Overheard telephone conversation

In a very rough,run down industrial estate, just next to where the 2012 stadium is being built. In heavy East-End accent

"Hi Simon. Got a mate doing some property developing in Romania with a bloke called John (deleted for fear of legal or other retribution). You know - the cigarette family. Anyway, he's gone off with £5.7 million of my mate's money. Can't get hold of him anywhere. We think he's got a place in Monte Carlo. Do you have anyone down there that could sort it out. You do? Great. Let me know."

I must stop going to these places.

The Dark Days

Five years ago today, I was at a very fashionable bar called Home in the very fashionable Hoxton with some very fashionable people. The party I'd been invited to was to celebrate with the editor of the very fashionable Blueprint magazine who was leaving to start his fashionable freelance career. As usual I was circulating, gossiping to many familiar faces as well as introducing myself to new people that I thought might be profitable to know. I also spent much of the evening in humorous (I thought) conversation with a very talented Czech photographer called Hana Jakrlova who I rather fancied. It was a splendid and enjoyable evening, and one I'll never forget.

At around eleven o'clock I checked my mobile...something I tended not to do very much after office closing hours. There were 11 missed calls, and as many messages so I ran upstairs out of the party noise to listen to the voicemails. The messages were from both The Boy and The Nanny. His messages were just to say to call the nanny urgently, and no doubt had been made because since divorce fron his mum, The Nanny and I had had a falling out, living in a state of uneasy peace. The Nanny's messages were more direct. The boy's mum had had a brain haemorrhage whilst in Ireland on business. She was in hospital...and fortunately still alive. When I called we talked about what had happened, and agreed that on Friday I would take Fred, out of our usual sequence of one weekend on, one weekend off. That at least I was happy with as I'd always fought tooth and nail for more time with him.

Since that day my mobile is never away from my side and checked for messages far more than is reasonable, and if I do happen to have a forgetful moment and leave it at home when I'm out, I always make sure I get hold of the boy to let him know where he can get me.

I returned very briefly to the party to say my goodbyes, and walked home to Borough. Not knowing the seriousness, or otherwise of the situation, it crossed my mind that she could die, and that much would change if she did. But I dismissed the thought on the basis that often I think the worst and it never happens.

And indeed she didn't die then.

That was two weeks later.

Every year since, for the next two weeks, I live with a very dark and heavy cloud over my head. I call these the dark days. And we burn a candle for her from the 15th through to the 29th.

My loss is as nothing to The Boys, yet he seems less conscious of the time than me (but interestingly he is always more fractious in January than the rest of the year), and that I think is the healing power of youth, but I don't doubt that underneath he misses her as much now as he ever did. Perhaps more.

Cut backs

As the recession is now in full swing, it is time for some cut backs. I've conducted a complete review and of my entire life, and have been able to identify where I can make savings.

Before Christmas, we had present buying issues (the boy didn't want to, having spent all his money on coffee at the Loughton branch of Starbucks), school grade issues (actually all very good, apart from dreadful maths grades which he just didn't seem to care about) and girlfriend issues (his, not mine as I don't have one). And then into the new year we have room tidy issues (again, again, again), house tidiness isuues (his stuff spread liberally around every possible room) helpfulness issues (he won't help out around the house, attitude issues (very confrontational for no reason), girlfriend issues (his again, not mine as I still don't have one), mobile phone issues (how do you get through more than a thousand texts in a month?) and language issues (the sailors are blushing).

So I've decided to make a 100% reduction in my parental responsibilities. Financially, this won't save me a bean, but it seems as sensible as Gordon Brown reducing VAT by two and a half per cent.

I hope you all agree

Dangerous walking

This is the promenade in Hove; in the background the Bandstand is at long last being repaired. Hurrah!

In the foreground, perhaps an indication that people's dangerous walking habits need to be controlled....

Nearly famous

On many an occasion I've wondered what it says about us (and in all probability nothing at all) that we often seem to brush close to the famous, without ever quite achieving it for ourselves.

The thought crossed my mind again this evening when The boy and I were watching a new ITV programme called Demons. It's complete nonsense about supernatura; goings on in London, and no less enjoyable for that. But for me the highlight is that the hero lives in a building that I instantly recognised as somewhere that I own a flat....it's very art-deco and designed by the same architects as the rather more famous Hoover Building. The Alaska's history is rather less illustrious though, as it was constructed to process seal fur:

"Another fascinating ex-industrial building is the former Alaska Factory. This opened in 1869 for working seal fur. Only the brick entrance gates with the carving of an Alaskan seal on its façade remain of the old factory. Behind the gate stands a clean white art deco building made by the Architect Wallis Gilbert, who also designed the Hoover buildings in London. Originally the workmen would work endless shifts with barrels of beer instead of canteens and play spontaneous games of football. As working techniques and demands changed, the factory was continuously added to or rebuilt. It was bombed twice in WWll. In the fifties it had its first canteen, organised sports teams and new regulations about working hours, all of which seem to be reflected in the clean white scientific new building."


When The Boy and I lived in Borough High St we were just spitting distance from Borough Market, which has featured in numerous films, TV programmes and ads, so there's always much excitement whenever it's seen as we chime in tandem "We used to live there"

And in Brighton too, a film (the name of which passes me by at the moment) was made at the bottom of our Square.

But it's not just our residential location to the famous, our brushes have included me being directed in amateur dramatics by Chris Timothy...best known for playing James Herriot and I believe regular appearances in Casualty. Plus I've lunched with Prince Edward (the stripogram who materialised was less than welcome), partied with Ulrika Johnson and had lots of other contacts with A listers, B listers and even Z listers. Evidently I was at school with Alan Davies, though I can't say I remember him, and I gather he hated the place.

So fame has never rubbed off on me, and I wonder if it will on the boy. Or if he wuld want it to. We'll see.

Recall: Faulty uterus

I'm not sure what's more bizarre, the fact that these are available, or that the uterus has been recalled:

"In what must be the most bizarre product recall we’ve had the pleasure to be emailed about, DKE Toys has issued a statement informing us that the Pink Uterus from I Heart Guts‘ range of body part plush toys is a potential hazard to children…

The problem? Its cheeky purple ovaries are detachable. Sadly, this means it’s been withdrawn from sale. But rest assured you can still cuddle up with the brain (nice stem!) or, my favourite in anthropomorphic offal, the pancreas."



The guts gang in happier times, before uterus was recalled due to her detachable ovaries. Clockwise from left: uterus, pancreas, gall bladder and brain. All $18

Continuing the Dr Who theme

It just keeps coming...wonder why?

AG has pointed out that she can't open the link I pasted here, so I've deleted it and instead here is the picture...



I can't believe they overlooked me for the next Dr Who!

Winterwonderland

Our few days away have been glorious...and just as a New Year should be. We took the long way round for our drive up to Peterchurch, going through the New Forest, and deciding to cross the Severn by the old bridge so we could head up the Wye Valley. We took the opportunity of stopping at Tintern Abbey - somewhere I'd wanted to go to for years. The boy was as awe-struck as me - there was a real atmosphere there, and if it hadn't been for temperatures that would make the Arctic seem tropical we would have stopped for longer. But I did buy the T-shirt for posterity.



Our gathering was at our wonderful friend's place The Barn, which manages to be both highly contemporary on the inside, yet warm and welcoming at the same time. It is a favourite place to come and relax several times a year. The house was crowdered [sic] with our friend's two lovely daughters, his ex-ish girlfriend and her poppet, Gym instructor, his wife and sons - one currently studying to be a vet in Edinburgh. Gym instructor is an amazingly gentle, fun guy...and his current claim to fame is he is the model for a new range of action dolls to be launched by the MoD. So look out in the shops. His other claim to fame is the need for furnace-like heat. So the house was kept at a constant 35C...oh yes we could all walk around in our bikinis sweating away the pounds whilst outside the frost got thicker and thicker and thicker.



We nearly had the opportunity to go off to the Point to Point in Ledbury, but seriously frozen ground meant that the horse part was cancelled. The human race was still on though (human ankles more disposbale than horse ones?). I thought I might have a crack, but ducked out when I was told it was seven and a half miles and I had no kit. The cold had nothing to do with it. Our host still went, and found himself racing against a very diminutive Richard Hammond, complete with jodhpurs. He was evidently a jolly nice chap.



For NYE, we had added friends from just up the lane, so a very full house indeed and a fine Jamie Oliver designed meal was rounded off by the boy entertaining us on the guitar. I remember thinking whilst listening and watching that I could think of no better place to be in the whole world to be spending my start to 2009. We rounded off with a good toast to to all friends, and some fireworks as near as dammit as good as London's. So no doubt there were a good few shaken sheep around.



As you can see the frost was deep, and the place took on the most magical air. Just what the doctor ordered!


Happy New Year to you all

Aye Aye.

The boy returned last night so we headed off with unexpected friend to one of my favourite Brigton (Hove actually) restaurants - Harry's in Western Road, where fine English food can be consumed. There was a slight delay in departing as various mobile phones needed to be 'reflashed'...the boy has an unnerving knack of turning the latest technology into ex-technology. Mission accomplished, and a short dash in the bitter, bitter cold got us to the restaurant. Liver and Bacon for me, a veggie burger for UF and a ginormous steak for the boy. Delicious.

This morning we had two missions to accomplish. Get the broken glases fixed (see previous post...I can't hyperlink as a) I don't know how and b) I'm on a Mac which means I can't do anything other than type simple words one after another - the PC seems to be in a terminal state - my fault, nothing to do with the boy) And find a coat.

Down at Vision Express, we were dutifully entertained by the really nice staff - how do they find and keep these people; they should be pleased that they get everything so right. As it happens, the boy's glasses couldn't be fixed immediately (no lenses in stock), so we bought another pair after a quick eye check. This was supposed to be a cheap pair until the proper ones are done, but surprise, surprise, they are Ted Baker ones and cost designer prices. I took the opportunity of having my eyes checked for the first time in four years, and I remain still almost perfect. They took a pictre of my retina, which they say will be e-mailed to me, so when it gets here I'll post it here. I found that bit really exciting, as I'm gradually building up a complete picture of the inside of my body - I already have x-rays of my fractured wrist and fractured elbow. So if I keep going my inner soul will be entirely on display. Hopefully, I won't have to break anything to get more pictures though....

...the search for the prefect coat was interminable. I think we went in every possible shop imaginable. They say that shopping is Britain's most popular hobby. Please tell me why. It's a nightmare, of surly staff, in-the-way other shoppers, and extended choice of everything that is NOT in the sale. We searched high, we searched low. The coats all started to look the same to me, but evidently none were good enough....fortunately that included the £500+ Nicole Fahri one that he was never going to to be got anyway. We ended up in the most improbable place...indeed the very last shop in Brighton - Moss Bros. Amazingly they had the best selection of all, and in the right sizes. So not surprisingly several hours were taken up with choosing the right one. With new coat and new glasses, there is something of a remarkable resemblance to David Tennant...so continuing the apparent Dr Who theme of our Christmas!

Yo ho ho

Well Christmas has done its usual trick of creeping up (in a rush) unexpectedly, bursting out in a rather brash and loud fashion, and then disappearing into a dark hole for another 364 (or is it 365 this time) days....I guess 2009 isn't a leap year. So another year when I don't have to worry about being proposed to on February 29th (I should be so lucky!)

I've been the most bah humbug about Christmas this year ever...mainly due to the sense of economic gloom crystalising rather sharply in December, and escaping complete financial collapse by the skin of my teeth...but more of that some other time. For no logical reason I remain quite confident that 2009 will turn out better than the press expect...and that whilst I know the world will change, it will be for the better.

More than ever, the festive festivities have had their surprising moments...a trip on Christmas Eve to Theresa the Nanny, followed by a relatively gentle stroll down the motorway to the Rhonnda. I played my cards well, and managed to keep the boy's much wanted present a secret...a watch that tells you the temperature (I work it out by whther I'm sweating or shivering), whether the tide is in or out (wet or dry feet), and which direction you're heading in (do they speak in a southern drawl, or scottish brogue). If you push the right button, it'll even tell you the time.



My present from the boy was a Stereophonics DVD, but not quite a surprise as I'd had to buy it myself; at least he wrapped it!

The day was pleasant enough...a trip out to Aunt in the Valleys, followed by a walk down in Cardiff Bay...bloody freezing, but delighted to find somewhere to buy a steaming cappuccino...hurrah, my hands were falling off, and a return to have a late lunch, traditional snooze followed by Doctor Who. And in the same vein, here's a picture of the boy standing by the entrnce to Torchwood.



The boy gave us a few fine songs on the guitar, which entertained me and delighted the Wicked Witch. Late, the boy and I retired to our shared guest room, where I was surprised to be confronted with the request that next year, "Could we go skiing?" I don't know why; I thought he was enjoying himself.

Boxing morning, I normally leave for Brighton early, but this year we headed off to the discount outlet centre at Bridgend...not that either of us was desperate to spend money, but I'd not been there, and the boy wants a smart coat. As it happens, surprisngly no coat for the boy but a pile of stuff for me, returning to Grandma's house with half an hour to spare before the boy's challenging sister arrived. Suddenly the boy turned as scarlet as Santa's costume, as he suddenly appreciated the downside of throwing a strop a couple of weeks ago whilst we were shopping for festive gifts. Surprise number 4. No present for sister. A major disaster was averted by 'Live with mother uncle', who produced out of a hat a magical iTunes voucher.

Having meeted and greeted, I've retreated to Brighton for 24 hours of RnR, until the boy descends again. And I'll probably spend some of that time re-writing this...

Bloody annoying (2)

Or maybe "Wool, the, eyes, my, pulled, have, had, I

After a few nights when the boy has struggled to settle down (surely at 13, Christmas is not that exciting...is it?), the boy came down tonight long after he should have been soundly in the land of nod. By the cut of his jib, there was clearly something not quite right. Off goes the TV, closed goes the laptop (evidently boys can multi-task sometimes...but only when electronic gadgets are involved). Come and sit down and tell me what's wrong. Some hesitation (works well for dramatic effect), the boy sits and tentatively hands over his glasses. Broken glasses. Bad but not that bad...although whether they were snapped in his jacket when it was on his back as claimed or thrown on the floor is open to debate. Time for blubbering tears (works well on the heart strings). School jacket has been lost. He's known since last week and stayed stum. In (new) jacket was ipod and expensive headphones.

Loss of sympathy immediate.

Knowing what to do or say is beyond me.

He's only 13....but bloody annoying!

Merry Christmas one and all...

Bloody annoying

I seem to have nothing of any note to report. Zilch. Nadda. A big zero.

What is it with teenagers? They always do the exact opposite of what you expect. How annoying is that?

Having had pretty much a free run of things since school broke up ten days ago, he's done nothing that should send me into high dudgeon. Yes, there's a few clothes on the floor, yes he was ten minutes late back from meeting friends, yes he left a plate on the floor. No he's not stayed in bed all day, no he hasn't answered back, no he hasn't asked for extra pocket money. He's being perfectly reasonable about everything. So with the best will in the world I can't seem to find anything to get uppity about. grrr.

So it seems this really is the season of peace and goodwill to all men. And long may it last. I'm very grateful really.

My favourite line of the year, comes not from home, but from the office. We have a man of a different generation in the office. He reads the Daily Mail. He's married to Jane. One day last week he went home early because, quote, "Jane's washing machine has broken."

Naturally, we've followed his lead in assigning all things kitchen and bathroom in the office to the 'girlies' to look after (in between making cups of tea and coffee), whilst I'll sort out the boy things. I've extended this to home as well. However, it now seems that neither the boy nor I have any responsibilities for cooking, washing or cleaning. So soon we'll be dirty, starving and unkempt. But at least we have a big telly and lots of tools in the garage.

Hallelujah

I've decided at long last to turn to Jesus for salvation.

The decision was prompted this morning by turning up at the tube station (no Vespa or cycle for me today as I'm meeting the old boys for a stiff drink) to find the local churches handing out lovely hot coffees in plain white polystyrene cups (memo to self: sue like the McDonalds customer did on the basis that they failed to say that the coffee cup she bought contained hot liquid...she got $millions) and delicious home baked chocolate biscuits (memo to self: remember to sue; packaging doesn't say 'may contain traces of nuts'). The merry band were not collecting money, or forcing themselves or their views on dejected commuters in any way...so the refreshments, accompanied by hearty smiles were more than appreciated. (memo to self: remember to complain to Transport for London, as I'm sure they must have offended many non-Christians.

The boy remains away for a second night, hopefully completing his Christmas shopping with the ex-nanny, returning tomorrow. When he's in bed and asleep, I doubt I'll be able to resist trying to sneak a look and see what will be waiting for me under the Christmas tree on the 25th...

Party on

The boy did as he had been instructed, and was home by 10 on Saturday morning having stayed at a friends over Friday night.

And that was where it all started to unravel. The parents had gone away, leaving the 17 year old brother of the boys friend to look after them…some other 13 year olds, plus some fourteen year old friends of the friend’s sister. I think. Bed time, it transpires was about 6.30 in the morning.

For sure, I’m grateful that there was no alcohol involved, and nothing more addictive than X-Box 360 was consumed. And in general, I can’t deny that there appears to have been no shenanigans of any sort. So as all night parties go, this goes straight to the top of my list of things not to worry about.

But a boy who hasn’t had more than a few moments sleep is a very grumpy beast indeed. Saturday was largely devoted to the boy snoozing whenever he got a moment…and the car journey to Brighton was a good long snooze. But even an early night on Saturday, didn’t make up for it, so Sunday was full on ‘Kevin’ (Harry Enfield) mode. And as we were traipsing round the shops trying to buy imaginative, desirable presents, it made for a fairly grim weekend.

It’s a right of passage I suppose...and that is reward in itself. But as we ate pizza for lunch on Sunday, I was left thinking about how many more rights of passage I've got to look forward to. Uuurgh, there seems to be a long list...

And he does look quite sweet in the picture I took as he lay in front of the open fire…even if he has promised to remove parts of my body if I show it to any body. So please don't look.