday, and by Sunday I was coughing. Fortunately the soreness is now a lot better. So today I've developed a blocked up nose. I feel like I'm playing the I-Spy game of common ailments. I coughed my way to Crawley yesterday, and today I've been sniffing around Haywards Heath. By tomorrow I'll be vomiting all over Brighton.

I obviously look pretty rough too. One of my patients today was telling me about his experiences at a minor public school in Leamington Spa (I didn't tell him I went to a Comprehensive in Basildon), and having mentioned his old GCE exams, he said "It's all GCSEs now of course, but I'm sure you remember doing GCEs". I've never been so offended in my life. I was going to say "No, but my wife does", before realising that Lisa's finest achievement was a CSE in Child Studies. I wasn't sure he'd be that impressed.

But while I crawl slowly into my sick bed and die, here's an interesting article to read. Judging by the 1,000 angry and insulting comments it's received within a few hours, not everyone agrees with the author's conclusions, but it's always good to challenge your own perception of the truth. And as everyone knows, alcohol changes your perceptions. I expect she'd had a drink when she wrote it.

I think last night went pretty well. Let's face it, the last time Lisa went on a date, she had to get her Mum to tell the bloke she'd gone abroad the following day. At least this time she's still in the country. Obviously I don't want to get carried away, but she says she'd like to see me again, so I think I'll play it cool and phone her in a couple of days. Unless I get a better offer in the meantime.

As for my diet, I've successfully completed two days of deprivation, although I've also had fair warning of the temptations I'll face. One of the receptionists at Crawley Hospital (she refers to herself as 'Front of House', so I keep expecting her to show me to my seat with a torch) has just become a grandmother for the first time. As a result, I spent most of today flicking through baby photos and hearing what labour feels like on two paracetamol. For the mother, that is. The grandmother was on something much stronger. I received an apology from her for the fact that I'd missed the celebratory cake last week, followed by a promise that she'll bring one in especially for me next week. I didn't like to tell her I'm on a diet. Mainly because I probably won't be by then.

After a day hearing about other people's bundles of joy, I returned home to my own this evening. Unfortunately she was busy ironing, so I quickly moved on to Amelie, who was swanning about the place in her superstar dressing gown with a cat under her arm. Having told me how much she'd missed me today, she then launched into her latest comedy routine by asking me why the chicken crossed the road. I said I didn't know, so she told me it was because he wanted to get away. To be honest, I laughed mainly out of politeness.

But never one to miss an opportunity for a bit of comedy improv, I turned on my camera and the two of us started riffing like old showbiz pros. It was essentially 'Whose Line Is It Anyway' for people with no sense of humour. I might not have unearthed a great deal of talent, but I did uncover a dastardly plot...


I think Lisa's Mum is after my iPad.

The main thing to come out of our first anniversary celebrations ten days ago (apart from two sore throats and a lengthy Asda receipt) is the fact that Lisa and I need to spend more quality time together. Too often, our evenings are spent catching up on chores, tidying up after Amelie, and looking up pointless stuff on Wikipedia. By the time we've done the washing up, picked the Wotsits out of the sofa and discovered if Roddy Frame's married, it's usually time for bed.

So after much discussion, we've decided to designate two evenings a week as 'date nights'. They'll be chore-less, computer-free evenings of love, romance and trash TV. We've vowed to watch nothing more classy than Sky Living and Channel 5. Even BBC Three will need special permission. The intention is to rebuild our lives from the wreckage of hurricane Amelie, and do what we used to do before she was born. Which was essentially to watch Big Brother and slag off celebrities. It was an old-fashioned courtship.

It means that I have until 7pm tonight to write this blog post, otherwise the plug gets pulled, and I lose the lot in the name of romance. When Amelie goes to bed, the computer goes off, the TV goes on, and we're officially dating.

Obviously time's running out, and I haven't cleaned my teeth yet, but there is one thing I still need to do today, and that's publish this photo...


Ignore the green goddess on the right, I'm the one you should be looking at. I've started a new diet today, and that's my official 'before' photo. Although it was taken after my parents' anniversary meal. I feel like I've started more diets over the years than I've had hot dinners, but obviously if that were true, I wouldn't be the size that I am. The important thing is that this time I'm serious. If I'm not a shadow of my former self by Christmas, you have my permission to shoot me.

But preferably not with a gun.

I think yesterday is best summed up by this photo...


We basically shopped til Amelie dropped. Which is surprising as we only made it to one store.

But what a store. With the whole family reunited for twenty-four hours, and a rare chance to do something meaningful together, we decided to head out to TK Maxx yesterday morning. Not only do they have a wide choice of top brands at low prices, but it's the nearest shop with free parking.

After a night of bottomless chips and topless photos, my parents decided to conserve their energy by staying at home, but the rest of us piled into two cars and drove a mile down the road for what was described as "a quick trip" to TK Maxx. I'm not sure how long we spent there in the end, but if you compare the photos of me when we arrived to the ones of me when we left, I look noticeably older. Frankly, people have had shorter prison sentences. At one point I wished I'd packed an overnight bag.

But it was worth the investment of time. Amelie and I had a major argument in-depth debate about the pros and cons of spending £12.99 on a Zhu Zhu Hamster set, during which I proposed the motion that a cuddly pink hippo (which happened to be only £2.99) would be a lot more fun, and we eventually compromised on a Third & Bird play set for seven quid.

Having wiped away the tears of that discussion (more mine than hers), we then assisted Big Sis in the purchase of shoes. She was keen to hear our views on this pair...


That's not a security tag on the left, it's the result of Big Sis's ASBO. So after careful consideration, I told her I wasn't that keen, my sister-in-law felt they gave out the wrong impression, and my niece said they were "a bit too Essex". It was food for thought for Big Sis, and she devoured it with relish. And then bought them anyway.

By the time we started trying on hats...


... my brother had had enough, and decided to wait in the car. We told him we'd be out in a minute. And then spent another half hour in the changing rooms. By the time we left, Amelie had persuaded me to buy the pink hat in the first photo above (for her, not for me), and Sis had filled a trolley with the contents of the ladies clothing section. We eventually walked out of the shop tired, penniless, but completely satisfied...

... until three hours later, when we decided to go back. Sis wanted to return a woollen dress which barely covered her hips, and Amelie's always up for a bit of extortion, so we drove back to the Maxx for round two. An hour later, Sis had another dress, Am had some new shoes, and I'd bought Lisa a potato ricer. Let's face it, if you're spiralling fast towards bankruptcy, you might as well have some decent mash.

Someone's been to a classy restaurant...


And I don't mean Chloe. I've never been to Claridges, but I bet they don't give you free balloons.

Anyhoo, yesterday was my parents' Golden Wedding Anniversary, a major milestone in anyone's life, and one that Lisa and I are only likely to see if we head down the cryogenics route. As a thirteen-year-old, I remember buying them a small silver cross. Ten years ago, I bought my Mum a ruby necklace. And this year I let them hold Amelie's rabbit for ten minutes. It's the recession biting.

But the good news is that I'm always willing to eat in someone else's honour, so we took my parents out last night to the White Hart, a Beefeater Grill in the northern reaches of Hastings. They're generally more used to the Wish Tower in Eastbourne, so anything more upmarket than a Happy Eater and they tend to get giddy. Lisa and I had told them it would just be us and them, but needless to say we were lying through our teeth, and had arranged for Big Sis to drive up from Wiltshire, and my brother to come down from Essex. Frankly the number of e-mails that were exchanged trying to organise this thing would have been enough to crash the servers of a small country.

In addition, we've been working on a professionally printed photo book of their married life for what seems like an eternity. Sis stole my parents photo albums about nine months ago, Lisa started sorting through them in August, I started scanning them, Sis started arranging them, Amelie started laughing at them, Bro started deleting them, and after a few late nights and a lot of expense, the finished book finally arrived on Thursday.

It was all worth it though. The book is essentially a record of how they've gone from this...


... to this...


... in fifty years, without the use of Botox. Frankly the only face lifts they need are help getting their double chins off the table.

Anyhoo, with my brother's wife and daughter, my wife and daughter, and Big Sis's lack of success in the dating game, there were nine of us for dinner. And very nice it was too. All Beefeater meals now come with 'bottomless chips', which means you can stick two fingers up at Dr Atkins and induce another potato famine by eating as many as you like. Suffice it to say, I made good use of that offer. But then I didn't have a starter. Apart from the six we collectively shared.

Overall, it was a cultured evening of fine dining, good conversation, fun, laughter and music. Especially when DJ Amelie hit the decks...


Admittedly there was a slight lull in the frivolity when the bill arrived, and I sat there for two minutes wondering if I could remortgage our council flat, but to my mind, any evening where you come away with a photo of yourself fondling your own man boobs, has to be considered a success...


I have no idea what I was doing there. I think the magnitude of the occasion got to me a bit, and I thought I was Barbara Windsor in Carry on Camping.

So I might have let the side down a bit, but fortunately my family know how to pose for a nice photo...


We'll have that in a photo book in forty-nine years time.

It was fifty years ago today that this photo was taken...


I'm off to buy a box of Terry's All Gold, and take my parents out for a meal.

One of the advantages of being at death's door is that you can hear the radio coming out of hell's kitchen. I was popping some ibuprofen at the sink yesterday morning, and I happened to catch the 'Pause for Thought' on Radio 2. Which is something I never normally stop to think about. This edition focused on the benefits of altruism and the value of doing good deeds, but oddly, I found myself thinking far more about this moment...


I suppose it's one way to escape the fires of hell. I should point out that the lady on the right is comedienne Miranda Hart. Although when Amelie saw the picture, she said "Is it Mummy?"

Anyhoo, I'm still a little peaky, in fact I'm barely any better, but like a brave little soldier (with Gulf War Syndrome, shell-shock and an itchy trigger finger) I returned to work today in the hope of killing off my colleagues. I've also managed to edit together Amelie's birthday footage into an eighteen-minute montage of mindless movie magic. Film-making isn't easy when your throat's too sore to shout 'Cut!', but the star never listens to me anyway, so it didn't make much difference.

As I said this time last year, I don't really expect anyone to sit through all eighteen minutes of this. It's really just there as a record of Am's childhood, so that when she divorces us in ten years time, we can claim back the cost of the presents. Sadly, I had to edit out the girl's attempts at cake decorating, due to the threat of legal action from Lisa, who felt that I hadn't quite captured her best side. It meant that I had to lose the moment when Amelie stood back, admired her birthday cake with the wild eyes of a pyromaniac, and shouted "I want to put some fire on it!"

But in the absence of magical childhood moments like that, it's well worth winding forward to the nine-minute mark, to find out what she really thinks of her grandparents...


To be honest, I think they're bad news too.

I always knew that romance was bad for you. Ever since I wooed Lisa on Friday night by taking her to Asda for our anniversary, I haven't been quite right. We both woke up on Saturday morning with a sore throat, which I took to be the after-effects of whispering sweet nothings to each other until we were hoarse, but while Lisa's kissing disease cleared up pretty quickly, mine seems to have lingered. Probably because I'm too red-blooded.

I battled my way to East Grinstead on Monday, but despite being in a health centre all day, I only got worse, and by the end of the clinic I was more ill than most of the patients. I returned home with a splitting headache and razor blades in my throat. Which will teach me to be more careful when I shave.

I was no better on Tuesday morning, so reluctantly I phoned in sick. Which isn't easy when it hurts to talk. I was only expecting to be off for a day, so despite still suffering with a headache and sore throat, I phoned the office again in the afternoon and told them I was hoping to be back today. That's what they call tempting fate. Within an hour, my chronic prostatitis, which last flared up in late June (it's so useful having a blog), decided that now would be the perfect time to put in an appearance. I spent the next two hours feeling like I was going through a difficult labour whilst suffering from swine flu.

An afternoon of agony took it out of me somewhat, and as the clock approached 9pm, I went into the bedroom where Lisa was reading a book, and told her that I might need to go to bed early. Five minutes later, I'd fallen asleep in my clothes, and hardly moved for eleven hours.

Suffice it to say, I phoned in sick again today. And then went back to bed. To be honest, I'm barely awake now.

In the 2011 Garfield Lookalike Competition, one entrant is emerging as the clear favourite...


That’s Amelie loitering with intent. Well, next to the tent. You can tell she’s turned three because she now fits the age 4-5 dress she’s wearing.

But enough about Am, here’s a photo of me...


That was us celebrating as a family last night, shortly before putting the birthday girl to bed, collapsing onto the sofa, and weeping uncontrollably into the cushions.

I’m joking of course. In reality, we were clearing up until midnight, and could only dream of weeping into a nice cushion.

Anyhoo, suffice it to say that Amelie did eventually wake up yesterday morning. In fact her very first words were “Is it my birthday now?”. Words which were swiftly followed by “Can I have a present?” and “Where’s the cake?”. We began the day by watching her open all the gifts we’d bought her. That didn’t take long. She basically rips the paper to pieces like an industrial shredder, takes one look at the contents, and then moves on to the next one. But before long, she was settled down on the floor with her new dog under her arm, playing with her favourite gift from last year...


To be honest, I don’t actually remember ever giving it to her, but she seems to think it’s hers.

Obviously the most important thing for any young person’s birthday is to put the child first. So having looked outside at the beautiful weather and the sparkling sea, Lisa decided to go out on her own for a few hours. I forget why. But she left me with strict instructions to give Amelie whatever she asked for on her birthday.

So after a nutritious breakfast of ice lollies and biscuits, Amelie asked if I’d take her out somewhere. We ended up at the toddlers’ playground on the seafront, soaking up a few rays, and queuing for the children’s toilets with a load of burly blokes from the London to Brighton Landrover Run.

Two ice creams later, she and I returned home to prepare for her party. I’ve always said that you can judge the quality of your birthday bash by the party animals who attend...


And if your living room looks like the day room from a care home, you’ve got problems.

But as it happens, a lot of Amelie’s closest friends are pensioners. I think it’s because she’s mature for her age. And old people are more gullible. So we spent an enjoyable few hours celebrating her birthday in the company of her grandparents, whilst eating mini Cornish Pasties to the sound of Amelie chanting “I want another present!” ad infinitum. To be honest, you begin to tune it out after a while. Especially if you focus on the fact that she’ll be leaving home in fifteen years.

Having rolled around in her new tent, done some hand-printing on the carpet, and watched the birthday girl head-butt the furniture, we were soon fanning the flames of obesity by setting fire to a pig...


But once Amelie had blown out the candles on her Peppa Pig cake, and we’d each helped ourselves to a slice, it was time to call it a day. Before retiring for the night, Amelie informed us that she’d like it to be her birthday "forever", but having explained to her the practical difficulties of that suggestion, and refused her two-hundredth request for another present, we put her to bed in tears (mostly ours), and breathed a sigh of relief that it was all over for another year.

That’s the written account. The film version will be out in a day or two.

It's Amelie's third birthday! Any normal child would have been awake since 4am and excited to the point of hysteria, but it's now 8:25 and she's still asleep. She's so like her mother. It's handy though, because half the balloons Lisa blew up yesterday evening seem to have deflated overnight, so I think we still have some work to do.

Anyway, despite her sleeping through it, it's obviously a momentous day. Turning three brings with it a new level of maturity, wisdom and intelligence, meaning that Amelie now has the ability to "think, to ask questions and to understand", thereby allowing her to indulge in the intellectual pursuit of modern art appreciation.

Unfortunately I showed her the picture last night when she was still two...


I think it was the six-pack that gave it away.

Traditionally, the first anniversary is paper, so I left Lisa a note yesterday morning saying I was going back to the conference. This year's trade stands turned out to be an ischemic wasteland when it came to free gifts and competitions. I came away with a couple of pens and a handshake. But the conference talks were much better on the second day. In addition to some interesting research on automated grading, we heard from a blind lady who put the other speakers in the shade by opening a window on the patients' experience of retinopathy. It was basically an insight into the sightless, from a woman with no eyes but great vision. She was entertaining, informative, and ended up having to be physically dragged from the stage before she told another anecdote. She gets my vote for speaker of the year.

In addition to her, I admired the vitalstatistics of this lady, who taught me a thing or two during a brief chat in the morning coffee break. She has some drop-dead figures, and she's not afraid to use them. I also liked the talk from Massimo Porta, who made a big entrance (that's an Italian joke) at the end of the morning about the history and future of diabetes treatments. Unfortunately I had to leave before he announced the cure, as I had a clinic in the afternoon.

I returned home at tea time to find two exciting-looking parcels waiting for us. The first was from my brother, and contained a birthday gift for Lisa, a birthday gift for Amelie, and an anniversary card for us both. The second was a sparkly gold box addressed to me and Lisa, and marked 'Extremely Fragile'. So I knew it must be to do with our marriage.

And so it proved. We opened it with great excitement, to find an exclusive gift from Jon & Steph Cheshire. They'd taken the paper anniversary quite literally by sending us a copy of the Milton Keynes Citizen. Naturally I was over the moon, as I thought at first it was the newspaper that the legendary Mick Kitson used to write for. Before realising that was the Leighton Buzzard on Sunday. Which is a bit like fish on a Monday. Probably best avoided.

Anyhoo, having settled down on the sofa to view my copy of Citizen Keynes, I eventually realised I was reading the packing paper, and returned to see what else the box contained. I'd ordered some anniversary truffles from Steph's sweet factory, but in addition to receiving those, I also found an exclusive piece of modern art...


That's now sitting in a 12" x 10" frame on our new bookcase. As the note from the artist states, "Art is an intellectual pursuit. It is not a handbag, it is not a chair. It is something else. So it is necessary to think, to ask questions and to understand". Although to me, it's all about flogging it for lots of money. Let's face it, it's a Cheshire original, featuring a superstar cat. It could be worth millions.

It being our first wedding anniversary, we'd dispatched Amelie to my parents for a night, to allow Lisa and I to go out for a romantic meal. So when I got home from work, I had a quick bath, put on my best clothes, and got myself ready for a lovely evening out with my wife. At which point we decided we were too knackered. So we ordered a pizza instead, and spent the evening at Asda, shopping for party food for tomorrow. I think it was a mistake to get married two days before Amelie's birthday.