'NUFF SAID
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Chocolate and legs
Personally I can’t type well because my fingers are too fat.
So this will be short.
Very short.
All I will say is that I have spent a long weekend with almost everyone in the World that matters to me - playing, eating chocolate, drinking and eating chocolate again.
The Sun has shone and the BBQ has worked damned hard.
I even showcased my Homebrew to much applause – well no one was sick, which I took to be applause. To be fair, I was the only one to have a 2nd glass, but I’m pretty sure they liked it.
The Homebrew ale was a present for my birthday and had been the cause of much amusement in our house as it slowly fermented in the corner of the kitchen. Nobody believed in me. Especially me.
But here I am, on a sunny Easter Sunday, holding a pint of my very own ale.
Happy Easter.
P.S. Sorry about my legs.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
musical memories
It is amazing how hearing a song can put you instantly into an otherwise forgotten time and place.
It never leaves you either does it? No matter how much time passes, you still get the memory whenever you hear the music.
For me, hearing the B52’s Loveshack ALWAYS takes me back to a bar in Mayport, Florida – a somewhat large American Navy base.
It is the summer of 1990 and I’m a wee 19 year old serving aboard H.M.S. Ark Royal, the now sadly decommissioned British Flagship, and absolutely loving being young and single.
We were docked at the base for a couple of weeks and I’d already returned from a Greyhound bus trip to Orlando with my friends, somehow we had managed to convince some barmen we were 21, and had reaped the rewards for doing so.
It had been a great few days, apart from when I got chaffed in a somewhat embarrassing place while walking around Disney and wound up hobbling about as my friend helped himself to the girl I’d had my eye on.
Now we were back in the port, and out in a bar playing Spoof and Quarters. I was losing badly at the drinking games, but then Loveshack played and the whole place jumped up and danced and sang in one huge International moment of togetherness.
These were the best of days.
This was my time.
It also turned out to be a 150 Kilo sailor loving woman’s time too – but that is a different story, all I’m saying is Budweiser can eventually start making decisions for you if you get through enough pitchers of it.
Anyway – each and every single time I hear that tune, even after 21 years, I still remember that night – well some of it.
So what song instantly transports you somewhere, and where or when does it take you?
Lastly – as an experiment – I’m going to say this…
Oasis – Champagne Supernova.
Where are you now?
It never leaves you either does it? No matter how much time passes, you still get the memory whenever you hear the music.
For me, hearing the B52’s Loveshack ALWAYS takes me back to a bar in Mayport, Florida – a somewhat large American Navy base.
It is the summer of 1990 and I’m a wee 19 year old serving aboard H.M.S. Ark Royal, the now sadly decommissioned British Flagship, and absolutely loving being young and single.
We were docked at the base for a couple of weeks and I’d already returned from a Greyhound bus trip to Orlando with my friends, somehow we had managed to convince some barmen we were 21, and had reaped the rewards for doing so.
It had been a great few days, apart from when I got chaffed in a somewhat embarrassing place while walking around Disney and wound up hobbling about as my friend helped himself to the girl I’d had my eye on.
Now we were back in the port, and out in a bar playing Spoof and Quarters. I was losing badly at the drinking games, but then Loveshack played and the whole place jumped up and danced and sang in one huge International moment of togetherness.
These were the best of days.
This was my time.
It also turned out to be a 150 Kilo sailor loving woman’s time too – but that is a different story, all I’m saying is Budweiser can eventually start making decisions for you if you get through enough pitchers of it.
Anyway – each and every single time I hear that tune, even after 21 years, I still remember that night – well some of it.
So what song instantly transports you somewhere, and where or when does it take you?
Lastly – as an experiment – I’m going to say this…
Oasis – Champagne Supernova.
Where are you now?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Problem solving
Is there any problem do you think?
Any Problem.
Is there any problem at all that cannot be fixed by cake?
I really don’t think that there can be.
APART from Diabetes.
And obesity.
And Acne.
And toothache.
And glucose intolerance.
Is there anything else? I don’t think so.
I’m not a qualified doctor, but try patent-pending-wonder-cure-all today.
Go on…
Have some cake.
Any Problem.
Is there any problem at all that cannot be fixed by cake?
I really don’t think that there can be.
APART from Diabetes.
And obesity.
And Acne.
And toothache.
And glucose intolerance.
Is there anything else? I don’t think so.
I’m not a qualified doctor, but try patent-pending-wonder-cure-all today.
Go on…
Have some cake.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
My fantasy dinner
Today I am discussing my fantasy dinner, for the theme of ‘One Hour with…’ over at RealBloggersUnited.blogspot.com
and this time I mean it (sorry there was a minor timing issue earlier)
So who…. Who…… WHO
From the whole of time would I spend an hour with if I could?
Only one way to find out.
Please click here and go read – thanks.
and this time I mean it (sorry there was a minor timing issue earlier)
So who…. Who…… WHO
From the whole of time would I spend an hour with if I could?
Only one way to find out.
Please click here and go read – thanks.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Rat dog
Well it appears I’m still prone to attracting the lesser quality commuters to come and sit with me. Last night I managed to excel myself with my poor seating choice.
What I had thought was a scarf on a gentleman’s knee, turned out to be a dog.
At least I think it was a dog.
Actually, before I realised it was alive I had momentarily wondered if it was one of those Mirkins, and a pretty damned unkempt and lice infested one at that. I was about to ask why the man had a badly kept lady-garden wig on his knee, when it jumped up and begged for a mint.
An unusual thing for a Mirkin to do, I thought to myself before finally realising that it was supposed to be a dog. I’m not, as such, a dog man but I really do not see the point of pocket rats.
I especially do not see the point when the offending creature is owned by a man in Britain, rather than by Paris Hilton in L.A.
Mind you I really can’t see the point of Paris Hilton either.
I can only assume that these men have overheard other – more popular – men talking in the pub about how walking their little dog is like walking round with a woman magnet, but left before the important part about the dog having to be a Labrador puppy for it to work. I’ve heard this too; apparently on seeing a man walking a puppy you women just cannot resist running up and giving it a really good stroke, and then patting the dog (Badum-tsh – I’m here all week folks).
Maybe you can confirm this for me ladies – are all men with dogs sexier than men with, for example, bushy eyebrows and a grey chest hair? If the answer is yes, is that still the case if the dog looks like a pox riddled 70’s porn star’s fun jungle?
Any way, Roland Rat kept on sniffing and head-butting me while I was trying to type, which was annoying enough (no I’m really not a dog man am I?), but then the man started giving it mints.
CHOMP
LICK
CHOMP
SMACK
CHOMP
Time after time the man’s hand went into the bag to retrieve a new mint to be licked off it, and time after time the dog made as much noise at it possibly could while eating it.
And then…
And then…
The same lovingly licked hand went into the bag, found a mint and then passed it into its owner’s mouth.
I could have died – putting aside my disgust at the thought of doing that, I’ve never heard anything like it.
The man made every bit as much noise and fuss about eating his mint as the dog had.
CHOMP
CHOMP
SMACK
CHOMP
Mr. Minty was rotating his jaw faster than sound can travel – The sound carried on after he swallowed, giving him time to throw in another mint before the noise could die down. I’ve never seen or heard anyone chew as fast as this man could.
CHOMP
CHOMP
I turned and silently stared him down. I fixed him my harshest Paddington stare and watched as the penny dropped, uncomfortably slowly, that perhaps the music playing through his headphones was not helping him socialise too well.
His jaw slowed.
The chomping hushed.
He never once turned towards me but you could feel the tension. He knew what was being said.
The bag of mints was returned to a pocket.
The dog looked at him waiting for its next mint, when it didn’t get one it looked at me angrily; seemingly aware of my involvement in the lack of treats coming its way.
The noise stopped.
It all went quiet.
Peace at last.
The dog farted.
I moved.
What I had thought was a scarf on a gentleman’s knee, turned out to be a dog.
At least I think it was a dog.
Actually, before I realised it was alive I had momentarily wondered if it was one of those Mirkins, and a pretty damned unkempt and lice infested one at that. I was about to ask why the man had a badly kept lady-garden wig on his knee, when it jumped up and begged for a mint.
An unusual thing for a Mirkin to do, I thought to myself before finally realising that it was supposed to be a dog. I’m not, as such, a dog man but I really do not see the point of pocket rats.
I especially do not see the point when the offending creature is owned by a man in Britain, rather than by Paris Hilton in L.A.
Mind you I really can’t see the point of Paris Hilton either.
I can only assume that these men have overheard other – more popular – men talking in the pub about how walking their little dog is like walking round with a woman magnet, but left before the important part about the dog having to be a Labrador puppy for it to work. I’ve heard this too; apparently on seeing a man walking a puppy you women just cannot resist running up and giving it a really good stroke, and then patting the dog (Badum-tsh – I’m here all week folks).
Maybe you can confirm this for me ladies – are all men with dogs sexier than men with, for example, bushy eyebrows and a grey chest hair? If the answer is yes, is that still the case if the dog looks like a pox riddled 70’s porn star’s fun jungle?
Any way, Roland Rat kept on sniffing and head-butting me while I was trying to type, which was annoying enough (no I’m really not a dog man am I?), but then the man started giving it mints.
CHOMP
LICK
CHOMP
SMACK
CHOMP
Time after time the man’s hand went into the bag to retrieve a new mint to be licked off it, and time after time the dog made as much noise at it possibly could while eating it.
And then…
And then…
The same lovingly licked hand went into the bag, found a mint and then passed it into its owner’s mouth.
I could have died – putting aside my disgust at the thought of doing that, I’ve never heard anything like it.
The man made every bit as much noise and fuss about eating his mint as the dog had.
CHOMP
CHOMP
SMACK
CHOMP
Mr. Minty was rotating his jaw faster than sound can travel – The sound carried on after he swallowed, giving him time to throw in another mint before the noise could die down. I’ve never seen or heard anyone chew as fast as this man could.
CHOMP
CHOMP
I turned and silently stared him down. I fixed him my harshest Paddington stare and watched as the penny dropped, uncomfortably slowly, that perhaps the music playing through his headphones was not helping him socialise too well.
His jaw slowed.
The chomping hushed.
He never once turned towards me but you could feel the tension. He knew what was being said.
The bag of mints was returned to a pocket.
The dog looked at him waiting for its next mint, when it didn’t get one it looked at me angrily; seemingly aware of my involvement in the lack of treats coming its way.
The noise stopped.
It all went quiet.
Peace at last.
The dog farted.
I moved.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Falling apart
Last week I finally gave up and trimmed my ridiculously bushy eyebrows. I can’t help feeling that when you have to do that the fight is pretty much lost.
This morning I discovered a grey chest hair.
I’m too distraught to write.
This morning I discovered a grey chest hair.
I’m too distraught to write.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Freedom is very quiet
I just cannot believe how quiet the house is with Jo and the boys away.
It is fun being the master of the TV and yes there is something quite thrilling about leaving all your mess lying about in the kitchen overnight.
I call it marital dare. Your wife goes away for a few days so you let the mess build up, allow the kitchen to become a man’s world. All you have to do is make sure it is cleaned up before the boss comes home – but you have to see how late you can leave it. You are playing chicken to see how long you dare leave the mess.
You cannot know exactly what time your wife will get home, and if the mess is still there when she returns then you lose (everything) but if you are sitting around in a spotless house while she is still away then you are a chicken.
The ideal is to have a tea towel in your hand putting the last bowl away just as the door opens – that is worth 1000 points. 10 points are deducted for every 10 minutes you anxiously wait in a spotless house for the inspection that you know is coming.
The game is fun but somehow it just doesn’t seem to be enough anymore.
It is too quiet around here.
I can hear the clock ticking – what is all that about? I didn’t even know that clocks did that anymore. I can’t believe how loud the fridge is too, why is the fridge so bloody loud?
I need my family back.
I need some background noise.
I think I’d better start clearing the kitchen
It is fun being the master of the TV and yes there is something quite thrilling about leaving all your mess lying about in the kitchen overnight.
I call it marital dare. Your wife goes away for a few days so you let the mess build up, allow the kitchen to become a man’s world. All you have to do is make sure it is cleaned up before the boss comes home – but you have to see how late you can leave it. You are playing chicken to see how long you dare leave the mess.
You cannot know exactly what time your wife will get home, and if the mess is still there when she returns then you lose (everything) but if you are sitting around in a spotless house while she is still away then you are a chicken.
The ideal is to have a tea towel in your hand putting the last bowl away just as the door opens – that is worth 1000 points. 10 points are deducted for every 10 minutes you anxiously wait in a spotless house for the inspection that you know is coming.
The game is fun but somehow it just doesn’t seem to be enough anymore.
It is too quiet around here.
I can hear the clock ticking – what is all that about? I didn’t even know that clocks did that anymore. I can’t believe how loud the fridge is too, why is the fridge so bloody loud?
I need my family back.
I need some background noise.
I think I’d better start clearing the kitchen
Monday, April 11, 2011
Finding love again
Sometimes you just need reminding.
Occasionally you simply need to see it to believe it.
This weekend I saw it, this weekend I remembered.
After thirteen years of marriage and nine years of parenthood, it can be easy to lose your way a little, to forget why you set off on the journey in the first place. I can only write this from my own male perspective, but I don’t doubt the feelings are the same from both sides of the gender fence.
When you set sail on the cruise ship of marriage, the seas are calm and bathed in glorious sun, Whitney Houston wows the crowds in the theatre, and the food is a smorgasbord from heaven.
When kids come along the seas can turn unpredictably choppy. Whitney becomes boring and repetitive, and dinner becomes beige.
You still love your partners and your kids, but it can become a little harder to remember why. Everything has changed, your life, your outlook and your priorities have all changed – as have those of the person you fell in love with.
It is all too easy to find yourself drifting along with the tide, not really knowing where you are going or why you are going there.
I think almost everyone reading this will know of at least one local case study, where a couple have been so strong and so together while their kids were growing up, only to suddenly part once their dependants stopped depending on them so much. They had suddenly discovered that their children were all that they had in common anymore. As soon as they were left alone, they had nothing.
This has been my worry for a while. Parenthood was eroding my personality and my individuality. This may sound a little over the top and maybe it is, but sometimes you can find yourself worrying that you are doing things for the wrong reasons, and if you are still on the right ship.
Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I was unhappy at all, I wasn’t. I’m not saying we were having problems, we weren’t. Sometimes though, you do start to wonder who you really are; all you feel like is a dad or a husband, you can’t remember who the person inside was, and if that person was someone you like.
This weekend we went shopping.
It didn’t exactly start off excitingly did it?
The trip has been planned for a while, two nights in Birmingham to shop for a new set of clothes for my successful ‘weight watcher’ wife, because she could no longer hold any of her trousers up without scaffolding.
The boys were with their Grandparents, all we had to do was relax and shop.
I usually hate shopping so I hadn’t really thought too much about the trip as being anything special. We had booked into a cheap hotel and I was mentally primed for a hard day’s shopping. I was ready to put up with the mundane and do my bit as a husband once more, to continue drifting along with the tide.
However…
What happened was a revelation.
What happened was that I remembered.
I remembered just how much I really do love my wife.
I love being with her. Jo is great company, and I hope and think that without the pressures and strains that fatherhood can sometimes bring, I’m not too bad for her either.
We get on.
We talk.
We laugh at each other.
What happened was that I saw.
I saw again just how beautiful my wife is when she smiles.
Jo’s eyes shine so brightly when she is happy it blinds me, when she laughs it melts my heart.
With both of us working full time and looking after two brilliant but frisky boys (aren’t they all?), it is scarily easy to miss these things and forget that they are there. Even shuffling around the Bull Ring for hours on end couldn’t prevent me from enjoying myself. I was in good company – very good company.
Late on Saturday night we sat finishing our meal when it struck me that without either of us doing it on purpose, with no prearranged agreement, neither of us had really mentioned our kids all day. Maybe in passing a couple of times, when we had thought to buy them some sweets, but on the whole they just weren’t being talked about. I couldn’t really tell you what we did talk about, but we certainly talked – a lot!
Just for a couple of days we were no longer parents, and we were no longer husband and wife.
We were friends.
We were lovers.
We were the people we fell in love with.
I don’t think this would have happened quite so well if we had tried to create it; if the purpose of the weekend had been pre-assigned as a ‘romantic’ break. If we had set out to try and forcibly recapture our youth, or attempted to ban talking about the boys in order to direct conversation. I think if we had put pressure on ourselves to get on – we probably wouldn’t.
The weekend worked the way that it did because it was real.
It’s who I really am.
It’s who Jo is.
It’s who we are.
I love who Jo is.
I love who we are.
And perhaps once again, I can love who I am.
Maybe Whitney was right after all.
Occasionally you simply need to see it to believe it.
This weekend I saw it, this weekend I remembered.
After thirteen years of marriage and nine years of parenthood, it can be easy to lose your way a little, to forget why you set off on the journey in the first place. I can only write this from my own male perspective, but I don’t doubt the feelings are the same from both sides of the gender fence.
When you set sail on the cruise ship of marriage, the seas are calm and bathed in glorious sun, Whitney Houston wows the crowds in the theatre, and the food is a smorgasbord from heaven.
When kids come along the seas can turn unpredictably choppy. Whitney becomes boring and repetitive, and dinner becomes beige.
You still love your partners and your kids, but it can become a little harder to remember why. Everything has changed, your life, your outlook and your priorities have all changed – as have those of the person you fell in love with.
It is all too easy to find yourself drifting along with the tide, not really knowing where you are going or why you are going there.
I think almost everyone reading this will know of at least one local case study, where a couple have been so strong and so together while their kids were growing up, only to suddenly part once their dependants stopped depending on them so much. They had suddenly discovered that their children were all that they had in common anymore. As soon as they were left alone, they had nothing.
This has been my worry for a while. Parenthood was eroding my personality and my individuality. This may sound a little over the top and maybe it is, but sometimes you can find yourself worrying that you are doing things for the wrong reasons, and if you are still on the right ship.
Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I was unhappy at all, I wasn’t. I’m not saying we were having problems, we weren’t. Sometimes though, you do start to wonder who you really are; all you feel like is a dad or a husband, you can’t remember who the person inside was, and if that person was someone you like.
This weekend we went shopping.
It didn’t exactly start off excitingly did it?
The trip has been planned for a while, two nights in Birmingham to shop for a new set of clothes for my successful ‘weight watcher’ wife, because she could no longer hold any of her trousers up without scaffolding.
The boys were with their Grandparents, all we had to do was relax and shop.
I usually hate shopping so I hadn’t really thought too much about the trip as being anything special. We had booked into a cheap hotel and I was mentally primed for a hard day’s shopping. I was ready to put up with the mundane and do my bit as a husband once more, to continue drifting along with the tide.
However…
What happened was a revelation.
What happened was that I remembered.
I remembered just how much I really do love my wife.
I love being with her. Jo is great company, and I hope and think that without the pressures and strains that fatherhood can sometimes bring, I’m not too bad for her either.
We get on.
We talk.
We laugh at each other.
What happened was that I saw.
I saw again just how beautiful my wife is when she smiles.
Jo’s eyes shine so brightly when she is happy it blinds me, when she laughs it melts my heart.
With both of us working full time and looking after two brilliant but frisky boys (aren’t they all?), it is scarily easy to miss these things and forget that they are there. Even shuffling around the Bull Ring for hours on end couldn’t prevent me from enjoying myself. I was in good company – very good company.
Late on Saturday night we sat finishing our meal when it struck me that without either of us doing it on purpose, with no prearranged agreement, neither of us had really mentioned our kids all day. Maybe in passing a couple of times, when we had thought to buy them some sweets, but on the whole they just weren’t being talked about. I couldn’t really tell you what we did talk about, but we certainly talked – a lot!
Just for a couple of days we were no longer parents, and we were no longer husband and wife.
We were friends.
We were lovers.
We were the people we fell in love with.
I don’t think this would have happened quite so well if we had tried to create it; if the purpose of the weekend had been pre-assigned as a ‘romantic’ break. If we had set out to try and forcibly recapture our youth, or attempted to ban talking about the boys in order to direct conversation. I think if we had put pressure on ourselves to get on – we probably wouldn’t.
The weekend worked the way that it did because it was real.
It’s who I really am.
It’s who Jo is.
It’s who we are.
I love who Jo is.
I love who we are.
And perhaps once again, I can love who I am.
Maybe Whitney was right after all.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Home alone
Last night Jo and I had the most exciting conversation we have had since the one about who Jo’s fantasy lesbian experience would be with**.
Jo asked me if I was “okay” about an idea her friend had come up with about the two of them going away for a few days in a caravan WITH THE CHILDREN.
“So you are going to leave me here without a chaperone?” I checked and indeed this was the case.
I could barely contain my whoop of excitement – though I tried because I want to maintain the idea that I’m doing Jo a favour by letting her go on this trip, for as long as possible.
I’m free for a few days – making decisions about tea and everything! Oh the power.
I did check and Jo was distinctly offish on the idea of me having a party or inviting girls round, which is a bit of a shame but she really was quite adamant about that one.
However I do have full and unconditional use of the TV remote – and that is no small thing I can assure you. I feel giddy with the thrill of deciding what I will be watching and when!
More importantly I also have a phone.
Phones are important.
Well, mine is – because my phone will be making my dinner.
I just don’t know where to start – full power to decide what take away I have and I don’t even have to share with someone who likes vegetables.
I hate that – when you both order one dish from the Chinese and are made to share it, but your wife orders something horrible with vegetables in. So you don’t want any of theirs but oh boy do they help themselves to your chicken. I’m with Smithy on that one! (see film clip below)
This will not be an issue though – and I don’t even need to worry about clearing the mess up. I’m sure Jo will sort that out when she gets home… Any way – I’m off to buy a TV guide, I have some planning to do.
** The conversation went EXACTLY like this…
“So… If you had to try it once, who would you have your fantasy lesbian experience with?”
“F*ck off Glen”
Jo asked me if I was “okay” about an idea her friend had come up with about the two of them going away for a few days in a caravan WITH THE CHILDREN.
“So you are going to leave me here without a chaperone?” I checked and indeed this was the case.
I could barely contain my whoop of excitement – though I tried because I want to maintain the idea that I’m doing Jo a favour by letting her go on this trip, for as long as possible.
I’m free for a few days – making decisions about tea and everything! Oh the power.
I did check and Jo was distinctly offish on the idea of me having a party or inviting girls round, which is a bit of a shame but she really was quite adamant about that one.
However I do have full and unconditional use of the TV remote – and that is no small thing I can assure you. I feel giddy with the thrill of deciding what I will be watching and when!
More importantly I also have a phone.
Phones are important.
Well, mine is – because my phone will be making my dinner.
I just don’t know where to start – full power to decide what take away I have and I don’t even have to share with someone who likes vegetables.
I hate that – when you both order one dish from the Chinese and are made to share it, but your wife orders something horrible with vegetables in. So you don’t want any of theirs but oh boy do they help themselves to your chicken. I’m with Smithy on that one! (see film clip below)
This will not be an issue though – and I don’t even need to worry about clearing the mess up. I’m sure Jo will sort that out when she gets home… Any way – I’m off to buy a TV guide, I have some planning to do.
** The conversation went EXACTLY like this…
“So… If you had to try it once, who would you have your fantasy lesbian experience with?”
“F*ck off Glen”
Monday, April 4, 2011
little moments - big meaning
Just when you are tired and low, wondering why you threw away the good life and personality you had in order to become a parent. Just when you are being abused and used by seemingly ungrateful money draining attention monsters, they go and say something that makes it all worthwhile.
It might just be a little one-liner, straight off the cuff, with no agenda or thought, which just brings on a smile that won’t rub off.
Yesterday we stopped off at a gardening centre and bought a large bag of compost which I had just put in the car when another man walked by carrying three bags at once (flash git).
Daniel saw this and without thinking excitedly shouted…
“Wow Dad, that man’s EVEN stronger than YOU!”
How lovely is that?
It was the surprise in his voice that gave his innocence away. The idea that his dad might not be the strongest man in the world had come as quite shock.
Lovely.
It might just be a little one-liner, straight off the cuff, with no agenda or thought, which just brings on a smile that won’t rub off.
Yesterday we stopped off at a gardening centre and bought a large bag of compost which I had just put in the car when another man walked by carrying three bags at once (flash git).
Daniel saw this and without thinking excitedly shouted…
“Wow Dad, that man’s EVEN stronger than YOU!”
How lovely is that?
It was the surprise in his voice that gave his innocence away. The idea that his dad might not be the strongest man in the world had come as quite shock.
Lovely.
Friday, April 1, 2011
April Fool's day is back in town
 |
| Harry - sans fish |
Another April Fool’s Day comes around and I’m quite looking forward to my annual leaf through The Sun newspaper, looking to see what resident experts, Prof. Alloi or Avril Uno, have discovered this year.
The Sun is the king of the blatant April fool gag, making it the paper of choice for one day a year at least.
So I look forward to discovering what bizarre or frustrating ‘political-correctness-gone-mad’ story they will come up with this year that will have me heading to their phone line or website to read more…
I really will have to try and buy a paper – I can do that while I’m buying Mum’s card – which I really must remember to do today as well!
My boys were hyper with it this morning, jumping out every few seconds to point to random objects behind me that needed to be seen to be believed. At one point they were just following each other, desperately trying to catch each other out repeating the same trick over and over again. It was just madness. By the time I dropped them off at breakfast club it was manic. The other kids were every bit as excited and so I walked away from about ten kids all chasing eachother pointing out mythecal creatures and supposedly undone shoe laces. I don't think I'd enjoy being a teacher on April Fool's day.
It all started as my wife went to fetch Daniel from his room this morning. Suspicions were already high as Daniel is ALWAYS the first up, without fail – yet this morning, he had not been seen.
Jo pulled his duvet back to discover only a pillow, as Daniel’s cupboard opened from the inside and a giggling 9 year old bagged his first official Fool of the day. Well done my boy!
Worryingly, I was next – and it was frighteningly stupid.
I just wasn’t ready for it – wasn’t awake.
While Daniel was pulling his master stroke in the bedroom, I was in the shower and oblivious to it all. I hadn’t noticed what day it was yet. Even my Mint Sauce shower gel had failed to rouse me properly, so technically I was still asleep from the night before; my body clock was still in March.
I came into the bedroom to find Jo doing her routine check out the curtain to provide a weather report. Jo does this every day to aid in her own clothing selection, personally I wear the same whatever the weather, but it’s nice to know in advance whether or not I need my coat.
Anyway…
Jo was sounding somewhat bemused, somehow more perplexed than she normally does. The thing that was confusing her was the fish. Apparently there was a fish on the garden. I assumed Harry, the neighbours cat, must have left it there.
I arrived at the curtain an instant before both my children, and every bit as excited as they were to see the fish…
What a fool!
I could not believe I’d fallen for such a crap prank and nor could Jo. I had not been the intended victim, Jo could not stop laughing and to be honest, neither could I.
What a pillock.
So there you go, it is April, which means that the Real Bloggers United blog has now been running for a full year and I am but a few days away from my 2nd Blogiversary myself – which is just amazing really.
However, right now I have more pressing matters on my mind. I’m just having a skim through The Metro and have so far seen these three reports…
1. Sarkozy’s men are using special Kevlar umbrellas as weapons now…
2. The Metro are going to be printing their paper on special edible paper, though their expert worries it could be a one day wonder – and gosh, there is a special web page you can go and read more about it.
3. Gaddafi’s troops are on the run from the rebels and the people of Libya are universally grateful to us for getting involved, this time it really is going to work and oil is going to be free for us from now on.
Well, I’m not sure but I think I’ve managed to work out which one of those is the fake…
I’m not falling for that old gag!
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