This is what my commute looks like these days.
I think I may have opened a can of worms. I recently decided to stop keeping every photo that I take. Previously, I would take 100 shots of the same subject, with the intention of keeping the best one, but then I’d keep all 100 anyway.
But now I seem to have gone to the other extreme. Upon uploading the contents of my camera to the computer, I will go through the photos of various subjects, decide that none of them are worth keeping, and nuke the whole lot. I can’t decide whether I’m doing the right thing or not.
Last month I upgraded from a point-and-shoot digital compact camera to a DSLR. I still use the old camera (Pentax Optio S30), but the new one is my main camera (Nikon D40). It’s made me realise how much more I have yet to learn about photography. Perhaps this is why I’ve been deleting so many photos lately – because my expectations of myself have soared, and my talent is now lagging behind.
Ultimately, I don’t think it matters whether I keep the photos or not. I’m taking lots of photos, I’m looking at them on a 19″ screen, I’m figuring out why they suck, and hopefully learning from that. Just think, back in the old days, people used to have to spend a fortune in camera film to get through this larval stage.
> Parents in England may be warned if their children are found to be overweight, under government proposals.
There used to be a (admittedly somewhat flawed) system in place for dealing with childhood obesity. It was called “peer pressure”. But that was deemed to be too cruel, so it was outlawed, and surprise surprise, kids started getting fatter. Now the government want to send letters back to the parents that say “YOUR CHILD IS OFFICIALLY A LARDARSE. FEED IT FEWER PIES.”
There is quite clearly no way that this could possibly have unintended consequences.
Yesterday, I taught Bernard to give a “high five”.
Categories
Whining
It’s tragic that I’m always whining about the same things. Instead of making the same complaints over and over again, I’d like to refocus my energy onto coming up with a solution.
Categories
The Bathtime Routine Revisited
About a year ago, I wrote about Bernard’s bathtime routine. I stumbled across the entry just now, while looking for something else, and marvelled at how things have changed, and how glad I am that I wrote it down for posterity.
These days the routine goes something like this…
Shortly after 6:30pm, I pull up to the front door and fumble about in my bag for my keys. Bernard waddles towards the front door in a futile attempt at escape, and Karen holds him back while I park my bike in the garage and take off my cycle helmet. I am not allowed to sit my sweaty ass down on the sofa until I have had a quick shower, so I usually do this.
We read books until about 6:55pm, at which point we announce “tidy up time!” and all the toys and books go back into the appropriate boxes. We open the stairgate, and lure Bernard towards the stairs. One of us goes ahead, to start the bath running, while the other follows Bernard, just in case he slips (which never happens, but you can’t be too sure). Once upstairs, we close the top stairgate. Whoever went up ahead closes all the doors on the landing except for the doors to Bernard’s bedroom and the bathroom, to prevent him from going off and finding lots more interesting things to do. The landing light and bathroom light are switched on, Bernard’s bedroom light is left switched off.
Bernard is usually either on the landing at this point, or stood by the bath throwing toys into it. He is undressed, his nappy is removed, and by now the bath is ready, so he is lowered into it.
He may or may not sit down in the bath. We generally take turns to give him his bath, though if the other person is nearby, they may help with the rinsing of the hair. When he is clean, he is hoisted out, wrapped in a towel, and I brush his teeth.
He is then released back onto the landing, and encouraged through to his bedroom, where his new nappy is put on. We then sit him up to put his arms into his pyjamas, lie him back down to tuck his legs in, sit him back up to put his arms into his grobag, stand him up to tuck his legs in, sit him back down to zip it up.
He then climbs onto my lap and selects a book for his bedtime story. Karen goes to change into her pyjamas, and then comes back through and sits down on the POÄNG. When Bernard decides that he has read enough for this evening, he leans towards her and emits a little whine. We put the book away, he is hoisted up on to Karen’s lap, I kiss him on the head and wish him goodnight, and head off to do the washing up. Karen feeds him, and he goes to sleep. For a while.
Today’s “Basic Instructions” is entitled How To Deal With Trick Or Treaters. Panel three says:
> Don’t try to scare trick-or-treaters. You’ll either traumatise a child, or be made fun of by a child.
Boy, I wish I’d had that advice last year.
*Center Parcs* is how the French say “Centre Parks.” Those crazy French.
In a nutshell, it’s like a middle class Butlins. I think so, anyway. It’s a long time since I’ve been to a Butlins, so my opinion is formed on the basis of bad British sitcoms and disjointed memories from my childhood.
The majority of the site comprises villas and apartment blocks in neat rows, joined up by narrow one-way roads which are usually devoid of motor vehicles. The buildings are of a regular and simple design, and blend in with the surrounding forest reasonably well.
The second most common usage of land is for cycle parks. Cycling is very much a “thing” at Center Parcs. It’s like the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, or comments on a blog, or the bad music that “kids today” listen to. By which I mean, it’s not obligatory, but an alien visitor to our planet would, on the basis of their observations, think that it is.
There’s loads of activities on offer, but when you have a clingy 1-year old in tow, it’s hard to find the time. For the most part, we spent our weekend swimming, cycling round, and loitering in play areas.
Three nights felt like a very suitable amount of time to stay for. Friends of ours who have gone for a whole week said that it was too long, and we can see how that would be the case.
We failed to get served at “Country Pancakes”. We waited at the “Please wait here to be seated” sign for ages, but no-one turned up, so we walked out and went somewhere else. For the rest of the weekend, every time I walked past a sign to “Country Pancakes”, I mentally dropped the ‘O’ and ‘R’ and then sang it to myself like a mantra.
Getting a dinner reservation on a Saturday night was hard work. If you want to get a table at any of the desirable places, book in advance. I know that it seems counterintuitive to book before you’ve even scoped it out, but it’s a risk that has to be taken.
The ducks are very forward. If you leave your patio door open, they will come inside and liaise with your child. Just thought that I’d warn you.
Animals spotted over the weekend – ducks, squirrels and rabbits. So basically, nothing more exotic than I see cycling to work ((hoho, rabbits on bicycles in my mind’s eye)). No deer. No badgers. No snakes. That said, we did see a species of duck that we didn’t recognise (it was black with a white neck). We went into the much-publicised “Ranger’s Lodge” to see if they’d be able to help us, but we were severely disappointed. The “Ranger’s Lodge” didn’t actually contain a Ranger – just a display case containing samples of owl pellets and other such nonsense. There wasn’t even a poster of “Ducks What You Might See Here”. Bah.
Categories
What would you put in Room 101
*This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Karen’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time. We have not read each others entries before publishing, and have taken care not to discuss them.*
Corrupt Governments
I’m fucking sick of it. I’m sick of governments that surreptitiously act in the interests of their commercial sponsors, whilst feeding an endless stream of lies to the people whom they are supposed to be working for, laughing their socks off because they know that the majority of their citizens are too dumb, naive or optimistic to realise that they are being taken for a ride. I’m sick of wars on terrorists, wars on drugs, wars on monks. Where’s the fucking War on War?
The Entertainment Industry
At the point at which entertainment needed an industry to keep it alive, it ceased to be entertaining. The industry took over, and now it’s just like another form of drug peddling. Entertainment, true entertainment, is sitting on a sofa with a friend and two guitars. It’s throwing a ball with your kid. It’s watching drunk men stumble home. It’s riding a bike down a muddy hill, with the ever-present threat of falling off. It doesn’t need DRM, because it can’t be duplicated.
I understand the appeal of CDs and television, obviously. I’m not suggesting that we destroy it all, because there’s a place for it in a well-balanced diet. But I believe in moderation, and remembering how to make your own fun.
Slugs
Do not want.
Categories
What I did on my holidays
*This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Karen’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time. We have not read each others entries before publishing, and have taken care not to discuss them.*
When I was a kid, I used to go on holiday with my family to places like the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District and Cornwall. Sometimes we’d go further afield, like Scotland or North Wales or Brittany. I think once we went to Edam. On the whole, we liked to stay in England, and usually for only a week (we tried a few fortnight-long holidays, but agreed that a fortnight was too long for a holiday). Sometimes I would go camping with my mum. I have a story about that.
In my first couple of years at secondary school, there were school-run trips to France which I went on. We got up to all sorts of mischief, I’m sure you can imagine.
During my University years (and the period immediately after) I went on a few holidays with friends. Matthew and I went to Dublin and Amsterdam (not in the same trip, I hasten to add) and I also went to Skegness with half a dozen friends. This was back when I was an appalling, and irresponsible, driver, and I was one of the two designated drivers on the trip. I didn’t crash into anything, but I did have a couple of near misses, and I am ashamed.
After I met Karen, I went on holiday more often, and much further afield. We’ve been to Dublin, Prague ([1] [2]), Venice, Budapest and New York. We’ve also been on holiday in England, to the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District.
Since Bernard was added to the family, we’ve been to Cornwall, and are soon to visit Center Parcs for the first time (I’ve borrowed a bike rack from Bob [1] [2]). Hopefully the three of us will visit plenty of fantastic places together.
At some point, I’d like to see Iceland and Scandinavia (perhaps as some sort of Northern Ocean cruise?) and various places in the Far East (inspired by a couple of friends). This all may have to wait for another 17 years, but then again, maybe not.