Six things

Well the lovely Rosiero tagged me to reveal six things that make me happy, and six things that are interesting. I've found it quite tough, but here goes:

Things that make me happy

1. Snow. I would like it to be snowy every day of winter and for it never to turn slushy. Of course it’s even better if it’s on a mountain

2. Smokey pubs, especially while drinking a glass of Strathisla whisky. I know they don't exist anymore, and I hate smoking with a passion. But pubs are supposed to be smokey and smell of stale beer.

3. The boy – nothing comes close (of course). Every moment of every day

4. Rollerblading - when I can on a Wednesday or Friday night with up to 500 other skaters round the streets of London

5. The roof down on the car, especially when it's a moonlight night, and better still if it's snowing

6.Time to myself. It doesn't happen very often, so I revel in it. But all things in small doses

Six interesting things

1. I’ve skied with a murderer – a very sad tale, but if you Google Gordon Wood and Caroline Byrne, you’ll see he’s just been convicted of throwing her off a cliff. He was hiding in Megeve, which is where we go skiing, and he used to take pictures of and for the Boy and I on the piste

2. My wife and I met and married in 99 days. According to friends, when we met there was an audible resonance when our eyes first met.. We had just two people at our wedding, and no honeymoon. We never looked back until we divorced. Five years and five days later. (Actually it was six days, but that doesn’t quite work as well)

3. I once went to collect a plain brown envelope from a penthouse in Hyde Park. In the envelope was £20,000 to stop my then girlfriend bringing a court case for sexual harassment. Another way of describing it was that I slept with a woman who had slept with the father of the man who was sleeping with the (then) future queen of England

4. My plan for when I give up work (which will be in about two weeks if the economy keeps going as it is) is to visit every UN World Heritage site – there’s nigh on a thousand of them. Kind of a ‘Greatest Hits’ Tour. If I’m clever I’ll write a book on it, but I suspect I won’t be!

5. I have a Cilla Black greatest hits CD which I adore. Fortunately the rest of my music collection consists of Foo Fighters, Stereophonics, Kings of Leon, Duffy, Killers, Editors, Manic Street Porters, Lloyd Cole and so on. Plus Englebert Humperdink

6. I've bee kissed by a German cow. In my year between school and university I worked in Oberjoch, a village in the German alps. I spent my afternoons climbing, and one day lay down for a snooze in a field. I was woken by a cow licking my face

Now I think I'm supposed to nominate six more folks...but I'm iot sure who or how, so have patience....

Unforgetable

There are a few things that I might forget as I and the boy get older so I thought I'd put them down here:

1.When he was a wee bairn, he never sneezed; he pinged
2.When he was a mere six hours old, being held by his mum, he peed in an immaculate arc straight into said mum's handbag
3. He got stung by a bee on the beach and fell asleep; he ran into a door, broke his nose and fell asleep; when he was half-way born he fell asleep
4. He learnt to ride a bike from first getting on to riding off by himself with no stabilisers in two and a half hours
5. The first time he had Coca Cola was at Liverpool st station; the bubbles went straight up his nose
6. His first ice cream was a 99 at Kew Gardens; he wasn't expecting it to be cold
7. His first denim jacket which would just about fit a teddy bear; I still have it
8. His first night he slept on my chest whilst I gazed in awe
9. He ate so many strawberries one day that his face looked like one
10. He used to drink the gravy from the boat if we didn't keep an eye on him
11. He used to snuggle into my bed at 5 in the morning
12. He used to have a little plastic cat with wheels for back legs that he carried everywhere
13. His first step was taken in Brighton New Years Eve Eve
14. A wave nearly washed him away on the promenade in Brighton and we've never had a storm like it again
15. He used to jiggle his legs when sitting down. The last time his mum told him off, it was about jiggling his legs. He stopped doing it until six months ago.

Nights in White Satin (3)

Laundered and ironed sheets, pillow case and duvet cover together with damp pillow (slight staining remaining) miraculously re-appeared on the doorstep before I got home tonight. Accompanying note: "Thanks for Saturday night - 1 port too many I think!!!"

Friends....

Nights in White Satin (2)

With my memory slowly returning...I felt compelled to add the school song we sang after the meal. I'm putting it down EXACTLY as it appeared in the programme...so I hope you can see why we all collapsed into giggles half way through:

Floreat Bancroftia,
Floreamus pueri,
Vivat et memoria,
Fundatoris nostril
Nobis in aeternum,
Magni sint honores,
Floreat Bancroftia,
Floreant rectores

The printer doesn't appear to be a latin scholar, but clearly has a nose for business!.

And the photo is simply to show what happens when you let someone who can't speak a language produce something in that language...

Nights in white satin

I read somewhere recently about the challenges of the etiquette of what to do with the bed linen when you stay with someone. At the end of the stay, should you make the bed? Surely not because that implies the host will leave the same sheets on for the next guests. Should you leave it un-made? No because that implies you are slovenly. Oh the dilema. Well, there's a third option:

Saturday night was the Old Boys annual dinner, so I had a couple of Old Boy friends (I don't mean old boyfriends, quite a different thing altogether) to stay as they live a distance, and we are within a few hundred yards of the school...yes the boy goes to the same school that I used to. The evening started well...the boy was going off to a friend's party and was staying over with a mate, leaving the big Old Boys to relive old memories. First OB arrived, and momentarily got confused thinking the boy was me...the first of three times last night that the uncanny resemblence betwen the boy and I was commented on. With the second OB here, we had a quick snifter before setting off. Them a 'girly beer' - a little bottle of 33...and me a shot of finest bourbon. On arrival, we had first one beer, then a second before proceeding to the dining hall to enjoy a fine meal cooked in the school kitchen - it really was tasty. The meal was, of course accompanied by wine. Erm several glasses and then port passed to the left with the cheese. We managed to finish two bottles. Afterwards we retired to the bar, and I'm confident that by this stage my conversations with the headmistress and the games master and the german teacher (she's english) will substantially enhance the boy's school career...oops. Another couple of beers were downed before we walked in a straight line home. Where it was time for a night cap. And then another. I think my light was tured off at 4.00am. To put this in context, I can and do often go for weeks without a drop of alcohol passing my lips.

I arose mid-morning to find that OB1 had left having made his bed. Now I know what he thinks of me. OB2 had also left. But there was something missing from the room. The towels, the sheets, the duvet cover, the pillow case and the pillow itself. I'm sure the mystery will be revealed. I think I might know the answer already. But I don't want to think about it.

And when the boy rematerialised, he asked if I'd had a good night. I kind of groaned to which I got the response, "Well if you can't remember it must have been good." Oh dear perhaps I've been teaching him all the wrong things....

I'm no good

I've done a truly terrible thing.

I've taken the boy's laptop away from him.

What I hadn't realised was that this is the equivalent of making Amy Winehouse go cold turkey.

For me a computer is just something to write my blog on, watch iplayer, listen to itunes, play a few rounds of solitaire, check office e-mails. So if I couldn't use it, it would be a shame, I'd miss it, but it would be no more of an issue than if the TV went on the blink.

What I didn't appreciate is that the lap top is the boy's primary means of communicating with friends, near and far, and by not having the use of his Dell, I was effectively ostracising him from society. Judging by the reaction I got, summarily chopping off his legs with a bent rusty butter knife would have been less painful and more appropriate. The promises freely given in absolute desperation to keep this device sent me reeling - and the comparison with Ms Winehouse's addiction seems entirley appropriate...I wonder what she would promise for the next hit.

So suddenly the punishment seems somewhat disproportionate to the crime, but I'm not sure of a route back. Supper tonight should be fun...uuurgh

Do you wanna touch?

"World of Warcraft is the worlds biggest peadophile ring" said the boy when the second episode (?) instalment (?) was announced on the radio news this morning (we wake to either Q radio or Absolute Extreme, so sometimes minor economic or poltical matters get pushed down the agenda). Naturally enough, I coughed and spluttered into my porridge and tried to think of an appropriate reply, but at 7.00am and even before I had my wake up shower, I could manage no more than a "Err, right. Yeah sure."

Somehow, I feel this wasn't the response required, but equally I suspect that I've missed my moment. I certainly would love to know where this playground comment came from.

And who knows, whether he's right or wrong...much of the on-line world is a mystery to me...but having read on the news today that a woman is divorcing her husband after she caught him cheating on her in a 3D virtual world, I have a feeling that I need to be much more on the ball than I am. I did discover that if you child has been using a website called hidemyprivacy.com, then they're probably seeing things or doing things that they shouldn't.

The boy does manage to produce really good grades for his homework even though he seems to be on-line messaging friends with one hand whilst he does a maths equation with the other. So I guess on-line is not all bad for teens...but for a parent it does add another worry, to the already extensive list.

So into battle...

Schools out

Last night was School House family evening. And a jolly affair it was too. The evening takes the form of a series of performances followed by food and delights, topped off with a rather fabulous fireworks display thanks to Mr and Mrs Patel (evidently).

I was immeasurably impressed by some of the talent...and where the performers lacked talent, they more than made up for it with enthusiasm. I think my X Factor vote went to the Turkish belly dancer, who not only made more than a few middle-aged parents look distinctly uncomfortable - should they watch or should they politely avert their eyes...but also managed to keep move perfect even when the music system decided to give up the ghost. But there were also plenty of excellent pianists, actors, rock bands and soloists (though I couldn't quite go for the admittedly extremely good renditions of songs from The Little Mermaid and Pochahontas).

Inspite of a natural talent for playing the guitar (evidence enough that his musically inept mum and dad are in fact not his parents), the boy had other priorities - running one of the stalls selling sweets (how many should you buy and be seen to be eating before you just can't face another penny chew...).

Loosely speaking, the evening was the themed around around fairytales, so one of the stalls was 'Pin the wings on the err fairy whilst blindfolded' The fairy as it happens was a photo of The Boy which seems to have taken him and his mate about three hours to take at the weekend. Whilst most people couldn't get within a mile of the 'spot', uncannily I managed it straight offf...and for my prize I got (oh no) another sweet. mmm delicious.

His third contribution was giving lessons on his X-board. It seemed to down well, so I kept my "Public liability insurance?" down to a mutter.

Thank heavens for the fabulous fireworks, as our own display on the 5th consisted of no more than half a dozen sparklers in the back garden.

Well that's it...I enjoyed it all.

Friend of Ours

Death and divorce can bring some unlikely friends into your sphere.

And so it was that tonight we went to see Quantum of Solace with Unexpected Friend. In fact we went to see the last 007 movie with him. Unfortunately on that occasion it was a screen we'd never been to before and it turned out to be on a decaying industrial estate in the arse-end of Lee Valley (near to the site of our grand 2012 Olympics) and was preceeded by visiting the next-door themed-eatery that clearly was operated by people that didn't realise that a restaurant should generally serve edible food. Even the 'it's impossible not to get wrongt' Caesar Salad was completely indigestible. This time we went from east to west, ending up in Fulham Broadway, enjoyed a very entertaining movie before retiring to Yo Sushi to eat our fill. All very good.

Unexpected Friend is a nice person...in fact a good friend, and indeed it's always a very pleasent time we have when we see him. And he is the sort of person that I think in times of need we could rely on to provide support.

So that to me is a good friend.

But the thing is, Unexpected Friend was The Boy's Mum's long-term partner after she and I explosively went our separate ways. And without question at the time I was portrayed as the Devil incarnate, so on the few occasions when we came face to face never a word was spoken. He and The Boy's Mum were together for a couple of years I think...and then (explosively) went their separate ways (in the words of the prodigal Godfather..."With her it's always bloody). And of course that had meant that for two years Unexpected Friend was AN IMPORTANT MAN in the boy's life, but after the split he had become one of the disappeared.

Roll on to the time of the funeral and beyond, and he re-appeared. And this was a good thing...I wanted the boy to have as much continuity in his life and felt UF was an important anchor, so have since encouraged the contact. I know the boy was happy with this...UF is a cognescenti of the gadget world..so was able to talk about the things important to a growing lad.

And so it has continued, and I'm very pleased. But here's a strange thing. The boy refuses to make arrangements to see UF and insists it is down to me to do. I've asked why, but I've got no answer to my question. I know the boy likes to see him...and enjoys his company, but is reluctant, or at least hesitant to keep the communication flowing. Quite confusing....

More, more, more (2)

There are some things in life that we can never have too much it seems.

Women, all women love shoes. And bags.

Me, I can never have enough watches (I stopped buying when I realised it was costing me nigh on £150 a year in batteries to keep them ticking). Shoes (yes I'm in touch with my feminine side). Property (I've never been able (willing) to sell when I ought). Bank accounts (or rather overdrafts). And there's plenty more.

Inspite of my best endeavours to teach the boy not to follow in the footsteps of his father, he too is a compulsive acquirer (acquisitionalist?). Hair products...her gel, hair mouse, hair wax, hair spray. All in the cause of teenage vanity. Bags (is he in touch with his feminine side too?)..he always needs a new one. Watches (following in my footsteps, but at least here I can say no). Socks (he has enough to cloth a millipede) but they're always in Brighton when he's in Buckhurst Hill and in Buckhurst Hill when he's in Brighton. Guitars ( I bought him one, he bought him one and step Granddad gave him one). Three seems a lot to me who's never been able to learn an instrument. Books (he has a bigger library now than I had when I'd passed through our educational system) but that's a good thing and I'm always ready to expand my overdraft on this count.

More, more, more (1)

I celebrated a no-small victory this morning. And the reason for my glee was that I had escaped the house without having got into a verbal scrap wih the boy. And that was an achievement. One (endearing) thing he inherited from his mum was the ability to keep gently winding me up for no reason until I wolud snap. I became wise to this early on with the boy's mum, and generally enjoyed the sport which could provide a whole evening's entertainment at a far lower cost than heading down the pub. Almost invariably I would lose...I would just get to the point of thinking I'd won, fending off gentle dig after gentle dig, that I could smugly sit down with a little grin on my face knowing that I'd WON. Only to be caught out by a final glancing comment that would fill the room with a red mist.

Realising that the subtlties of all this will be lost as I've editied out so much...here we go...please have patience...

So the digging started after I had been taxi-driver for Friday night's Halloween party. Are we going to Brighton? Yes, why? No reason. Saturday. When are we off to Brighton? Soon why, do you want to say something? No. 10 minutes later. Oh it's just that some of us are meeting up in Loughton, but it doesn't matter. Are you sure? Yes, it's fine. OK good - you've not been to the south coast for a month. Yes....ur um.

FFWD to Sunday (missing out why it took us four hours to drive to Brighton on Saturday) and a brief visit to Wakehurst Place for a long walk. Sulky bored looks. And it was time to go. Sunday evening. Is it alright to put my rugby kit on for a quick wash. But I've done the washing...has that been festering in your bag for the last two weeks? Yes. Well see what else there is. There's nothing. OK if you're sure. 10 minutes later. What are these underpants on the bathroom floor? Two hours later. I guess I'll put all the towels on to wash now?

FFWD to Monday morning. It's nice to have clean towels isn't it? I don't know, it's been so long.

Grrr

Justified ancients

I can't help but feel that justice is rarely done...well at least not in the right way anyway. So Russell Brand has resigned, and Jonathan Ross will forfeit a million and a half pounds of not hard-earned cash. Russell Brand I cannot understand how he has achieved fame and fortune because I can detect no talent so I'm glad he's gone Jonathan Ross I've always quite liked...but recently he does seem to have lost touch and just got too full of himself...his Friday night show has been firmly off my watching list for a few weeks now. But it turns out that Georgina Baillie is a porn star...thank you popbitch for that...so it's a shame that there's a twist in the justice being meated out here. I'm so glad to see Andrew Sachs has come out of this as the most fair-minded and dignified of people. He goes high on my list of people I'd love to have lunch with.

In the same way, I was delighted that the judges decided that we are all entitled to do what we like in private providing it's legal, and not have it plastered all over the tabloids. Not that it's something I think I need to worry about. It's just a shame that it was the pretty unsavoury Max Mosely and his even more unsavoury practices which have enshrined this in law.

And now, in possibly the ultimate in irony, Porsche has managed to get one over on the hedge funds which have been the poison coarsing through the veins of western economies for the last decades. For me it's deeply satisfying, but I can't help but feel that it's case of bitng off the hand that feeds you. We shall see.

And back to Mr Sachs. It has only because of this little controversy that I realised that in my head I had managed to confuse said Mr Sachs and Tony Robinson of Baldrick and making holes in the ground fame. I know they're different people...I've always known, but for some reason my brain and merged them. Oh dear.

Oh yes and I still don't understand why so many column inches including the ones above have been devoted to Mr Ross and Mr Brand's puerile behaviour.

My family and other animals

In a break from recent tradition, I've not used a song title to head this post...but then what could be better than a bit of Gerald Durrell - a favourite read when I was knee high to a grass hopper, and also enjoyed by the boy too.

Cyprus is an interesting place for us to visit. On the one hand completely familiar as we're visiting family, but on the other a place which is absolutely foreign in landscape, architecture and culture. We had a fabulous seven days soaking up the sun in temperatures near 30 degrees, and given my avowed dislike of 'beach holidays', I sheepishly have to admit to spending every day on one beach or another.

Going home to mummy, it's a strange feeling to go from being from being Dad head of house to being young son again, even just for a week...I'm not sure the boy noticed I'd turned back to being fifteen, but I certainly appreciated not having to be too grown up for a few days.

Almost as soon as we arrived on a balmy Saturday evening, I realised that my quest for the week was to be to see as many new creatures as possible in this semi-exotic land. On the fence chez Grandma inCyprus was a praying mantis. Clearly, he was praying for me to go away, as my snapping away with camera led him to vacate the premises the next morning, having been in residence for the previous fortnight. Other creatures at the house included a glorious Green Frog, about the size of a match box, which had been eyeing up a tasty (small) mantis for its supper. Unfortunately, we came along and rather disturbed the balance of nature, causing Kermit to leap a couple of meters onto the boy's chest before disappearing over the car and into the bushes. A pair of gorgeous deep red dragon flies spent the week sunbathing by the pool, only flying off to chase away any other trying to challenge their territory. Couldn't think why they spent their time by the pool...it's not as if there was anything in the chlorine-treated water for them to feast on...but each to their own.

Down in the sea, I lost count of the number of brilliantly coloured fish darting in and out of the rocks. We had great fun snorkling around and occasionally throwing some stale bread for them to enjoy...it was an amazing sight to see them swim at a rate of knots to get a nibble. I nearly got knocked down in the rush. My favourites, were - an octopus that spent a couple of days curled up semi-coverd in a hole in a rock before deciding it was time to flee the nest. Amazing how they blend in, and look so ungainly perched on rock, but are so elegant when swimming. Cuttlefish...again amazingly elegant and graceful until they decide you're too close and then turn on the jet propulsion to escape our noseyness. And finally, my sheer joy and glee to be swimming off the beach at the ghost city of Famagusta and to be overtaken by a turtle...sheer magic. I was like a wide-eyed boy in Hamleys the night before Christmas.

Flamingos standing in the lakes near the airport naturally brought to mind the ancient joke of "Why do flamingos stand on one leg? Because if they lifted the other one up, they'd fall over." Well it still made me laugh.

The only creatures I wasn't so keen on were the mosquitoes who came out to dine...my legs were a veritable feast they had saved themselves for. Also perhaps the jelly fish which I accidently stroked gently..it didn't seem to react, so that took the sting out of the situation....

I was saddened, and reminded of my father, one day to be lying on the beach and to have a man with Parkinsons walk past. He had the same far away look on his face, still smiling, but with his arm shaking badly. His companion walked some 25 yards behind him, watching attentively. He spent a long time in the sea, but at one stage he was oblivious to the fact that his swimming trunks had descended to his knees. It worried me that he would follow the same patten as Dad...not a happy journey for anyone to have to face.


The boy overcame his first experience of snorkling last year...without thinking he put on the snorkel and dived down, not realising he would get a gallon on salty water to choke on. This time, he got the benefit of being able to spend loads of time surveying the sea bed for creatures and was rewarded with the sight of some monstrous fish 'leaping' off the sea bed and gobbling up an innocent passer by. mmmm delicious. In fact his joy of being able to swim in such clear, warm waters was such that he took his mobile into the water with him. It was forgotten in his swimming shorts, and fifteen seconds after he dived in, he was shouting "oh no, oh no, oh God no" I thought there was was some nasty trying to get him, and was ready to dive in and fend it off as he stood up and 'fished' the soggy phone out of his pocket. He was distruaght...and I was relieved to the extent that I couldn't help making a joke of it...and reminding him of an occasion on holiday with his mum in Greece five years ago when he'd dived into a swimming pool with Game Boy in the same pocket. The phone is now an 'ex-parrot' as John Cleese might say. Phew that'll save on the bills.

We found some sunken treasure - One Euro which had been lying at the bottom of the sea for long enough for it to be well and truly weathered...

The boy also got on the back of Grandma's scooter with me again...the first time he'd done so since we'd come off my Vespa three and a half years ago..he ended up with a broken foot (I can't spell metatarsal) whilst I walked away unscathed. Still it did make me nervous buzzing around in nothing more than our shorts and T-shirts (and skid lids), when in England we'd never go out in anything less than full body-armout. But hey, that's holidays for you.

Unfortunately we didn't manage the day out on the power boat...a rather unseasonal and definitely uncharitable thunderstorm in the morning, kept us in dock...but sometimes, for whatever reason, these things are not to be. Still the absence of the day trip meant the boy got to spend a few hours jamming on his guitar with neighbour Phil and step-grandad Joe. I've a sneaking suspicion it was the highlight of his week. We also survived an earthquake, evidently, but as I was snoozing at the time I guess I can't say that the earth moved for me.

So now back to the daily routine...brrr it sure is chilly here in Blighty!

Olivers Army

The boy was away this weekend at his first cadet camp. Excitement had been high in the week running up to it, but that didn't mean that he thought to make sure that we had everything that was on his kit list. The net result was a last minute Friday night dash to Waitrose on the way to meet the prodigal uncle for a a celebratory meal at Buckhurst Hil's finest (and actually one of the UK's) Indian restaurants.

This gave me a free weekend. Personal space and time. Hurrah. So what wild things did I get up to? A salacious time at Brighton's seediest night clubs? The chance to catch up with much missed friends, or even family? A gorgeous meal at a great restaurant?

Erm, well no. I headed to Ikea (oh no, not again) to pick up a couple of things (actually, is it possible to ever get out of Ikea with a bill of less than £200...I've never ever achieved that, often picking up stuff that's really not really not needed). After that I headed down to the flat by the sea, achieving precisely nothing all weekend...at least it was a warm and sunny time to do nothing very much on the coast.

I've been planning for when at some stage the boy would fly the nest...university was my target date (and as I've mentioned to him on one or two or several dozen occasions, when he leaves for higher education that is the time that I stop the real job, climb on the, as yet phantom motorcycle, and spread my own wings). And I've also known that as he heads through his teenage years, my role would increasingly be reduced to taxi driver and funds provider. But I hadn't really realised that at the tender age of 13, he would not be around all the time. So this is an unexpected bonus...but I need to change my mindset slightly, open up that little black book of mine and renew old friendships...as well as gallop into a whole set of new ones. Hurrah!

After all I have no intention of spending my middle years watching endless repeats on TV, wearing a hole in the carpet in front of the sofa!