You know you're having a bad day when you dress up in a leopard outfit, complete with ears and tail, and you're still not the most convincing cat in the picture...


Let's face it though, their baby might have more realistic fur, but ours can roar louder.

Anyhoo, when my colleague (he's the one on the left) gave me directions to his flat earlier in the week, he uttered the immortal words "You can't miss it". That was the moment I knew we'd never find the place. But the good thing about standing outside the wrong flat, ringing the wrong doorbell for five minutes and getting no response, is that you start to think there's a very real chance that Jeremy Beadle's back from the dead. Which is enough to lift anyone's spirits.

As it transpired, I'd got the right number flat in the right number building. I just happened to be in the wrong road. Fortunately my friends had the good sense to be looking out for someone wandering aimlessly in the wrong direction, and using an advanced navigation system which basically involved shouting, they managed to direct me to their flat.

And I'm glad they did, because it was actually very nice. They'd kitted out the place in leopard print, twinkly lights and brightly coloured knick-knacks just for Amelie. Or maybe it's always like that. Either way, she matched the sofa so well that she all but disappeared, and we almost went home with a cushion.

Personally I knew I was going to have a good afternoon the moment I walked through the door and detected the smell of home baking. I've already experienced the joys of Hungarian strudel, but yesterday I branched out into the world of Hungarian apple cake. Frankly I don't know why the country's called Hungary. They must be stuffing themselves 24/7. Being too polite to say no, I helped myself to three slices, and sent telepathic messages ordering them to wrap the rest in foil and let me take it home. Fortunately those messages were received, so I was up to five slices by the end of the day.

Anyhoo, we spent an enjoyable three hours chatting about life, art, culture, and cats that steal underwear. We also discovered that Amelie doesn't like Nat King Cole, and having listened to her trying to sing a duet for five minutes, Lisa had to take her into the bedroom for a feed. She seemed to be gone for ages, but let's face it, it takes a long time to rifle through someone's drawers, unearth all their valuables, and stuff them into your bag. I'm surprised she was back as soon as she was. Maybe they had nothing worth stealing.

In Lisa's absence, our hosts mentioned that they'd read my blog post about my colleague's first day at work, which is not the kind of news you want to hear when you can't remember what you wrote. I thought they were going to beat me up while Lisa was out of the room, but fortunately they appreciated the humour, and swore they hadn't put poison in my tea. I still think they were trying to kill me though. Five slices of cake is enough to give anyone a heart attack.

But by the end of the afternoon we'd discovered that we all have a lot in common. For a start, we share an interest in Augusten Burroughs: they like to read his books, while we prefer to harrass him in public. Then there's our mutual love of photography. My colleague's partner has had work displayed in French art galleries, while I like to stick photos of myself on the web. The similarities are uncanny.

Anyhoo, a good time was had by all (unless they were just being polite), and I left with the feeling that we've now put the emphasis firmly on the second syllable of workmate. I thought I might take the last of the apple cake into work tomorrow for the rest of my colleagues to share, but the way it's disappearing, I have to say the chances are looking slim. Which is more than I can say for myself.

Breaking news from the front page of the NHS staff intranet...

I think it's a warning that the Chief Executive's sending out another of his entertaining e-mails about targets. It couldn't have come at a worse time - we've just had a manufacturer's recall on morphine.

But anyhoo, Lisa, Amelie and I are off out for the afternoon. One of my colleagues and his partner have invited us round for a cup of tea (and possibly a slice of cake, though I don't want to get my hopes up). They're the people responsible for Amelie's leopardskin booties, so we're all going dressed as big cats.

Amelie's been practicing her scary leopard face and big claw hands...


... and I've been curled up asleep on the sofa.

I had a text message at 3am this morning from Big Sis in Australia. It reads:

"I have started flying multi-engine aircraft this week. Just landed and hit a bird with one of the propellers. The Australian wildlife must hate me."

Well not all of them. The sharks still seem to like her. And I'm sure the family of the dead kangaroo have learnt to live with their grief. Watching a woman wash the blood of your murdered relative off the front bumper of her car must bring a real sense of closure.

Anyway, Sis might be a big galah, but frankly the ex parrot had it coming. Everyone knows that when Big Sis takes to the skies, it's safer to walk. Personally I think it's another feather in her cap. Albeit one caked with the blood of an innocent victim. She'll be moving up to bigger planes soon, so she can start gunning for the emus.

Blimey, is that the time? I'm due at work in twelve minutes...

Wherrrrrre did you get that hat, where did you get that hat..?


She got it from Lisa's cousin if you must know.

Amelie spent yesterday visiting her Great Aunt & Uncle on the other side of town. They haven't seen her since October 10th, when they gave us forty quid to buy her something nice, and we blew it all on a load of furry insects. So I expect they wanted to find out how well Amelie's been getting on with her Garden Friends. Thank God she can't talk.

But whilst there, Amelie bumped into her First Cousin Once Removed, who presented her with the hand-knitted extravaganza above. Speaking as someone who once knitted a six-inch square blanket for a guinea pig (I think I was studying for my A-levels at the time), I have to say it's an impressive piece of work. Frankly there's no way she got her skills from Lisa's side of the family.

As for today, well the breaking news from work is that the Chief Pharmacist, head of the entire Brighton and Sussex University Hospitals NHS Trust Pharmacy Department, thinks Amelie looks like me, and is very cute. So she must be wrong on one count.

But perhaps the best news of the day is this...


It's official: Amelie's now richer than her parents.

It was Lisa's soap night last night (not to be confused with her bath night, which is far less frequent). So as soon as I heard the wailing caterwaul of the Coronation Street theme tune, I hit 'publish' on my blog, and fled to Lidl for some kitchen rolls. Amelie wanted to escape with me, but I didn't think a shop which sells chainsaws and mincers to people from the Whitehawk Estate would be a safe environment for a child. To you and me it might be kitchen and garden equipment, but to them it's modus operandi and evidence disposal.

So I went on my own. There might be safety in numbers, but it's easier to watch one back than two. As usual, I completed my shopping trip by picking up a copy of the always-entertaining Lidl catalogue for the week ahead, and needless to say I wasn't disappointed. This edition features a satellite navigation system for only £89.99. Or £88.19 if you get it after the VAT decrease.

Admittedly you can buy them slightly cheaper elsewhere, but this one has a very special feature...


Leaving aside the fact that 'restaurants' is clearly a hard word to spell, how fantastic is that? It's a SatNav which directs you straight to the nearest Lidl! Although obviously you wouldn't want to take it there, because it'll only get nicked in the car park.

Is it me, or is it cold out there?


I think I need a suit made out of a duvet.

But the weather aside, I had GMTV on this morning (it encourages me to leave for work), and I saw an interview with the lady on the right. She's the government's pensions minister. And her name's Kitty. I think that's possibly the most brilliant thing Gordon Brown's ever done. What better way to appeal to the elderly than to appoint a pensions minister called Kitty? The Tories have got someone called Maude, but frankly they're not going to beat Kitty unless they find themselves an Ethel. It's like having Van Morrison as Minister for Transport.

Today marks another milestone...

No, that's not the number of death threats I've received (though it's not far off). This is actually my 1,500th blog post. According to Bill Gates and his ability to count, I've written 521,577 words here since 2003. And about half of those are 'anyhoo'. I should probably get out more.

As it happens though, that's not the only milestone I've been celebrating this weekend. And the other one features big numbers too...


Yep, my Dad's done his three score years and ten. Well, almost. It's not actually his 70th birthday until tomorrow, but we celebrated it yesterday in case he doesn't live that long.

As luck would have it, my parents happened to be offloading some more junk at their retirement bungalow in Sussex, so Lisa, Amelie and I took the opportunity to pop over there for a few hours. Obviously we'd drive to the ends of the earth to visit my Dad on his birthday, but let's face it, St Leonards is a lot nearer than Chelmsford.

The good news is that my Dad's fixed the broken doorbell since we first visited. On the downside, it now plays a tune so annoying that you feel like smashing it in with a hammer. So it might not last long. But that aside, I'm pleased to report that six weeks after taking ownership of the property, my parents have finally worked out how to use the bath plug. Apparently it was more complicated than it looked.

Anyhoo, as the cake above states, it was party time in St Leonards yesterday, and let's face it, nobody parties like my Dad. He spent most of the time asleep in a garden chair in the living room. Which was a shame because he missed Amelie crying all afternoon. I think he liked my gift of a bottle of soy sauce though. Admittedly he insisted I take it back home with me at the end of the day, but I think that just shows the generosity of the man.

As for the birthday meal, we gave my Dad the choice of any eating establishment within a five mile radius. He chose the local chippy. You have no idea how hard it is to get candles into a haddock.

But the best thing about a family birthday is being reunited with your loved ones...


It's the first time I've seen Chloe in over two months. It was also her first visit to St Leonards, and apparently she'd been up all night crying. She and Amelie have so much in common.

I took the opportunity to give Chloe a quick haircut while I was there, which frankly was no mean feat. I'm not saying she's put on weight since she moved in with my Mum, but it was like shearing a bowling ball. Apparently her strict diet of cat biscuits and tuna has been supplemented with porridge, gravy, and basically anything she can get her paws on. It's like the opposite of fat camp at my parents' house. I'd take her to the vet for a gastric bypass, but I don't think she'd fit in her cat box.

Anyhoo, we left St Leonards at 9pm last night and stopped off at Tescos on the way home, shortly after which we were pulled over by the police in Bexhill. Apparently the place is a hotbed of crime and delinquency, populated exclusively by chavs, nutters and people in care homes, so the police were doing random drink-driving checks by the roadside to make sure none of them escaped.

I was asked if I'd had any alcohol that evening, so I said no, and the policeman replied "What, none at all??". He looked incredulous, but fortunately the only bottle he found in my car was the soy sauce, so he had to let me go. It was a lucky escape: Lisa was sitting in the back surrounded by toffee cookies and chocolate muffins. Thank god it wasn't the diet police.

Amelie turned seven weeks on Thursday, and a lot's changed since she was six days old...


She seems to have lost the hair on her temples, but gained a lot of cats on her sleepsuit. I also think her head's changed shape. It now looks less like a turnip and more like a melon, which can only be a good thing. Unless it means she's got water on the brain.

I wheeled Amelie into town yesterday afternoon to meet Lisa, who'd escaped for a couple of hours against her daughter's will. We managed to track her down near the Royal Pavilion, where she introduced us to a friend of hers. The friend admired Amelie for a couple of minutes, before saying "I wonder if she'll have her mother's sense of humour?". We can only hope so. Frankly she'll need it if she's going to survive the next eighteen years.

But that aside, the good thing about having two days off work is that it gives you time to watch rubbish DVDs you bought on the cheap, in the mistaken belief that anything starring Hilary Swank ought to be ok, and not a steaming pile of hokum that feels like it was written by a dyslexic twelve-year-old goth. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Reaping. You might have seen it in HMV for a fiver. Don't be tempted. Trust me, five items from the pound shop would contain more quality.

Apparently the filming of the movie was halted for a week when Hurricane Katrina hit the production mid-shoot. I think it was God's version of a subtle hint. But having spent ninety-five minutes wishing that the devil really was after Hilary Swank, I have to say that the film did contain one entertaining moment. It was the bit where the main character explains away the Ten Plagues of Egypt, as featured in the Book of Exodus, the sequel to Genesis, which was the first book God ever wrote.

For those who didn't go to Sunday School, the Ten Plagues of Egypt were: rivers of blood, frogs, lice, flies, dead cows, bad skin, inclement weather, locusts, darkness and death of the first born.

So here's what Hilary Swank had to say about it all:

"In 1400 B.C. a group of nervous Egyptians saw the Nile turn red. But what they thought was blood was actually an algae bloom, which killed the fish, which prior to that had been living off the eggs of frogs.

Those uneaten eggs turned into record numbers of baby frogs who subsequently fled to the land and died.

Their little rotting frog bodies attracted lice and flies.

The lice carried the bluetongue virus, which killed 70% of Egypt's livestock.

The flies carried glanders, a bacterial infection which, in humans, causes boils.

Soon afterwards, the Nile River Valley was hit with a three-day sandstorm, otherwise known as the plague of darkness.

During the sandstorm, intense heat can combine with an approaching cold front to create not only hail, but also electrical storms which would have looked to the ancient Egyptians like fire from the sky.

The subsequent wind would have blown the Ethiopian locust population off course and right into downtown Cairo.

Hail is wet; locusts leave droppings. Spread both on grain, and you have got mycotoxins. Dinnertime in ancient Egypt meant the first-born child got the biggest portion, which in this case meant he ate the most toxins, so he died.

Ten plagues. Ten scientific explanations."

Next they'll be claiming The Da Vinci Code isn't real.

Never mind David Van Day, it's Roddy Frame!

My skills as a bootlegger are definitely improving. It actually sounds like music this time.

Anyhoo, don't tell me what happened on 'I'm a Celebrity' last night - I haven't watched it yet. Though I'm sure David's gone down a storm with his campmates. Have they all voted to kill him yet?

Tragically, Lisa and I didn't live to see the Day last night. We were too busy putting on our glad rags (mine weren't as glad as Lisa's, which is why I'm not in the photo) and hitting the town for the musical event of the season - Roddy Frame's first visit to Brighton in more than three years. The last time we saw him we had to travel all the way to Southampton, which was obviously lovely, but given the choice I'd rather not have to spend the night dodging bullets in a crime-ridden ghetto. I get enough of that at home.

It being a momentous occasion, I took both yesterday and today as annual leave, thereby giving me the chance to spend a few hours looking after Amelie, and leave myself more knackered than if I'd been at work. But after downing a few cups of strong tea, we handed our daughter to her Grandma, and headed off to the Brighton Komedia. I've mentioned here on about three previous occasions that whilst being a nice venue, the Komedia also happens to be equipped with the kind of seats that can cut off the circulation to your buttocks and give you gangrene. Frankly they make Vinnie Jones look soft, and are just as likely to cause you physical pain on a night out.

So I took a cushion. Again. The fact that I'd stood through an entire It Bites gig with one in my hand, didn't put me off. I offered one to Lisa, but she said she didn't remember the seats being that hard. She obviously doesn't read my blog.

Anyhoo, I think it was towards the end of the support act that Lisa started complaining that she couldn't feel her legs and needed some paracetamol to cope with the pain in her lower back. Being both a gentleman and someone who likes to say 'I told you so', I offered her my cushion, but she declined on the grounds that she'd probably never hear the last of it. She ended up folding her coat into a ball and sitting on that instead.

As for that support act, it turned out to be Emily Maguire, a young singer-songwriter who was actually very good. She looked a bit like Big Sis, only ten years younger and not as musically talented. She mentioned that she swapped her luxury home in Britain for a tin shack in the Australian outback, so that's another thing they have in common.

Anyway, Emily was very impressive, and I would have bought her CD, but rather than joining the queue at the merchandise stall, I chose to spend the interval stealing a Roddy Frame poster from the foyer. I still think it was the right decision.

As for the man himself, here he is again...

I was pleased to see he's had his hair cut since we last saw him. He now looks less like Ed Byrne, and more like Lee Harvey Oswald. Which personally I think is a good thing.

I filmed a total of four songs, the others being On the Avenue and Hymn to Grace. They may not have been the biggest hits of their day, but the 320-strong audience all seemed to know them. The gig was a sell-out, so it's now official: Roddy Frame is more popular than Andy Abraham, the singing binman. That's something to put on your CV.

Anyhoo, needless to say, Roddy was superb, and made me wish I'd carried on playing the guitar, instead of getting a job and working for a living. Lisa insisted we hang about in the bar afterwards in the hope that he might put in an appearance, and agree to sign her CD. We waited for a good twenty minutes, but sadly the only Frame we saw was the empty one where I'd stolen the poster. It's probably just as well though. Lisa still maintains that Roddy Frame is the only other man she'd be willing to have children with. So given her fertility levels, a close encounter in a bar could have been a recipe for disaster. She'd have fallen pregnant just posing for a photo.

Well the good news is I've checked the BNP Membership List, and Lisa's not on there. I'd also like to state for the record than none of those eleven Gardners are related to me. And that includes the one with the same name as my Dad. Unless he's using a false address in Birmingham, which is always possible.

But never mind the good news, here's the fantastic news...

It's the return of a national icon. And I don't mean the one on the right.

Oh yes indeed. I've stalked him through Asda...

... embarrassed him in the local press...

... received letters about him from the BBC...

... I've even discussed him with friends of the Prime Minister...

... likened him to a Slush Puppie...

... and danced by the light of his luminous suit.

And now, a mere eighteen months after he knocked on my door in a big rosette, local hero David Van Day has swapped Brighton for the jungle, and made it onto 'I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here'.

Obviously his presence stretches the word 'celebrity' to its very limits, but even so, I can't wait for tomorrow night's episode. Apparently they have to decide whether to give up some of their rations in order to let him join the camp. So I don't expect he'll be on the show after Thursday.

We've all had a busy evening...


That's Lisa in the background, getting chocolate out of the fridge in her dressing gown.

Amelie had a bad night last night, and just wouldn't fall asleep. It's surprising, because I elbowed her in the head before she went to bed, so you'd expect her to have been out cold for a good six hours. Obviously I didn't mean to (and I think Lisa believes that). I was just reaching behind me to pick up her fluffy pink bear coat, complete with furry ears, which I'd used that afternoon when I selflessly took Amelie for a walk so that Lisa could stay in and peel some potatoes. Unfortunately Amelie must have run up behind me at the wrong moment, because as I turned back, my elbow collided with the side of her head.

Fortunately Lisa's not one for recriminations, and doesn't like to point the finger unfairly. I think her exact words were "Now she knows how Baby P felt". After which she attempted to calm and reassure Amelie by saying "Just wait til you've got teeth and Daddy starts knocking them down your throat". She then started looking up the time of her next health visitor appointment, and digging out the leaflet on domestic violence.

She did drop the subject eventually though, and went strangely quiet. When I asked her what she was thinking, she said "I'm just trying to work out how I can mention this on your blog". I thought I'd save her the trouble.

Anyhoo, it's not surprising I was distracted, because shortly before my vicious assault on Amelie, the new series of 'I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here' started on ITV. One of the household names in this year's line-up is none other than Carly Zucker (try not to say "Who?"), the girlfriend of England footballer Joe Cole.

This information prompted Lisa to pose the following question: "I presume Joe Cole is the brother of Ashley Cole, is he?"

Well I'm no football expert, but let's take a look at the evidence...


I'd say the jury's still out on that one.

Being a father definitely has its advantages. I took Amelie to Taj the Grocer yesterday for a some ethnic foodstuffs. They're still refusing to stock Skyr on the grounds that I'm the only person in Brighton who eats it, but I like to pop in from time to time for some guanabana juice and a bit of quinoa. Unfortunately Lisa's about as keen to visit Taj as she is to walk through the doors of Lidl, so I tend to go alone.

Yesterday however, I insisted on taking Amelie with me. She spends a lot of time with her mother, so I wanted to prove to her that not all foods are made by Walkers and Cadbury. And what better place to go than a shop which sells goat yoghurt, soya cheese and giant jars of pickled peppers. It was like Diversity Training at work, but with less food.

So anyway, there we were, standing in the queue next to a water butt filled with olives, when what should I spy across a crowded concourse, but a shelf full of Hello Panda. I'm surprised Amelie didn't see them - she's meant to able to spot a monochrome bear from twenty paces. Obviously I had no idea what Hello Panda was, but I didn't need to know. I was quite happy to pay 79p just for the name.

The problem was that I had a queue of hippies and Arabs behind me, all of whom were just itching to move forward the moment I left for the panda aisle. Which is where fatherhood comes in handy. I simply parked Amelie in the queue, and wandered off to say hello to the pandas, safe in the knowledge that no one would dare move her for fear of being branded a child abductor.

Within seconds (well, minutes - I couldn't decide which flavour to get), I was back in the queue with my daughter, having taught her some valuable life-lessons, not only about food diversity, but also independence.

Hello Panda turned out to be "Fun Filled Biscuits Treats" (I'm not sure all those esses are strictly necessary) from Japan, the home of the giant panda (I think). According to their Wikipedia entry (because obviously they have one), "Printed on the biscuits are cartoon style depictions of giant pandas; presumably this is where the product derives its name".

I'm not sure you can make such wild assumptions. Personally I think it's because they taste of bamboo, and you can't find them anywhere. I've eaten the whole box already, so they're not so much endangered as extinct.

It's Children in Need!

Mainly in need of a nappy change, but even so.

Speaking as part of the government's statistics on child poverty, Amelie (or 'Baby A' as I'm now calling her), urges you all to give generously.

Breaking news from today's All Staff Info-Mail...

Macerator Service Check
Vernatech will be carrying out a macerator service check on the 13 and 14 November throughout all clinical areas in the Royal Sussex County Hospital. If you have any questions, please contact the estates helpdesk.

Yeah, just the one question. What the heck's a macerator?

Anyhoo, while I was at work today eating mini Daim bars and looking up the number of the estates helpdesk, Amelie received her first ever item of post. She's now the proud owner of an NHS medical card. Mind you, she almost didn't get it. It was picked up off the mat by Lisa's Mum, who didn't recognise the name on the envelope and tried to chuck it in the bin. As she said to me an hour ago, "I thought 'Amelie Gardner? Who's that?'". It's not surprising. She's been calling her Emily for the past six weeks.

But the good news is that the NHS card's been saved from the dustman and is now safely stored in my Box of Important Things, along with her birth certificate and two tickets for Roddy Frame. On the downside, it's now recorded in black and white that we've registered Amelie with Lisa's doctor, which is not something to boast about. She's a bit like a tribal medicine woman, only less conventional. Interestingly, we discovered yesterday that our health visitor knows her, which is nice. She described her as "a law unto herself". I could think of better words, but I don't want to sound like a duck.

Anyhoo, the feedback's now in from yesterday's blog post, and the consensus (amongst the one work colleague who offered an opinion) is that Amelie's very cute. Oddly, the feedback on Lisa's new top has been less forthcoming, so I've asked her to pose for another photo on the bonnet of my car...


You're right, she has lost weight.