Categories
Parenting

(Occasional) Stay At Home Dad

Today was my initiation into the ranks of the (Occasional) Stay At Home Dads.

At 8am, Karen reluctantly left the house to head into her office, and I, faced with a very confused Bernard, was in charge. Armed with all my accumulated expertise, I am proud to say that I didn’t do a bad job at all. I know what he needs, I am reasonably competent at deciphering his signals, my only concern was that the absence of Karen for the first time in his life would leave him unable to keep his head together.

In the event, it didn’t go too badly. There were a couple of occasions when he was clearly trying to communicate *”Oh for goodness’ sake, where’s mummy and her boob?”* but for the most part, he seemed to understand the situation. In fact, the most pleasant surprise of the day was his sudden acceptance of formula milk, which until now he has refused with the utmost of disgust.

After lunch, I took him into town in his pram. We wandered round a few shops, and somewhere around Woolworths he fell asleep. I took the long way home, picking up a bottle of ginger beer on the way. Which I think I shall now open, seeing as Karen has come home early and the three of us have retired to the office ((a vague term, but I hate the term “home office”, I’ve fallen out of love with “studyo” (is it a study? Is it a recording studio? It’s both!) and “Man Cave” is no longer strictly true. What should I call this room instead?)) together. I’m contemplating making a little laptop out of foam for Bernard to gnaw on, so that he doesn’t feel left out.

The prospect of doing this once a week doesn’t seem so bad. I accept the arrangement with relish.

Categories
Food Photos

Karen’s Hearty Winter Stew

Hearty Winter Stew

Includes chicken, bacon, tomato, apple, celery, haricot beans, treacle, fennel, oregano, chilli peppers and red onions. It was absolutely delicious – the apple and treacle gave it a certain sweetness – it’s just a shame that I only got about three forkfuls before a crying baby drew my fire, and so I had to enjoy the rest of it at a sub-optimal temperature.

Categories
Gaming

Widow of Warcraft

Karen and I met Bob and Kathy at an ante-natal class. The four of us sat in the back row and sniggered like a bunch of skoolkids throughout the class. Bob was possibly the first person who I had met in the last 3 years (with the exception of people who I have met through the Internet) who laughed at my jokes.

The following week, we bumped (no pun intended) into them on a tour of a nearby hospital. After the tour, as they were walking back to their car and us to ours, Karen and I quickly agreed that we should invite them for a coffee. I changed direction and offered them our invitation, which they accepted. We met up at a pub an hour later, and coffee became a few pints, which then became a curry, and before you knew it the day was over.

This was just the start of our friendship. After the children were born, I’d go to the pub with Bob once a week, where we’d devour pints of beer and talk about blokeish things.

The last such outing was a couple of months ago. Bob was telling me about their new laptop, and how he was going to get broadband so that he could play World of Warcraft, because he’d played it at his brother’s house and it was ace.

“Right, the thing is, Bob, ” I started “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but please heed my warning. WoW is addictive. Seriously, seriously addictive. It dangles the carrot of fake accomplishment in front of you, making you believe that you are actually achieving something, when in fact you are chasing a moving target. It’s fine as entertainment, but don’t let XP rule your life.”

Bob nodded, and seemed to understand. Conversation moved onto other matters.

In subsequent weeks, Bob and I struggled to find a mutually agreeable date for our weekly pow-wow. Each week, one of us would suggest a day, but the other would be unavailable, and such negotiations ended up with stalemate. The following week, discussions would be opened by the other party, which seemed like a nice arrangement which meant that neither of us was doing all the running.

Until I found myself doing all the opening for a few weeks in succession. My text messages were increasingly going unanswered. When I phoned up, if the machine didn’t pick up, then Bob would say that he was a bit busy right now and would call me back later. Deep down in my heart of hearts I knew what was going on, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. A month ago I invited him for a beer in no uncertain terms, to which I got the rib-tickling response “sorry beenreallybusy”. The omission of spaces had a positively comical effect.

I replied “Okay, drop me a line when things quieten down, or if you need an evening to get away from it all.” or words to that effect. Since that message, there has been nothing.

Today, Karen and Bernard went round to visit Kathy and her baby Martin, who is exactly the same age as Bernard (±2 days). The truth was revealed, and it’s exactly what the eagle-eyed reader has, by now, deduced.

Bob has been playing WoW to a worrying degree. Every evening, after Martin has been put to bed at 8pm, he plays. He plays at the weekends, leaving Kathy to feel like a single mother. He would rather play this game than enjoy an evening of sparkling conversation and fruity ales at a local tavern with me. With me! HE IS CLEARLY STARK-RAVING INSANE!

So what to do now? Should I do something? Should I help? Does he even need help? Is it selfish of me to do nothing? Gah.

Categories
Computing Displeasure

Pipex Don’t Care Anymore

Back on the 27th October I told you about the trouble that I’d been having with [Pipex][]. Here’s a short update.

[pipex]: http://www.pipex.net

> **Sent:** 30 October 2006 16:31
> **From:** billing@dial.[pipex][].com
>
> Dear Mr P [redacted],
>
> Thank you for your reply.
>
> I can confirm that the credit of £35.19 for the security suite invoiced in error (on your new account) has been refunded back to your card today on 30.10.06. Please allow 3-5 working days for this to clear with your card issuer.
>
> I have arranged a pro-rata credit on your cancelled account for the period of paid subscription after your cancellation date. The total credit of £9.38 shall be refunded back to you within the next 28 days.
>
> Please accept our apologies for any confusion / inconveniences which may have been caused by this matter and if you have any further queries please do not hesitate to contact us.
>
> Kind Regards,
> JR
> Finance Team

I replied, of course.

> **Sent:** 30 October 2006 16:55
> **To:** billing@dial.[pipex][].com
>
> *Dear Mr P [redacted],*
> *Thank you for your reply.*
> *I can confirm that the credit of £35.19 for the security suite invoiced in error (on your new account) has been refunded back to your card today on 30.10.06. Please allow 3-5 working days for this to clear with your card issuer.*
>
> Thank you
>
> *I have arranged a pro-rata credit on your cancelled account for the period of paid subscription after your cancellation date. The total credit of £9.38 shall be refunded back to you within the next 28 days.*
>
> As I wrote in an email on Friday, I requested a cancellation date of 15th September, but for some reason it seems that the cancellation actually occurred a few weeks later, on 3rd October. I believe this to be an error on the part of someone at Pipex, and I feel that I am entitled to a refund from my requested cancellation date of 15th September.
>
> Regards,
> Pete

Continue reading “Pipex Don’t Care Anymore”
Categories
Displeasure

Observation

It feels wrong that by attempting to play a malformed ((not physically – I mean in terms of the data on it)) disc, it should be possible to crash your DVD player, to the point at which the on/off button does not work, and the only way to get the disc out is to pull the mains lead out the back and put it back in again.

However, I made a discovery this evening.

The mind boggles. Bring back mechanical on/off switches.

Categories
IAMOWIM Meander

Not the evening that I had in mind

So, I’m a big old fool who broke his toe earlier and has subsequently spent the entire evening in the waiting room at the hospital, along with his poor long-suffering wife and child.

But I was witness to the best game of Snakes and Ladders ever, which I absolutely must tell you all about.

Two young boys, I presume brothers, approached the king-size S&L board painted on the floor in the waiting room. Well, technically the older one dragged the younger one by his sleeve, but that’s just a detail really.

The older brother announced “Right, I’m 11, so I move 11 squares. 1, 2, 3…” and so forth until he was stood on square 11. He then moved up the ladder to 14. “…and you’re 4, so you move to 4.”

He reached across to his brother, grabbed his sleeve, and manhandled him onto square number 4.

The game continued, each turn the older brother advancing by 11 and the younger brother by 4. I wasn’t paying heaps of attention, but I was aware of the older brother when he hit the final square and still had a few steps left to take, so he backed up a few squares.

Then it struck me – to get an exact landing on the final square from 11 paces, the older brother would have to be moving from square 11. And that square had a ladder on it that led to 14. It was absolutely impossible for the older brother to win.

My wry smile turned to a grin when I realised that his younger brother was currently 4 squares back from a ladder which led to square 18. In two moves, the younger brother would land exactly on the final square.

And so it came to pass. The younger brother couldn’t believe that he had won. The older brother couldn’t believe that he hadn’t. After all, the whole game was stacked so that he’d win, right? 11 against 4? How could it end up like this.

The Snakes are a fickle mistress, yes, but do not assume that the Ladders can do you no harm.

Categories
Parenting

The Bathtime Routine

I usually walk through the door at about 6:15pm, and take a tired, miserable, drooling baby out of Karen’s arms. I bounce him for a few minutes, which usually is enough to give everyone in the house a little smile for a while. Then, at 6:30pm, it is time for Bernard’s bath.

I take him upstairs and deposit him in his cot while I start the bath filling. He amuses himself with a ladybird or flower while I do this. Then I return to his room, and transfer him to the changing table to undress him. He’s quite ticklish, so this usually degenerates into giggles.

Continue reading “The Bathtime Routine”
Categories
Music

Break The Peg (Diddle Iddle Iddle Um)

The band

The band in question, on the date in question.

I finally got round to replacing the broken tuning peg on my guitar. Five years, three months and seven days ago, when the band were round at the windmill jamming with the Hoff ((no, not David Hasselhoff. I’m talking about a guy who was the Hoff long before David H was a twinkle in his parents’ eyes)), my dad borrowed my guitar for a quick strum or eight. He turned round too quickly, bashed the headstock into a cymbal or something, and cracked the tuning peg which fell off its stalk.

I superglued it back together, but it never really gripped the stalk as tightly as it should, and had a tendency to fall off at most inopportune moments. It’s a miracle that I never lost it altogether.

Old tuning peg

I was in the music shop looking for guitar string polish, when I saw a pack of six Gibson-style tuning pegs on the wall ((you can’t buy them separately, which is probably one of the reasons why I never got round to replacing it before)) and decided that since I am no longer a poor student, I can probably afford £13.99 for the sake of getting it sorted out at long last.

See if you can tell which is the new one.

New tuning peg

Categories
Music Original Music

Man

I’ve been feeling the distant aroma of inspiration for the first time in years.

This is a song that has been brewing over the last few evenings, and once Bernard was bathed, and Karen’s mug of camomile tea on her bedstand ((incidentally, dear, we’re out of camomile tea. I’ve left the box out on the side)), I hermitted my way into my new Man Cave and surrounded myself with a warm blanket of leads and plectra.

The quality of the end product betrays how little I’ve been practising lately. This one comes from the only-one-shot-allowed school of vocals, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for a particularly windy ‘P’ that ruins everything. Mea cauliflower.

I call it “Man”, due to a little line that crept into my ear and demanded inclusion. I think the thought process that caused this was White Russian => Big Lebowski => line in question.

Uhm, what else? I think that’s about enough. Listen to it now.

(mp3 no longer online – email me if you are interested)

Categories
Meander

First gym visit in some time

I went to the gym tonight, for the first time in a while.

How long is a while, you ask? Well, here’s a clue. I approached the counter, and handed my card to the soulless zombie behind the counter. “Gym, please.” I polited. She swiped the card.

“Braains,” she responded. Not really, what she actually said was “Uhm, you do realise that your account has expired?”

I felt that a “no” was implicit, so I didn’t say it. However, I wasn’t really surprised. I had had an inkling. It had been a while, you see. And I keep promising to tell you how long a while, but I never do. Sorry. Hang on in there.

“When, exactly?” I thought about asking. So I did.

She looked at her screen briefly. “Eleven oh eight?” she asked. This is not normally a question, but on this occasion it was. I assume that this can be explained by the presence of a silent “wtf?”

Clearly she wasn’t talking about 11:08am this morning. I assure you, nor am I. Now you start to get a picture about roughly how long a while is.

“Ah,” I said. And for good measure, an “eeeh” and a “hmnmm” and a “braains.”

Paused for thinkage.

“I don’t actually have my credit card with me, so I can’t renew right now. How much would it cost me to go in as a non-member?”

Tippity tappity chrunk klakkata. “Six ninety five.”

“I don’t have that on me either. Is there any… way… kinda…”

“Give me five ten and renew next time you’re in.”

And we’re in.

Inside the gym, I hop on a bike and manage about eight minutes before combined boredom and exhaustion fell me, so I wander off to do some pumping of the old ferrous. At some stage, I find myself in a corner, many metres away from anyone else, with a small bubble worming around in my colon.

The coast is clear. I can get away with it. Gently, I allow the bubble to depart from between my buttock cheeks. It emerges stealthily, like a ninja. However, much like the Spanish Inquisition, it has the element of surprise on its side. What it lacks in volume or grand entrances, it more than makes up for in maliciousness. It is, in a word, ferocious.

At this point, I spot a fellow gym-goer coming my way. “Oh no,” I moan internally. My brain starts performing calculations that involve inverse square laws, not that it would make any difference to the outcome. I say a silent prayer for the poor woman who is walking into my cloud of doom.

My salvation arrives in the form of a couple of moderately well built yet hideously ugly young men, who also choose to patronise my corner at that moment. I play both sides against the other with deft use of facial expressions, making it clear that though they may be suffering, they have no idea what I myself am going through, being as I am much closer to the despicable perpetrator. My cunning ruse works, and the rest of the session passes without incident.

And then it is time to walk home. I realise that my favourite aspect of going to the gym is the walk there, and the walk back. It gives me an opportunity to be well and truly alone, that kind of solitude that can not be attained in a shared office or with someone in the bedroom upstairs. It gives me a chance to do some aimless thinking, which there hasn’t been enough of between these ears lately. My brain drafts this post, and delivers it with a wink.