For whatever reason, my 23 month old daughter has never fully grasped her own name. Sure, she responds to it, but if shown a family photo, she enthusiastically says "mummy...daddy..." and then stops short. We point to her image in the photo and say, "who's that Megan, is that you?", which earns a nod but nothing else.
Until now.
You see, she has finally been convinced that her name is YOU.
Mummy...daddy...you, she says beaming and proud.
Oh well. One step at a time.
We took her to a farm today, near High Wycombe. It cost £9 each to get in, which I thought was a little steep. Growing up there was a farm close by and you could just climb over a gate and get in - there were no people on the doors stamping your farm passport back in the day.
One of the highlights was Sheep Racing. Not as fast as dog racing, or as powerful as horse racing, but watching big woolly sheep running around a track & jumping over fences was pure Adrenalin.
My money was on 'Fleece Lightning' or 'Lamb-borghini', but in the end they finished a disappointing 4th & 5th out of 5.
Thankfully you were only allowed to bet using farm dollars, otherwise I might have lost a serious amount of cashish.
After the race I was going to make a joke about needing a stewards enquiry, but by the time I had thought of it everyone had left.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
the wheels on the bus
One of the things I hate most about my broken leg is not being able to drive.
I miss my air conditioning. If the bus has air conditioning I haven't noticed.
I miss listening to the radio on the way to work. Listening to 3 different songs playing through 3 separate phones at the same time just doesn't do anything for me.
Some bus drivers choose to pull away before I have hobbled safely to my seat. This may be funny in films starring Jim Carrey, but if I fall and break myself again I will be forced to sue you. I have the number for claims direct on speed dial - drivers be warned.
I find myself in a constant state of nervous assessment, judging each new person that gets on the bus, trying to decide if I should offer up my seat...
Are they that old or can they cope standing up better than me?
Is she pregnant or just very fat?
Is that dude staring at me because he wants my seat, or because he's a pervert?
As a relative newbie to the buses, I am not well versed in bus etiquette, but am beginning to think such a thing doesn't actually exist anyway.
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Breaks & Sheiks
Six weeks ago I broke my leg (heroically) playing football. My leg didn't swell up or turn blue, it wasn't "dangly" and no bone was visibly enquiring through my skin, so at first it was difficult to determine whether or not it was actually broken.
Not wanting to appear feeble I followed some well meant advice, and tried to "jog it off". I managed to stand with all my weight on the broken leg for approximately eight tenths of a second before my ankle threatened to buckle, and my leg became rather more painful. At this point I sat back down and waited for the final whistle, some 35 minutes later.
My wife later questioned why I did not insist someone take me to the A&E immediately and to this day she is not satisfied by my answer of 'I didn't want to interrupt the game'. We have agreed to disagree.
Actually we have now agreed to disagree on a number of topics, some of which I can list without having to sleep on the sofa as a result:
1. Scones. I sit in the cream then jam camp.
2. Names. I think we should choose an ethnic name for our next baby, to celebrate the diverse part of London we live in.
3. Words. I think it is acceptable to teach our two year daughter old words like boobies, poopy & fatty.
4. Combat. I think it is important our daughter learns a variety of wrestling moves.
5. Laundry. I believe Jeans only need washing at 6 month intervals.
6. Water. I think money can be saved by occasionally forgoing a shower.
7. Films. I think films about dancing (especially musicals) should only be viewed during the day while I'm at work.
Hopefully nothing in the above is a deal breaker in terms of our relationship - we celebrate 5 years of marriage later this year so they can't be causing that much tension.
So anyway, my leg broke and this provided Megan with the opportunity to make us laugh. Firstly, if she sees my crutches more than 2 feet away from me, or if anyone else touches them she screams "no no no no no - daddies" and brings them to me, even when I'm in the bath. Secondly, she copies my walk - sticking one leg straight out like my leg in the plaster cast which is very funny, and she is very pleased with herself when we laugh at it.
Speaking of her speaking, today she came out with her longest ever sentence. She managed to escape off of her change mat sans nappy and ran into her Peppa Pig house (kind of a house-shaped tent she plays with in her bedroom).
She then proceeded to urinate on the floor, closely followed by the line:
Oh dear, Peppa my wee-wee.
Recently we had a meal with our friends Gavin & Sarah. Gavin had admitted to being the 4th reader of my blog, hence the dinner invite. We decided on cooking a middle-eastern feast, incorporating dishes from Syria, Saudi Arabia, Lebanon & Israel.
I chose the recipe for the main course as it was the most obscure recipe I had ever read. It was called Koazy al Macarona, and consists of chicken in a spiced tomato & yogurt sauce, on a bed of spaghetti, garnished with cumin flavoured mince beef & onions, with matchstick potatoes and hard boiled eggs.
I was intrigued by all the component layers of the dish, so didn't really stop to look at what the finished dish might look like.
When I served it, I suddenly realised I had served chicken and pasta, with chilli and chips on top, with some hard boiled eggs thrown in for good measure.
It was quite heavy...I guess having chips and pasta was a bit of a carb overload, and the chicken & beef combo did nothing to make the dish any lighter!
It all tasted fine, as each part was well cooked, but I was left wondering if I had accidentally cut & pasted two recipes together without realising.
Possibly not my finest culinary moment, but still better than a few of the dishes served up by my mum. I should point out she is very good in the kitchen and has cooked some of the best food I have eaten, but there were some howlers when I was younger and I will leave you with these...
Not wanting to appear feeble I followed some well meant advice, and tried to "jog it off". I managed to stand with all my weight on the broken leg for approximately eight tenths of a second before my ankle threatened to buckle, and my leg became rather more painful. At this point I sat back down and waited for the final whistle, some 35 minutes later.
My wife later questioned why I did not insist someone take me to the A&E immediately and to this day she is not satisfied by my answer of 'I didn't want to interrupt the game'. We have agreed to disagree.
Actually we have now agreed to disagree on a number of topics, some of which I can list without having to sleep on the sofa as a result:
1. Scones. I sit in the cream then jam camp.
2. Names. I think we should choose an ethnic name for our next baby, to celebrate the diverse part of London we live in.
3. Words. I think it is acceptable to teach our two year daughter old words like boobies, poopy & fatty.
4. Combat. I think it is important our daughter learns a variety of wrestling moves.
5. Laundry. I believe Jeans only need washing at 6 month intervals.
6. Water. I think money can be saved by occasionally forgoing a shower.
7. Films. I think films about dancing (especially musicals) should only be viewed during the day while I'm at work.
Hopefully nothing in the above is a deal breaker in terms of our relationship - we celebrate 5 years of marriage later this year so they can't be causing that much tension.
So anyway, my leg broke and this provided Megan with the opportunity to make us laugh. Firstly, if she sees my crutches more than 2 feet away from me, or if anyone else touches them she screams "no no no no no - daddies" and brings them to me, even when I'm in the bath. Secondly, she copies my walk - sticking one leg straight out like my leg in the plaster cast which is very funny, and she is very pleased with herself when we laugh at it.
Speaking of her speaking, today she came out with her longest ever sentence. She managed to escape off of her change mat sans nappy and ran into her Peppa Pig house (kind of a house-shaped tent she plays with in her bedroom).
She then proceeded to urinate on the floor, closely followed by the line:
Oh dear, Peppa my wee-wee.
Recently we had a meal with our friends Gavin & Sarah. Gavin had admitted to being the 4th reader of my blog, hence the dinner invite. We decided on cooking a middle-eastern feast, incorporating dishes from Syria, Saudi Arabia, Lebanon & Israel.
I chose the recipe for the main course as it was the most obscure recipe I had ever read. It was called Koazy al Macarona, and consists of chicken in a spiced tomato & yogurt sauce, on a bed of spaghetti, garnished with cumin flavoured mince beef & onions, with matchstick potatoes and hard boiled eggs.
I was intrigued by all the component layers of the dish, so didn't really stop to look at what the finished dish might look like.
When I served it, I suddenly realised I had served chicken and pasta, with chilli and chips on top, with some hard boiled eggs thrown in for good measure.
It was quite heavy...I guess having chips and pasta was a bit of a carb overload, and the chicken & beef combo did nothing to make the dish any lighter!
It all tasted fine, as each part was well cooked, but I was left wondering if I had accidentally cut & pasted two recipes together without realising.
Possibly not my finest culinary moment, but still better than a few of the dishes served up by my mum. I should point out she is very good in the kitchen and has cooked some of the best food I have eaten, but there were some howlers when I was younger and I will leave you with these...
- Chilli non Carne (chilli, in which she tried to substitute minced beef for rehydrated soya mince)
- Macaroni Ch (there was no obvious cheese sauce in this classic dish)
- Spaghetti Carrot-Pulp-ognese (having read that carrot pulp can bulk up a spag bol, she decided not to include any meat, instead preferring to make the dish with the pulp extracted from her carrot juice craze of 1998)
All this talk of food has got me hungry, so I'm off to make dinner.
Tonight - smoked salmon in a Guinness and sage sauce, served with a pickled onion and prune salad.
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
December Uncovered
It's been 3 moths since I last poured out my heart and updated my host of followers (hey Phil & Liz) on what has been taking place in Bensville.
I'm sad to say that my professional wrestling career has not taken off. My application to All-Star Wrestling School in Liverpool was not accepted. I sent some wrestling home videos to the developmental arm of the WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment, formerly WWF, for anyone sad enough not to love wrestling) so they could see my moves for themselves, but they must be busy, as they haven't got back to me yet.
Anyone with less self confidence would probably give up and spiral into despair, but I'm mentally strong so will keep pressing on towards my ultimate goal of Championship Gold around my waist, and shaven, tanned oiled pectoral muscles.
I bought a sat nav about 2 months ago, only to discover on it's maiden voyage that the cigarette lighter socket in my car does not work. For all intensive purposes it is there only for decoration. I discovered this moderately important fact on my way to visit my sister in Eastbourne.
Before continuing this story I feel compelled to explain that my sister is not 82 years old, even though she resides in Eastbourne. I know, it's baffling.
Anyway. I approached a large roundabout with 5 major exits, and at this juncture my satellite navigation device switched itself to what can only be described as "off mode".
Due to my Y Chromosone I was able to navigate safely across the roundabout and on to my final destination, but that's hardly the point.
You'll be pleased to know that my daughter (now 15 months old) is now walking and talking. I say talking, to be more accurate she makes a lot of noises, and can say cheese when confronted with a picture of cheese. If we're honest there are some adults who are not much more advanced lingusitically than this, so I feel justified in stating for all the world (Phil & Liz) to read that she is indeed talking.
Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to hold my breath for 2 minutes and 10 seconds - a personal best. Wish me luck.
I'm sad to say that my professional wrestling career has not taken off. My application to All-Star Wrestling School in Liverpool was not accepted. I sent some wrestling home videos to the developmental arm of the WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment, formerly WWF, for anyone sad enough not to love wrestling) so they could see my moves for themselves, but they must be busy, as they haven't got back to me yet.
Anyone with less self confidence would probably give up and spiral into despair, but I'm mentally strong so will keep pressing on towards my ultimate goal of Championship Gold around my waist, and shaven, tanned oiled pectoral muscles.
I bought a sat nav about 2 months ago, only to discover on it's maiden voyage that the cigarette lighter socket in my car does not work. For all intensive purposes it is there only for decoration. I discovered this moderately important fact on my way to visit my sister in Eastbourne.
Before continuing this story I feel compelled to explain that my sister is not 82 years old, even though she resides in Eastbourne. I know, it's baffling.
Anyway. I approached a large roundabout with 5 major exits, and at this juncture my satellite navigation device switched itself to what can only be described as "off mode".
Due to my Y Chromosone I was able to navigate safely across the roundabout and on to my final destination, but that's hardly the point.
You'll be pleased to know that my daughter (now 15 months old) is now walking and talking. I say talking, to be more accurate she makes a lot of noises, and can say cheese when confronted with a picture of cheese. If we're honest there are some adults who are not much more advanced lingusitically than this, so I feel justified in stating for all the world (Phil & Liz) to read that she is indeed talking.
Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to hold my breath for 2 minutes and 10 seconds - a personal best. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
I feel woozy
I got a letter inviting me to give blood last week. It's something I've been meaning to do for about 6 years now, so decided to make an appointment at one of the convenient mobile blood banks.
When I went to the appointment it was in a caravan near the Hayes Tesco-M4 junction. The guy checking names on the door appeared to be homeless, and the nurse took my blood with a swiss army knife and some orange tubing attached to a beaker with masking tape.
My wife Emma said I was stupid for not realising it wasn’t an official blood bank.
Looking back I guess the signs were there.
I can't write much more as I was told by a slightly bemused and mildly irritated paramedic that I should lie down for a while.
When I went to the appointment it was in a caravan near the Hayes Tesco-M4 junction. The guy checking names on the door appeared to be homeless, and the nurse took my blood with a swiss army knife and some orange tubing attached to a beaker with masking tape.
My wife Emma said I was stupid for not realising it wasn’t an official blood bank.
Looking back I guess the signs were there.
I can't write much more as I was told by a slightly bemused and mildly irritated paramedic that I should lie down for a while.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
candles, cakes and party poppers?
It's my birthday today and in my family it's a small tradition that we phone each other and sing Happy Birthday to one another down the phone, regardless of where any of us are at the time.
In the past I've sung it on the hands free in the car, from the office, on the London Eye and even once in Tesco's.
Today I only got it sung to me 3 times (there are six branches in my family), and one of those was an abridged version. I felt more than a little cheated at first, but am now leaning towards being gracious - mainly because I have £60 more than I did yesterday as a direct result of opening all the Birthday cards. Song Shmong I say.
It wasn't the most vibrant of birthdays. The lack of singing aside, I'd be lying if I ever suggested that the day I turned 26 was one of my more exciting days. I missed breakfast opening my cards, I spent the whole day alone in the office with only last.fm for company (Turkish music today) and had cell group in the evening...Paris Hilton I am not.
My main birthday present from my parents is quite an interesting one, unless you're a vegetarian. I'm going with my dad to a butchery masterclass next wednesday at Allens butchers in Mayfair.
For a not unsubstantial fee, we will be shown how to prepare 4 cuts of meat from various animals / birds and then we will do it ourselves and then take home the meats of our labour.
The knives we will use are so sharp that we have to wear a chainmail glove on our non-knife hand, lest we slip and chop of a finger. That got me thinking, maybe I will start wearing one glove more often. If it's good enough for Tiger Woods, Michael Jackson and Abu Hamza, then surely it's good enough for me?
On an entirey different note, my daughter has finally started to crawl forwards now, aged 10 months. Whilst this proves more of a challenge for my wife Emma (who now has to stop the baby from eating all the things I leave on the floor), for me it is a great relief as I was worried that there might be a reason she had only ever crawled backwards in a circle...and that the reason might have been me making her do the Swanton Bomb* too many times.
Now she's crawling in the right direction, I can take it as read that it's safe for me to continue with her (secret) wrestling education. Next week: The People's Elbow.
I had a look on-line today to see if my local MP has claimed for any outrageous expenses in the last 4 years that the Telegraph might have missed. I actually thought this might be my entry into journalism, but after 12 minutes I was so bored of looking at receipts for British Gas, taxi fares and stationery supplies that I abandoned my new dream and decided to spend the remainder of my lunch break drawing a sketch of Rey Mysterio (a WWE superstar) doing the 619 (his finishing manouevre) on a Donor Kebab.
Yes, a donor kebab. Who knows why, it's possible I was dehydrated at the time.
I will endeavour to scan the picture and attach it here as soon as I can.
Peace, grease and John Cleese.
*a wrestling move where the wrestler initiates a summersault from height and lands on his/her back, on top of their grounded opponent (search Jeff Hardy on Youtube for a visualisation)
In the past I've sung it on the hands free in the car, from the office, on the London Eye and even once in Tesco's.
Today I only got it sung to me 3 times (there are six branches in my family), and one of those was an abridged version. I felt more than a little cheated at first, but am now leaning towards being gracious - mainly because I have £60 more than I did yesterday as a direct result of opening all the Birthday cards. Song Shmong I say.
It wasn't the most vibrant of birthdays. The lack of singing aside, I'd be lying if I ever suggested that the day I turned 26 was one of my more exciting days. I missed breakfast opening my cards, I spent the whole day alone in the office with only last.fm for company (Turkish music today) and had cell group in the evening...Paris Hilton I am not.
My main birthday present from my parents is quite an interesting one, unless you're a vegetarian. I'm going with my dad to a butchery masterclass next wednesday at Allens butchers in Mayfair.
For a not unsubstantial fee, we will be shown how to prepare 4 cuts of meat from various animals / birds and then we will do it ourselves and then take home the meats of our labour.
The knives we will use are so sharp that we have to wear a chainmail glove on our non-knife hand, lest we slip and chop of a finger. That got me thinking, maybe I will start wearing one glove more often. If it's good enough for Tiger Woods, Michael Jackson and Abu Hamza, then surely it's good enough for me?
On an entirey different note, my daughter has finally started to crawl forwards now, aged 10 months. Whilst this proves more of a challenge for my wife Emma (who now has to stop the baby from eating all the things I leave on the floor), for me it is a great relief as I was worried that there might be a reason she had only ever crawled backwards in a circle...and that the reason might have been me making her do the Swanton Bomb* too many times.
Now she's crawling in the right direction, I can take it as read that it's safe for me to continue with her (secret) wrestling education. Next week: The People's Elbow.
I had a look on-line today to see if my local MP has claimed for any outrageous expenses in the last 4 years that the Telegraph might have missed. I actually thought this might be my entry into journalism, but after 12 minutes I was so bored of looking at receipts for British Gas, taxi fares and stationery supplies that I abandoned my new dream and decided to spend the remainder of my lunch break drawing a sketch of Rey Mysterio (a WWE superstar) doing the 619 (his finishing manouevre) on a Donor Kebab.
Yes, a donor kebab. Who knows why, it's possible I was dehydrated at the time.
I will endeavour to scan the picture and attach it here as soon as I can.
Peace, grease and John Cleese.
*a wrestling move where the wrestler initiates a summersault from height and lands on his/her back, on top of their grounded opponent (search Jeff Hardy on Youtube for a visualisation)
Friday, 1 May 2009
Observations
So I had an email in my inbox today from Friends Reunited. It said "there has been recent activity on Friends Reunited". My first thought was actually...i bet there hasn't.
Anyway, halfway between bored and intrigued I end up at Friends Reunited, only to confirm that not only has there not been any new activity, but there's actually just nothing there except for some virtual tumbleweed that I'm 93% certain I saw blow across the screen.
I say 93% certain, because I've run out of my tea bags and am experiencing increasing levels of paranoia and delusions. Before you get worried, please rest assured that my tea is not brewed from illegal compounds - there isn't even any caffeine in it. It's called White Tea (not to be mistaken with tea that has milk in it) and to bore anyone pitiful enough to be reading this, it's from the same plants as black tea (eg pg tips, typhoo* etc) only the tea leaves are picked from the young bud before it caffeinates or becomes bitter.
So, to summarise, my tea is weak and looks like pee but it makes me happy. Interestingly (and please understand that I've taken poetic license with the use of the word 'interestingly') on the box of a more expensive brand of White Tea there is the text: Tea drinking is a celebration of earth's bounty and various other new-age messages that led some of my so-called friends to accuse me of drinking (and I Quote Liz Brown) "Wicken Tea"and "Devil Water" and even went so far as to suggest I shouldn't drink it in church.
Anyone seeing any virtual tumbleweed across this screen?
My 9 month old girl is a bit of a wimp. And I'm not allowed to call her a wimp, so I will use the word 'sensitive'. She is terrified of unexpected noises, including (but not limited to) laughter, coughs, sneezes and loud clapping. If I laugh while she's in the room and it takes her by surprise she will look up at me, pause for 4-6 seconds and then the bottom lip quivers quickly followed by crying and genuine streaming tears.
The only way to stop the onset of crying once the bottom lip has started to quiver is to break into song, the most effective song being about a polar bear, with a song about some monkeys coming in a close second.
That was until yesterday when my singing actually escalated the crying up a phase to wailing (only two phases below hysteria) and the only thing that comforted her in the end was her mum.
This is a bit embarrassing but I got scammed on Tuesday. I was walking back from the shop when two guys and a girl approached me and said they were filming the new series of The Real Hustle, for BBC5. Not wanting to look stupid I pretended I had heard of BBC5 and said I was looking forward to the new show. They pointed out the "hidden" cameraman in a nearby shop window and said I should act like I was an innocent victim and go ahead with whatever happened to make good footage and ensure others don't fall for the same scams.
Always wanting the opportunity to be on television I agreed and they walked away as explained and re-appeared 30 seconds later. They told me they were selling diamonds worth £3000 for £800 and all i had to do was withdraw £800 cash then I would get the certified diamond. We went to the ATM and i withdrew the £800 at which point the girl punched me in the face and they ran away.
Once I'd stopped my nosebleed I went to complain to the "hidden" cameraman but he was a cardboard cutout.
You live and learn.
*Incidentally typhoo is a funny word, it sounds like a sneeze and in my marketing classes at university we were always told not to name brands after bodily functions
Anyway, halfway between bored and intrigued I end up at Friends Reunited, only to confirm that not only has there not been any new activity, but there's actually just nothing there except for some virtual tumbleweed that I'm 93% certain I saw blow across the screen.
I say 93% certain, because I've run out of my tea bags and am experiencing increasing levels of paranoia and delusions. Before you get worried, please rest assured that my tea is not brewed from illegal compounds - there isn't even any caffeine in it. It's called White Tea (not to be mistaken with tea that has milk in it) and to bore anyone pitiful enough to be reading this, it's from the same plants as black tea (eg pg tips, typhoo* etc) only the tea leaves are picked from the young bud before it caffeinates or becomes bitter.
So, to summarise, my tea is weak and looks like pee but it makes me happy. Interestingly (and please understand that I've taken poetic license with the use of the word 'interestingly') on the box of a more expensive brand of White Tea there is the text: Tea drinking is a celebration of earth's bounty and various other new-age messages that led some of my so-called friends to accuse me of drinking (and I Quote Liz Brown) "Wicken Tea"and "Devil Water" and even went so far as to suggest I shouldn't drink it in church.
Anyone seeing any virtual tumbleweed across this screen?
My 9 month old girl is a bit of a wimp. And I'm not allowed to call her a wimp, so I will use the word 'sensitive'. She is terrified of unexpected noises, including (but not limited to) laughter, coughs, sneezes and loud clapping. If I laugh while she's in the room and it takes her by surprise she will look up at me, pause for 4-6 seconds and then the bottom lip quivers quickly followed by crying and genuine streaming tears.
The only way to stop the onset of crying once the bottom lip has started to quiver is to break into song, the most effective song being about a polar bear, with a song about some monkeys coming in a close second.
That was until yesterday when my singing actually escalated the crying up a phase to wailing (only two phases below hysteria) and the only thing that comforted her in the end was her mum.
This is a bit embarrassing but I got scammed on Tuesday. I was walking back from the shop when two guys and a girl approached me and said they were filming the new series of The Real Hustle, for BBC5. Not wanting to look stupid I pretended I had heard of BBC5 and said I was looking forward to the new show. They pointed out the "hidden" cameraman in a nearby shop window and said I should act like I was an innocent victim and go ahead with whatever happened to make good footage and ensure others don't fall for the same scams.
Always wanting the opportunity to be on television I agreed and they walked away as explained and re-appeared 30 seconds later. They told me they were selling diamonds worth £3000 for £800 and all i had to do was withdraw £800 cash then I would get the certified diamond. We went to the ATM and i withdrew the £800 at which point the girl punched me in the face and they ran away.
Once I'd stopped my nosebleed I went to complain to the "hidden" cameraman but he was a cardboard cutout.
You live and learn.
*Incidentally typhoo is a funny word, it sounds like a sneeze and in my marketing classes at university we were always told not to name brands after bodily functions
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