You're toast

Breakfast is generally a fairly solemn....erm I mean sullen...affair.

The Boy's always been a grumpy old man first thing in the morning, and the rest of us keep a low profile just in case. The Cat doesn't really wake up until nine o'clock on school days...and at the weekend, will sleep until sunset given half a chance. On the other hand, The Cats Mother is up with the larks and making lists of things to do, folding the washing and harrumphing if we've left anything lying around. As I generally leave a lot lying around, I often start the day with a slap.

In the kitchen, The Cat's Mother reigns supreme. Except where it comes to important things...the gadgets.

The radio has been strategically placed on a high window ledge so she can't reach it and change the station. The Boy and I favour Q Radio or XFM, but she would happily listen to Radio 4 or Magic. They are wholly inappropriate.

There is also a very nice shiny toaster made by that fine British institution, Dualit. If you're not familiar with them, and let's face it if you've not just got married, why would you be? It has a clockwork timer that you turn to toast your bread. It's clearly marked and numbered, with a little notch to let you know the 'optimum' toasting time...it's just beyond the number 2. When the Boy and I use it, we turn the dial to the notch and get perfect toast. Every time. The Cats Mother and The Cat, however, just turn the dial as far as they can. And get burnt toast every time. Sometimes this can be scraped, but is mostly put in the recycling bin. They greet the smoke and smell of burning with the yelps of the utmost surprise. Every time.

This prompts the Boy and I to roar loudly and tell them how to cook the toast. It's easy we say, just turn the dial to 2. You'll get perfect toast we say. Don't turn the dial any further.

They look at us as if we are daft. Don't be ridiculous, we like our toast more toasted than you.

But you always burn it we say incredulously. Very loudly. We may even shout.

We don't know why this upsets you so much they say.

Because it's so bleeding obvious we say.

Yes but why? They say.

Toast is easy to cook. You burn it everytime we say. Steam hissing out of our ears

And so it goes on.

The Boy and I are as one.

The Cat and The Cat's Mother are as one.

I think they do it just to upset us.

I don't think they like toast at all.

Buzz, buzz, buzz went the bee

Wasps are a pain in summer aren't they?

As far as I know they have no worthwhile function other than to try and steal your jam and lemonade whilst having a picnic. When I was younger and crueler, and spending my summer working in the Bavarian Alps, we used to pour a few drops of beer on to the table whilst we ate our lunch and wait for the hornet-sized wasps to come and settle. We'd quickly turn our beer glasses over them, like a glass cage, and then throw a lighted cigarette in. They never lasted long, either burning themselves on the lit fag, or suffocating. With thirty years of hindsight I can see that this was cruel, nasty and sadistic. So I'd like to apologise to the Wasp God, and claim folly of youth.

Since then I've seen a friend who had a wasps nest on the side of his house decide that a good hit with a baseball bat was an excellent way to let them know they weren't welcome - they begged to disagree. And in Buckhurst Hill we had one in the hedge, so that every time I opened the car door, the wasps came out to see who was home. I asked them to leave nicely by spraying their nest with something I bought at Robert Dyas. They never spoke to me again.

Bees on the other hand are brilliant. Beautiful in a gawky kind of way, even they don't know how they fly, I'm told. The decline of the great honey bee has been much documented in recent years, so they are very precious creatures indeed.

On the side of the garage we have a bird box which has remained empty this year. We've been told that in 2010 this is a very common phenomenon. I'm hoping it's just that pesky Icelandic volcano which has kept the birds grounded in their summer habitats, but I'm affeared it may be worse.

Claiming squatters rights, we discovered this weekend, was a troupe of bees. They were big black and yellow and very buzzy when I went close. As I'm not one for bravado, we thought it best just to get the professionals in. The council suggested some beekeepers who came round in a jiffy...only marginally disappointed to find that these are Bumble Bees so don't produce honey...but good for pollinating. So as the bees dozed, the bird/bee box was sealed and taken away in the back of their car. They've promised to invite us round for a hog roast later in the year....and indeed sell us back the bird box. So we'll be able to see how our bees are fairing.



At the other end of the garden, we have a family of foxes. Mum and three cubs...one has been brave enough to peer through the windows in the conservatory. I'd like to say how sweet and lovely they are, but foxes are getting very bad press this week, so I'll merely mention their existence in passing.

"Hello I'm the Cat's Mum"

We all have our different reasons for writing a blog...some people have amazing writing talents, some share their humour and some just like writing about their kids. I started having been prompted by Nappy Valley Girl and started writing about what it was like to bring up my boy...I write professionally for a living, but have been quite determined to keep this as amateur as possible...hence the regular typos and poor grammar. I quickly had another couple of reasons - the boy's grandmother, my mum - Grandma in Cyprus lives in erm Cyprus, so it has become a good way of keeping in touch and letting her know what we've been up to....at least I think that's why she never feels the need to ring any more! Of course, I vaguely remember now a conversation when she said she was moving there to get away from her family....but I'm sure she was joking. And secondly it's a bit of a diary so I don't forget all those precious moments we live through. But I have to be honest, over the last few months, Don't Panic. RTFM has studiously avoided a very big chunk of my life.

March last year, the boy was in the school's production of Macbeth which meant going along for two of the three nights it was performed. if I was truly dedicated, it would have been three...but I had to have some sort of a social life. It had been a slightly traumatic time getting there, and many tears were shed as the boy hadn't buckled down to learning his lines as he should. So as I sat in the audience, he looked at me nervously from the stage desperately trying to remember his words. He did, and played his part very well. I was very proud. Whilst loitering during the interval, someone came up to me and introduced herself: "Hello I'm the Cat's mum" she said, and we exchanged a few words about pocket money and kids wanting to spend their time in Costa Coffee.

Not so many weeks afterwards it was the school trip to Sorrento, and we met again. 5 o'clock in the morning as we waited for the tour bus to depart. I'm not so sure I was very sociable.

And then a couple of weeks later I dropped him round at The Cat's house for a party (her Dad's 50th - they were being picked up by limo and taken to his house). And I may have mentioned before, I was asked if I fancied meeting for a drink. By the Cat's mum. I did indeed drive away thinking this was quite funny. It's not that often I get asked out.

It took a couple of weeks for me to sort out the drinks...I wasn't playing it cool...I was just rubbish. Even losing her number. And her name. So eventually we went out for a drink. As friends. And did so a couple of weeks later. And so this pattern continued for a pretty long time. I had a laugh...lots of laughs in fact even as the summer rolled on. It was going no where, but it was quite fun...we shared a sense of humour and had lots of similar interests. But I was resolute in my singularity.

And then as the Autumn rolled round something changed. It would be hard to say what, although I can say precisely when (although I won't). And suddenly fortnightly or monthly meetings-up became more and more regular. We spent Christmas together.

So regular in fact that The Boy's and my house in Buckhurst Hill has been all but abandoned. Weeds are growing through the paved drive and the crazy-paving in the back yard, dust is gathering in the corners of the sitting room, there are cobwebs everywhere, the garden hedges have run riot and the food in the fridge is rotten.

So life has changed more than I could have imagined a year ago. And only for the good.

The challenge now is not so much how to bring the boy up, but how we both adapt to our new circumstances. It's been a magical time, and I think it will be for a very long time ahead.

The stress test

Half term. It's been half term all week. And after a spate of exams before, the return to school will mean a further week of 'You may turn the paper over now'. And bar a few ups and downs, it's been a relatively stress free experience.

The boy has a completely different revision technique to me (not that I've had to revise for two decades). I used to work out how many topics were the minimum I could get away with, but then learn each one in depth. I read, read again, read yet again and finally read again. I'd make notes, and then notes on my notes. I'd look at text books and note books and work from dawn 'til dusk. I rarely came unstuck, but when I did it was spectacular - if I misjudged which topics would come up in the exam then I was sunk. But I was always good enough to get through 'O's, 'A's, 'AS's, and even managed to come top in my degree course.

The boy's revision technique is as follows:

1. Turn on computer
2. Listen to itunes
3. Start texting friends
4. Read a bit
5. Find some more music to listen to
6. Text some more friends
7. Play on the X-Box
8. Read a bit
9. Check out a cycling web site
10. Call a couple of friends
11. Rest
12. Put a new CD on the computer
13. Read a bit
14. Keep texting
15. Go grab a snack
16. Look at the BBC revision web site
17. Rest

....and so on. He has a remarkable ability to remember things, and can generally apply himself when it comes to science and maths. But his revision is nothing like I've seen before.

It's very stressful for me....

One of those days...

Today (and it's only 10.00 a.m.) I have:

1. Overslept (turned the alarm off because of the Bank holiday)
2. Peed into the bidet because I was still asleep when i got up(yes...yes...don't say it...)
3. Left my keys in the front door as I biked off to work (found by the boy a couple of hours later)
4. Forgotten my filled up coffee loyalty card so I actually had to pay...
5. Just about set the alarm off because I forgot to unlock the office door before activating the alarm
6. Locked myself out of my internet bank by entering the wrong security code
7. Locked myself out of my bank account my trying to enter an old pin number
8. Posted on Facebook that I have 'One and a half kilos of it in the cupboard' thinking I was sending a private message to someone who would understand the context.

I'm not sure I'll make it 'til lunchtime....

Away with the fairies

Are you the last one to leave the party? Have you ever gone to stay at a friends for the weekend and then just not left?

The Boy has a Godfather who once was one of the UK's foremost technology journalists. he was well enough known that when we had a computer go badly wrong, the mere mention of his name sent a shiver down the spine of the supplying company's PR. We got a new computer and a whole host of goodies. He was also the first person we knew to get (for testing of course) an X-Box, and his flat was a geeks paradise.

At some stage, I don't know when quite, he decided there was more to life than writing about gadgets. He completed modernised what had been a tatty, rundown and disgracefully untidy flat into a splendid icon of contemporary minimalism. It was beautiful.

Then he sold it and decided to travel the world. Among his exploits included helping sail a yacht half way round the world with a couple who, as far as I can tell, would probably make excellent characters in a scary horror movie.

At some stage on his travels he met an American lass, fell in love and decided to marry.

But life is never simple, and in order to get the right American visa so he could go back and get hitched, he had to return to the UK. He needed somewhere to stay, so I offered the flat in Brighton for 3-4 weeks. That was in December. He finally returned to the States yesterday. Yes, the visa process was challenging to say the least...evidently many people try to marry an American just to get a Visa to live there. Can you imagine? A fine upstanding Englishman put in the same category as....well you know.

But it wasn't just visa problems...it was distant relationship problems. So he's gone back not entirely sure that the marriage will happen. I hope it does, he deserves it. And if it was meant to be, it will happen. I'm sure.

We've been down a couple of times, but it's not easy when you want the space to yourself and there's someone there...no matter who they are. I've been delighted that the flat has been properly lived in for the last five months...that's not been the case for fifteen years. And on Monday, we will venture down for our first visit since his departure...and we can start again trying to finish off the refurbishment that we postponed on his arrival. Hopefully the flooring will be down this side of the summer break.

Of course...boo hoo to everyone who said he'd never leave.

Have a great Bank Holiday.

Photogallery - friendship

Well I kind of feel a bit guilty about last week's Gallery from Tara...I cheated with my line drawings of paunches...of course Tara's whole point was that too often we end up taking the pictures rather than being in front of the camera....so what would happen if we weren't there.

So this week I've decided to be a good boy and here are some pictures which illustrate friendship (Tara's theme this week) to me.





These first two are of my friend Graeme...he has a fabulous place in Herefordshire and many a happy time has been spent there during warm summers and cold New Years. he came to the Foo Fighters with us...and admitted at the end he only knew one of their songs....many people would have given their right arm for his ticket! He's been a great support and calming influence when life has been topsy turvey...and that's just what friends are for.



This is The Boy and his friend The Cat. They have a very special friendship...and fight and squabble like brother and sister. It is just fantastic to see...I think they will continue to be the very best of friends for ever. Their friendship has had an enormous impact on my life over the last year.



In the middle is someone I met through blogging. She's the sweetest, funniest person in the world...you should read her blog. She has only two faults. Her obsession with David Tenant and her undying loyalty to Scotland. Auntie Gwen has bravely accompanied me to numerous gigs...even some rubbish ones - Echo and the Bunnymen being the most memorable. I didn't take her to see Kings of Leon last year, and I'm not sure she'll ever forgive me.



And here are some friends from school...we've all trodden slightly different paths. One sells medical equipment and is married to our old physics master's daughter, one sells garage doors and stood on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, and one used to be known as Ali at school...but is now Pawan in deference to him....I used to help him stretch the material for his turban after it had been washed. We meet up a couple of times a year...and I'm sure they'd be there for me if my life depended on it.



And finally the friends I recently travelled to Russia with. One person I was at school with (but we can't remember each other), the rest are relatively new friends...all have made me welcome in their long-established groups. And one of them is very special to me indeed.

An Essex weekend

On a very serious level, I am quite perturbed that we have little kids being tried in an adult court (for rape), and a school teacher is driven to beat a pupil with a dumbbell because his class is seeing how far he can be wound up before he snaps. In both cases only the court knows the full facts so I won't pass judgement, but both are very unsettling, and a sign that we have a very dysfunctional society that needs to act quickly and decisively to find a way of re-balancing how society deals with children.

On another note, either Blogger has gone potty, or Hotmail has (may be both...or are they the same organisation?), as comments on my blog are only arriving in my in- box about 12 hours after they're posted....a minor irritation amongst many!

Last weekend was ridiculously full. Friday night we were out at a local fish restaurant (we'd run out of energy to cook...and more importantly clear away and wash up afterwards). Saturday was taken up with a wedding, Sunday a 50th Birthday Party followed by a celebratory dinner for a confirmation. I was so glad to get back to the office yesterday to relax...what a pain that it was such a rubbish day in the office!

I'll share some highlights of the weekend:

At the wedding they were trying to tread a careful line between an Essex wedding and something the rest of the world would understand. The Rod Stewart impersonator who sang and strutted over the wedding breakfast may have just tipped the balance. The fly-by of three bi-planes was allegedly nothing to do with the wedding, but I refuse to be convinced. Of course there was a disco, but best was the singer who could belt out a song better than the original artist (oh for the days of K-Tel). She was flown over from Marbella specially.

It was brilliant, but my legs ached as never before the next day.

At the birthday lunch I was at one moment talking to the Chief Executive of one of the UK's largest charities, and the next to a bloke who had been educated at a run down comprehensive in Barking and become a stone mason. He carves gravestones...and on the back of that is buying his first Ferrari. I staggered out having drunk a gallon of champagne.

Essex...it's a place of contrasts.

The Do's and Dont's of having a German exchange student

1. Obviously don't mention the war. Or the 1966 World Cup. Or that time when we beat them 5-1. Even if they are the only things we've got over them.
2. Don't try and describe coleslaw, say it's made of Kraut, and then blush because you think you've just insulted them
3. Do avoid the newspaper stories about memorials to Bomber Command being erected
4. Do remember they drink coffee not tea
5. Don't take him to the restaurant opposite the Olympic Stadium (H Formans again) and then start talking about German Olympics before realising that neither Berlin 1936 and Munich 1972 were happy times
6. Don 't play the game of 'Name 10 famous Germans' and then realise you can't talk about the obvious one
7. Don't snigger when you realise he looks just like Ron Weasley
8. If you talk in your sleep (which I do) don't start shouting out in German
9. Do get in lots of sausages
10. Do go to a vegetarian restaurant. It's educational
11. Do not speak slowly and loudly in the belief that this will help him understand you. All Germans already speak better English than you ever will
12. Don't accept a delivery of ten ginger wigs which are part of a joke for a friends 50th birthday, and then frantically try and hide them when your (ginger) German walks in the room...it just looks suspicious
13. Do laugh when you realise that both The Boy and The German spend ages blow drying their hair every morning before they come down to breakfast
14. Do put your foot down when all the German contingent decide it would be a great idea to go to Thorpe Park for the day. By themselves.
15. Do remember to tell The boy to remove his history of the second world war from his room.
16. Don't spot it there at the end of the week
17. Do let them go to Camden
18. Do try and steer them away from the shop selling 'Hitler European Tour' 1939-1945 T-shirts
19. Do take them to a friends 50th birthday at The Ivy
20. Don't expect them to know this is anything special
21. Do amuse him by calling The Boy a kartoffel kopf
22. Do look forward to the return visit by The Boy when you will have a week of peace and quiet



From left to right:

The Boys Best Friend - it was his father's 50th, BBF's exchange student, Ron Weasely, The Boy

Caught with my trousers down

We've all had embarrassing moments in our lives..some more than others I guess. I've had few enough that the my embarrassing moments are painful memories that pop up in my mind exactly when they shouldn't. Of course, I'd love to share them with you...but they're embarrassing so I just can't.

I cycle into work. It's 25-30km depending on the route I go, so I don't do it everyday...much as I'd like to I just don't have the enthusiasm or energy. Over the last couple of years I've been doing it twice, maybe even three days a week when its not too cold, not too wet..or just when my laziness doesn't get the better of me. Still, when I do, it's beautiful...somehow you can get right into the centre of London by riding down the canals, avoiding the traffic, and feeling that you're in the countryside.



Naturally enough, when I get to the office I'm hot and sweaty and in need of a shower...it's a good job that I forward planned and had one installed when we bought the place. I bring a change of clothes, so emerge freshly showered and ready for a day's work. Well, that is once, I've checked the news online, checked my e-mails,checked twitter, checked facebook, checked hotmail, checked the blogosphere. And had a mug of tea. And chatted to everyone in the office. But apart from that I'm right down to it.

When it's time to go home, naturally enough I change again into my cycling shorts and pedal off into the sunset. Usually I change in the bathroom, but when I'm the last to leave, I will occasionally change at my desk and pad across the room in my underclothes (sorry, I know that's not a great image for you - I hope you're not reading this over breakfast). No one can see me because we have reflected film on the windows to keep the heat out...I have to be careful in winter when the office lights make it all transparent from the outside - but in summer it is fine.

Last night my fellow office occupiers had all gone...the last to leave before me was The soon-to-be-wed-Spaniard and The soon-to-be-a-house-owner-French-girl. They both went off to the gym. So it was time to change, and I dropped my trousers. Just as the door opened. The Spaniard had returned early. I pulled them up, but heaven only knows what she thought I was doing. Neither of us has mentioned it.

But it hasn't stopped her inviting me to her wedding in Spain in July. British Airways and Icelandic volcanoes allowing.

P.S. I've just embarassed myself. Over at Commonplaces, Kevin recently posted that he'd seen a blue plaque to Terry Hall and Lenny the Lion...I took this as some kind of strange joke, having checked that Terry Hall of The Specials was still alive and kicking. I hadn't realised that the other Terry Hall was the one who put his hand up Lenny The Lion's back, was 80 and died three years ago....I'm too embarassed to add another comment, and hope Mr Musgrove misses this confession completely...

Macbeth

If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow, and which will not,
Speak.

--Banquo, Act I, scene iii

Mr Blobby

So this week's challenge in Tara's gallery is 'Self-portrait'. As an Englishman, naturally, this makes it a very difficult task for me...such a self-effacing gentleman that I am. However, Rupert Murdoch has come to the rescue...and that will be a first and last for him. This weekend there was an article in the Sunday Times about how to get rid of your paunch...accompanied by some suitable examples...line drawings only...the short and long of it is that at home, there is a dispute as to which of these is me....you will have to make your own mind up....

Dog days are over

Have you ever been in the position where you chase after someone, knowing all along that your love would not be requited? Well so it has been with me and Florence. I remember first coming across her sometime early last year...maybe even the tail end of the year before. She was the new 'hot young thing' with everyone wanting to tango with her. To start with I stood back, aloof and disinterested, but one day I accidentally caught her singing and was lost. I had to have her. But no matter what I did, I just didn't get to see her. Four times she managed to avoid our date together. I'm sure she was just teasing me.

The boy's always loved music...like many youngsters he would sway and swing away whilst listening to the radio, and I always encouraged him. He has eclectic tastes, driven by my own choices...from Andy Williams through to the Stereophonics...though I've never persuaded him to enjoy Cilla Black. I remember the first time I took him to a gig...Turin Brakes at Somerset House. When I told him he didn't believe me...just as if I had said we were going to meet Father Christmas. But we did go, and he loved every minute of it. As he was just 8, we stood as near to the stage as we could so that he could see....after all you're not that tall at that age! And since then we've gone to dozens of gigs...and even to V Festival a couple of years ago. Every time finding a way of standing right up front, even though he's now almost as tall as me (actually he's taller, but that's not something I ever intend to admit.

But this year, we've already reached May, and not a single gig have we been to. Although I think there's been some brilliant music around nothing has really appealed. Not sure why; it just hasn't. Apart from one. Florence and The Machine. I have tried and tried and tried to get tickets, but just failed miserably. Which is odd because I'm normally lightening quick off the mark and have even managed to get impossible to get tickets such as George Michael, Kings of Leon and the Foo Fighters. But Florence had eluded me. Evidently her popularity is too great for the venues she's been playing.

I've always avoided touts, but there's now a new generation of 'ticket swap' web sites which as far as I can see have legitimised the tout game. So earlier this week I visited Seatwave, and remarkably found some tickets for last night. The cost was high...an initial price of £40ish actually turned into over £60 by the time all the add-ons had been added on. But I was pretty desperate so I paid up. And the tickets duly arrived. I was in seventh heaven. until Friday night when I had an e-mail from Seatwave saying my tickets were forgeries and I should contact them on Saturday. I had been right royally ripped off by a dodgy website and I would lose the £300 the five tickets had cost. It was not a good Friday night.

I rang on Saturday morning, and the first surprise was that I got straight through. A helpful lady said they would refund the money. Disappointed I made plans for seeing robin Hood. Then my mobile rang...they'd managed to get me new tickets. Wow...what superb customer service...



Spot the fake...and the real thing

So we all trooped off to see Florence....stood at the front and danced and shouted the night away. She's one hell of a performer...one of the best gigs ever....

Don't mention the war

We are on tenterhooks because tonight our home will be invaded by the Germans. When I say Germans, I mean German. The boy is doing German to GCSE, so we have the privilege of a German exchange student. I'm not sure it's an entirely fair exchange as he comes to us for 10 days, and the boy only gets to go there for a week. Still if they don't get on (and a few exchanges on Facebook have yet to establish any common ground) that may not be a bad thing. The visitor will occupy the spare room, and that's where I keep all my clothes, so I've had to decamp and shove a room's worth of clothes into two small drawers. I think we were slightly conned - it appeared when the boy chose German as a subject that the exchange was a compulsory part of the deal...but it transpires that in fact there are only 11 doing the exchange - leaving some 20 who ducked out. So I think I slightly had the wool pulled over my eyes.

Actually I think we're quite lucky - the boy's best friend is getting a girl. She's two years older than him, and in her communications is asking about the local nightclubs, etc whilst he is asking her which XBox games does she like...

Generally the exchange students will be spending time in school...poor them...but will also be treated to trips to see the sights of London. Actually there seems to be so much building work going on that they may be getting to see the sites of London. I'm not sure such things have been arranged in Germany as the school there is pretty much in the middle of nowhere in particular. As our finale, we're all trooping off to see Florence and The Machine....which might be brilliant or it might be a disaster depending on his musical tastes...imagine if he only likes jazz....

Of one thing I'm certain, the boy will benefit enormously. Not only will he be able to talk for an extended period with a native speaker, but when he goes there in July he will be totally immersed - and if I know the boy well, then that is something which will totally appeal. He already has much affection for the country - we went there on holiday last year and loved it. If you want to you can read about that little adventure here I'm already a complete fan of the country having spent many happy childhood holidays there and some amazing times as a student...I hope the boy will feel the same.

Naturally we're going to be serving traditional British food - lasagne, pizza, coq au vin, etc, etc. So I hope he enjoys the change in diet...after all they only eat sausages, don't they. We thought we shouldn't watch re-runs of Dad's Army, but Fawlty Towers would be OK. And we're not going to make jokes about who is going to get their towel down to the bathroom first. That would be tasteless.