Danny woke me up at about five in the morning yesterday (so much for my second chance of a non-work lie-in) saying he was having stomach cramps. I could not offer any explanation as to why this child has suddenly become my responsibility. I thought about calling his parents but as they seem to have given little consideration to his health so far over the I thought they wouldn't be too impressed at such an early morning wake up (I knew I hadn't been) even for their own child, even if the poor bu66er hadn't been home since Saturday. So I blinked myself awake (or at least tried to) and sat down on the edge of the bed with him.
I asked how painful his stomach felt, and he sort of grimaced but said not too bad. Looking at him (and more importantly, his tummy) he seemed to have lost a whole layer of blubber from there. I asked him when was the last time he had eaten and he thought for a moment and then said he couldn't remember. So I told him he was probably feeling ravenous but as his stomach would still probably feel sore from hitching up yesterday the hunger pangs were being mis-translated as hunger pains. I advised him to go downstairs and have a slight of toast and some milk. Danny's face displayed that perhaps he wasn't too enamoured with this idea, but I slapped him gently on the back and said C'mon, which served evidently to persuade him. I resisted the urge to slap his butt once he'd gotten up as I might with my own kids.
Once I was back in bed I got to wondering: Is it just me, or it is everyone who feels that once they've had children, you automatically gain feelings of love and affinity with all kids? Okay, not *all* kids as some kids are just little offsprings of Beelzebub. I certainly had no considerations for children before I became a father. They were just a strange alien race of short people with seemingly boundless amounts of energy and noise who just generally got in the way and spoilt things for us adults. But then becoming a father (albeit initially reluctantly) changes all that. You make your goals but it gets you to realising: If there's one thing on this f*cked-up little planet worth living for, it's your kids. And children in general. Just a shame we've leaving this planet in such a mess for future generations.
Anyhow, I now had warm, cuddly feelings for Danny and felt guilty for dismissing him previously as a waste of space. If he wants to leave absolutely no mark on life before he dies, then who am I to argue? Once I die, I don't suppose the papers will be chocca of eulogies for yours truly, so how can I judge? Danny's not even a teenager yet - he may go on to utter greatness.
Despite much pointless pontificating, I managed to get a few more zeds in before being awoken from some loud shouts from downstairs. Seemed to be Gabriel who was doing the majority of the shouting. Resignedly I hoisted myself from my bed and pulled on a dressing gown.
The reason for Gabe's vociferous ire: Danny's sin in eating all the bread. The basis of Gabe's argument: That Danny shouldn't be eating any of *our* stuff as he doesn't live here. I pointed out that (a) Danny is a guest, (b) whilst he is a guest he to all intents and purposes does live here until he decides (or his mum and dad decide) otherwise, and as such he is entitled to anything that we ourselves are entitled to - within polite reason. Gabriel of course immediately began further protests, so I alerted him to the concept of getting his @ss to the local shop and buying some bread which obviously he hadn't considered as (a) it would involve the usage of some of his energy and (b) it would involve the usage of some of his own funds. Gabe told me that Danny should go - but then Lukas shouted that *he* would go and Danny would go with him. So that I believe, was that sorted.
Once the smaller boys were out of the way I told Gabe he needed to start thinking about what he was taking to Germany. This generated an instant frown from him. I asked (a bit needlessly) what the problem was and he said that he didn't want to go to Germany. So I said we've gone through this hundreds of times - I want this to happen for me. I want to go on holiday with all three of my sons and it'll be the last time very probably that such a thing will happen. Gabriel said Well, Andrew says he's not coming. I told him that Andrew *was* coming. Gabe told me that Andrew is insisting that he isn't. I told Gabe that I am insisting that he *was* coming, and so was he, and so was Lukas. Andrew was coming even if me and Colin had to man-handle him on to the plane.
Gabe asked if Danny was coming. I said of course not.
Andrew was in bed most of the morning, surfacing at eleven. He came down, ate some lunch, then disappeared. I didn't bring up Germany as I didn't want the argument. Yet.
Danny began to look better (and plumper) as the day wore on. I suggested after dinner that he go home tonight, but he looked so disappointed at this idea I relented and he slept over yet again. No call from his parents at all yesterday, so I guess they don't mind. At all.
Wednesday 8 April 2009
Tuesday 7 April 2009
Sickie Wickets
We have a sick child in the house, and he's not even mine.
Anyway, first things first - I'm on holiday! Yeah! Woke up this morning and wondered for a nanosecond why the alarm had not gone off, but one nanosecond later my brain kicked in and told me it had not gone off because I had not set it. And I had not set it because I was not off to work today. So I cuddled a pillow and thought about a Monday morning not sitting in my office chair, not deleting all the weekend emails and not spending an hour browsing all the internet sites I can't be bothered with at weekends. Non-work Mondays are of course, the best kind.
In a moment of delusional madness and in a desperate attempt at finding something to do, I suggested to Lukas (and Danny) that as the weather was nice (if not brilliant) we could go and watch some cricket. I really do not know how those words even got into my head, as cricket is usually a game I've incredibly little time for, but I really wanted to find something I could do with Lukas, and I know whilst I don't think he's ever sat through a game in his life he played it last year at school for the first time last summer and really enjoyed himself. He even got selected for the school second XI on two occasions (sadly both times during heavy periods at work so I didn't get to see him), scoring eleven on the first occasion and a sad duck on the second. This was in "real" statistics as they now with kids (apparently) use some weird scoring system where you start (I think) on one hundred and then either score or lose runs depending on how your team does (I didn't have a hope of comprehension as I never even mastered basic calculus at school). Whatever - Cricket became Lukas's obsession for about three weeks (until that duck) then it waned as the weather got wetter and colder (as it generally does in the UK around every single bloody month of the year).
So, as I said, in a moment of madness I flicked on the internet to see what (if any) cricketing options were available. Discovered that Leicestershire were playing Nottinghamshire in a pre-season friendly at their ground, so our attendance at that was what I suggested to Lukas. He looked at me strangely for a moment then nodded and said yeah, that might be okay. Then the question of Danny (who I noticed was looking very pale with dark eyes, but then as he never looks very healthy anyway I didn't - regretfully - put two and two together) came up. So I asked Danny if he would care to join us. He shrugged and gave a tiny nod, which I took meant affirmative.
So we waited until about eleven and drove down to Grace Road. As it was somewhere we'd never been before, I of course got lost, and it took us much longer to get there than it ought to have done. We ended up going needlessly through the centre of Loughborough, but eventually got on the right road and found somewhere to park.
It was when we joined the admittedly meagre queue to get in when the first mishap occurred. Another guy standing with us suddenly yelled Whoa, man overboard! No idea what he meant until I saw Danny. My brain became befuddled for a moment - I thought at first someone had tipped a can of coke over him, but then as a spew of dark brown liquid volcanoed from his mouth I guessed he's been sick. All liquid though. The daft lad made no effort to run and vomit somewhere a little more convenient though, he just vomited where he stood. Fortunately he was projectiling enough for the sick to miss his clothes. Once he was done he just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and acted as if nothing had happened. I asked if he was okay but he just said Yeah. I asked if he was still okay to attend the game, and again, he said Yeah. So in we went.
It was a mistake. Notts had amassed six thousand runs the previous day (this being a two-day game) and declared, leaving Leics to amassed a further six thousand runs before they got bored and called it a day. It was about as interesting as reading the precautions leaflet for a tube of superglue. We stuck it for two hours before Lukas suddenly announced Dad, this is f**king boring. I agreed and as Danny (just for a change) didn't say anything, I assumed we had his agreement as well. So we left.
And as we did so Mount Danny erupted for a second time. He'd stuck to water and diet coke during the game, and that was all that came out, and at least this time he made a half hearted attempt to get to a wall. After he hitched up a few times he smiled again at me with a ghostly face and dripping eyes. I nipped into a nearby Greggs and asked if I could have a paper bag. The lady at the counter shook her head, so I ended up buying a cheese-and-onion pastie just for the privilege of obtaining a makeshift vomit bag. I was very wary of driving Danny back but he insisted he felt better - of course once someone's sick in a car the car retains that sick smell eternally.
We drove back and Danny kept the sick monsters under wraps. I asked how he felt repeatedly but all he ever replied was Cold.
Got back and rang Danny's parents but got no reply. Around half seven Danny complained of feeling tired, so tried his folks again and again, no reply. Danny was asleep on the settee when I came back, so I carried him up to Lukas's room and slid him into bed. Finally got through to Danny's dad at half-nine and explained what had happened. Danny's dad asked if I wanted him to fetch his son but we decided between us to leave him be.
Tried Sarah twice last evening as well, but no reply.
Anyway, first things first - I'm on holiday! Yeah! Woke up this morning and wondered for a nanosecond why the alarm had not gone off, but one nanosecond later my brain kicked in and told me it had not gone off because I had not set it. And I had not set it because I was not off to work today. So I cuddled a pillow and thought about a Monday morning not sitting in my office chair, not deleting all the weekend emails and not spending an hour browsing all the internet sites I can't be bothered with at weekends. Non-work Mondays are of course, the best kind.
In a moment of delusional madness and in a desperate attempt at finding something to do, I suggested to Lukas (and Danny) that as the weather was nice (if not brilliant) we could go and watch some cricket. I really do not know how those words even got into my head, as cricket is usually a game I've incredibly little time for, but I really wanted to find something I could do with Lukas, and I know whilst I don't think he's ever sat through a game in his life he played it last year at school for the first time last summer and really enjoyed himself. He even got selected for the school second XI on two occasions (sadly both times during heavy periods at work so I didn't get to see him), scoring eleven on the first occasion and a sad duck on the second. This was in "real" statistics as they now with kids (apparently) use some weird scoring system where you start (I think) on one hundred and then either score or lose runs depending on how your team does (I didn't have a hope of comprehension as I never even mastered basic calculus at school). Whatever - Cricket became Lukas's obsession for about three weeks (until that duck) then it waned as the weather got wetter and colder (as it generally does in the UK around every single bloody month of the year).
So, as I said, in a moment of madness I flicked on the internet to see what (if any) cricketing options were available. Discovered that Leicestershire were playing Nottinghamshire in a pre-season friendly at their ground, so our attendance at that was what I suggested to Lukas. He looked at me strangely for a moment then nodded and said yeah, that might be okay. Then the question of Danny (who I noticed was looking very pale with dark eyes, but then as he never looks very healthy anyway I didn't - regretfully - put two and two together) came up. So I asked Danny if he would care to join us. He shrugged and gave a tiny nod, which I took meant affirmative.
So we waited until about eleven and drove down to Grace Road. As it was somewhere we'd never been before, I of course got lost, and it took us much longer to get there than it ought to have done. We ended up going needlessly through the centre of Loughborough, but eventually got on the right road and found somewhere to park.
It was when we joined the admittedly meagre queue to get in when the first mishap occurred. Another guy standing with us suddenly yelled Whoa, man overboard! No idea what he meant until I saw Danny. My brain became befuddled for a moment - I thought at first someone had tipped a can of coke over him, but then as a spew of dark brown liquid volcanoed from his mouth I guessed he's been sick. All liquid though. The daft lad made no effort to run and vomit somewhere a little more convenient though, he just vomited where he stood. Fortunately he was projectiling enough for the sick to miss his clothes. Once he was done he just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and acted as if nothing had happened. I asked if he was okay but he just said Yeah. I asked if he was still okay to attend the game, and again, he said Yeah. So in we went.
It was a mistake. Notts had amassed six thousand runs the previous day (this being a two-day game) and declared, leaving Leics to amassed a further six thousand runs before they got bored and called it a day. It was about as interesting as reading the precautions leaflet for a tube of superglue. We stuck it for two hours before Lukas suddenly announced Dad, this is f**king boring. I agreed and as Danny (just for a change) didn't say anything, I assumed we had his agreement as well. So we left.
And as we did so Mount Danny erupted for a second time. He'd stuck to water and diet coke during the game, and that was all that came out, and at least this time he made a half hearted attempt to get to a wall. After he hitched up a few times he smiled again at me with a ghostly face and dripping eyes. I nipped into a nearby Greggs and asked if I could have a paper bag. The lady at the counter shook her head, so I ended up buying a cheese-and-onion pastie just for the privilege of obtaining a makeshift vomit bag. I was very wary of driving Danny back but he insisted he felt better - of course once someone's sick in a car the car retains that sick smell eternally.
We drove back and Danny kept the sick monsters under wraps. I asked how he felt repeatedly but all he ever replied was Cold.
Got back and rang Danny's parents but got no reply. Around half seven Danny complained of feeling tired, so tried his folks again and again, no reply. Danny was asleep on the settee when I came back, so I carried him up to Lukas's room and slid him into bed. Finally got through to Danny's dad at half-nine and explained what had happened. Danny's dad asked if I wanted him to fetch his son but we decided between us to leave him be.
Tried Sarah twice last evening as well, but no reply.
Monday 6 April 2009
Zombie
Yesterday was such a waste. I didn't really know how I ought to deal with the terrible lack of sleep. I was absolutely wide awake at 7am, so I got up. You know that feeling, when your body knows it is exhausted yet puts on such a bravado of being energic, preternaturally alert and full of beans that it's actually painful? Then about an hour later you have such a crash you have to yell for someone armed with a spatula to come and scrape you up off the floor.
I showered off some of my fatigue, had a shave, soaked my chin in aftershave, cleaning my teeth so hard I spat half a pint of diluted blood into the sink, gargled on mouthwash, and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering who the zombie looking back at me was.
Once dressed I walk to the village corner shop and armed myself with the Observor, two cans of Red Bull and a lottle of Lucazade (the best hangover cure known to man as long as you dissolve two headache tablets into it). The sunshine did nothing to lift my spirits, in fact it dampened them considerably. The Lord hath blessed the Sunday with a beautiful day and I am going to toss it aside by feeling crap and miserable for most of it. Damn you!
Came home to find Lukas and Danny (who had as usual stopped for a sleepover) wrestling with the George Foreman and making themselves a toasted bacon and cheese sandwich. I rue the day I instructed them in promoting the normal bacon sandwich into a more blissful design by clamping it into the hinged part of the grill. They are now addicted to them and we get through several packs of bacon a week; although I guess this puts Andrew out more than it puts me out. I asked if they were going to make me one but only got blank looks. Lukas told me he'd be willing to put the bacon on for me once they'd finished. Gee, thanks.
Danny was just wearing (I think) a pair of Gabe's old pyjama bottoms. It amazes me how a child can look scruffy in just one item of clothing, but Danny managed it. Noticed that Danny is starting to get that kind of belly Gabe started developing around the time he was Danny's age. The boy-boobs will surely follow. Perhaps I ought to have a word? But thanks to kick-boxing and puberty Gabe is looking considerably less chubby these days, so I guess I'll keep quiet and let nature and nuture both do whatever they decide to do.
Is it a good thing that someone else's child feels so at ease with us he thinks it fine to wander around the house virtually unclothed? Once whilst I was showering I heard someone come in to use the toilet. I finished my shower and pulled back the curtain to grab a towel to find a (then) nine-year-old Danny sitting calmly on the loo. He looked at me and without missing a beat gave me a little smile and wave, then continued the release of pooh-depth-charges into the bog. I hurriedly pulled back the shower curtain and made a considerably lengthy attempt of drying myself off; at least until I was sure that Danny had finished his business and was out of there.
Anyway, once armed with a self-made bacon toastie (the boys had selfishly used up all of the cheese) I settled down with The Observor and one of the cans of Red Bull and my Luzacade. Barely made it through the Review section before my eyelids began to droop. I became a little tearful at this stage (metaphorically at least) as all the signs now pointed to me having a really terrible day.
Andrew came down and went somewhere, then Gabe came down and went somewhere, and I barely registered either of them. Then Lukas and Danny came down (now both dressed) and shoved on the PS2 for further killing sprees.
I wondered what to do. I really felt like going to bed. I thought maybe I could nip back for a couple of hours. Could I trust myself to get up when the alarm sounded? Or would I just slam it off and then go straight back to sleep, awaken in a daze at 1am, my body-clock having gone into a magician's hankerchief who'd then pummelled it with a hammer.
Oh sleep, beautiful sleep. How I needed thee. How I knew I couldn't have thee.
I actually began to drift off but then the phone rang. Or at least I think it did as Lukas and Danny paid no attention to it. I prised myself off the sofa and answered it.
It was Sarah - probably the one person I ought not to be speaking to unless I was in full possession of my cognitive abilities. She asked how I was and I decided to be honest and tell her I felt terrible. Sadly, this got brushed aside as Sarah went on to blabber about how she was sorry she was in how she spoke to me when I phoned her on Friday but she was having problems with Ruth not wanting to go to her ex-husbands (Sarah's ex-husbands, not Ruths) and her ex-husband (whose name completely escaped me at the point of the call) was creating a stink especially as Ruth had told him about me and he's been firing all sorts of questions at Sarah and ... and ... and ...
Sadly, my brain could not keep up and my attention fell down a deep, dark hole. I was barely conscious by the time Sarah had ceased rabbitting on and I hadn't taken in the last three minutes of the conversation. So I fired off something non-committal (I think it was 'I bet things'll look not so bad after a nights sleep' - which judging my Sarah's reaction was enough to get away with my lack of attention). I asked if I could call her back tomorrow evening, when my neurons might actually be firing. She said okay.
I crawled through the dead hours somehow until half-seven, then crawled upstairs into bed.
And I slept like a baby. A dead one.
I showered off some of my fatigue, had a shave, soaked my chin in aftershave, cleaning my teeth so hard I spat half a pint of diluted blood into the sink, gargled on mouthwash, and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering who the zombie looking back at me was.
Once dressed I walk to the village corner shop and armed myself with the Observor, two cans of Red Bull and a lottle of Lucazade (the best hangover cure known to man as long as you dissolve two headache tablets into it). The sunshine did nothing to lift my spirits, in fact it dampened them considerably. The Lord hath blessed the Sunday with a beautiful day and I am going to toss it aside by feeling crap and miserable for most of it. Damn you!
Came home to find Lukas and Danny (who had as usual stopped for a sleepover) wrestling with the George Foreman and making themselves a toasted bacon and cheese sandwich. I rue the day I instructed them in promoting the normal bacon sandwich into a more blissful design by clamping it into the hinged part of the grill. They are now addicted to them and we get through several packs of bacon a week; although I guess this puts Andrew out more than it puts me out. I asked if they were going to make me one but only got blank looks. Lukas told me he'd be willing to put the bacon on for me once they'd finished. Gee, thanks.
Danny was just wearing (I think) a pair of Gabe's old pyjama bottoms. It amazes me how a child can look scruffy in just one item of clothing, but Danny managed it. Noticed that Danny is starting to get that kind of belly Gabe started developing around the time he was Danny's age. The boy-boobs will surely follow. Perhaps I ought to have a word? But thanks to kick-boxing and puberty Gabe is looking considerably less chubby these days, so I guess I'll keep quiet and let nature and nuture both do whatever they decide to do.
Is it a good thing that someone else's child feels so at ease with us he thinks it fine to wander around the house virtually unclothed? Once whilst I was showering I heard someone come in to use the toilet. I finished my shower and pulled back the curtain to grab a towel to find a (then) nine-year-old Danny sitting calmly on the loo. He looked at me and without missing a beat gave me a little smile and wave, then continued the release of pooh-depth-charges into the bog. I hurriedly pulled back the shower curtain and made a considerably lengthy attempt of drying myself off; at least until I was sure that Danny had finished his business and was out of there.
Anyway, once armed with a self-made bacon toastie (the boys had selfishly used up all of the cheese) I settled down with The Observor and one of the cans of Red Bull and my Luzacade. Barely made it through the Review section before my eyelids began to droop. I became a little tearful at this stage (metaphorically at least) as all the signs now pointed to me having a really terrible day.
Andrew came down and went somewhere, then Gabe came down and went somewhere, and I barely registered either of them. Then Lukas and Danny came down (now both dressed) and shoved on the PS2 for further killing sprees.
I wondered what to do. I really felt like going to bed. I thought maybe I could nip back for a couple of hours. Could I trust myself to get up when the alarm sounded? Or would I just slam it off and then go straight back to sleep, awaken in a daze at 1am, my body-clock having gone into a magician's hankerchief who'd then pummelled it with a hammer.
Oh sleep, beautiful sleep. How I needed thee. How I knew I couldn't have thee.
I actually began to drift off but then the phone rang. Or at least I think it did as Lukas and Danny paid no attention to it. I prised myself off the sofa and answered it.
It was Sarah - probably the one person I ought not to be speaking to unless I was in full possession of my cognitive abilities. She asked how I was and I decided to be honest and tell her I felt terrible. Sadly, this got brushed aside as Sarah went on to blabber about how she was sorry she was in how she spoke to me when I phoned her on Friday but she was having problems with Ruth not wanting to go to her ex-husbands (Sarah's ex-husbands, not Ruths) and her ex-husband (whose name completely escaped me at the point of the call) was creating a stink especially as Ruth had told him about me and he's been firing all sorts of questions at Sarah and ... and ... and ...
Sadly, my brain could not keep up and my attention fell down a deep, dark hole. I was barely conscious by the time Sarah had ceased rabbitting on and I hadn't taken in the last three minutes of the conversation. So I fired off something non-committal (I think it was 'I bet things'll look not so bad after a nights sleep' - which judging my Sarah's reaction was enough to get away with my lack of attention). I asked if I could call her back tomorrow evening, when my neurons might actually be firing. She said okay.
I crawled through the dead hours somehow until half-seven, then crawled upstairs into bed.
And I slept like a baby. A dead one.
Sunday 5 April 2009
Insomnia Part 73
I don't know whether I can blame *holiday-mood* for this, but last night was one of the worse night's sleeps (or lack of sleeps) I've ever experienced. I tried and I tried and I tried to drift off, but nothing seemed to do the trick. I hate it when my mind does this to me. What does it achieve? I can't really put into words how totally dreadful and drained I feel at the moment. Every physical action is a struggle, yet I know if I succumb to the nap my body truly desires and probably needs my body clocked will go completely kaput and I'll be right back to another night of watching the orange numerals on the clock-radio tick slowly by.
I thought I'd managed to kick this insomnia business as it hasn't troubled me for such a time. I've really rediscovered the knack of sleeping; I think the fact I have wrestled with my minimal drink problem and thrown it off is the reason for this. Each night I've barely slipped under the covers before my brain succumbs to the beautiful darkness of a little death practise. Plus there's the fact my life seems to have simplified over the past couple of months. The last time I faced a sustained period of sleep-ills was during that dreadful Andrew/Kevin business. Now everything in most departments seems settled I can succumb to Mr Sandman without concern.
I woke up Saturday morning and instead of yanking myself from beneath my duvet as I normally do I allowed myself a cosy half an hour of a luxurious semi-snooze. I let my mind drift to whatever region of space it felt a need to drift to and it hitch-hiked its way down to Southampton. Lord - it was so nice waking up with someone else in a bed last weekend. It would not have even mattered if we'd not gone on to have $ex, or had had $ex the previous evening. Just the presence of another human being of adult age in the bed was indescribably lovely and I don't think I appreciated it in all its splendiferousness at the time (a curious habit of mine). I know I shouldn't think this but it brought back such rigid memories of Poppy. Usually like me she was an up-and-at-em type of gal but on the odd Sunday (of course before Andrew and Gabriel and Lukas and The Grim Repear came along) when it came to bed you could hardly get us out of the thing. Poppy was the only person in my entire history who I shared a bed with as half of a couple.
Eventually I got up and brewed myself a coffee and put on some toast. But then I though to merry hell with it and took coffee and toast and the digital radio upstairs and went back to bed. For chuff's sake, I'm on holiday aren't I? I tuned into to Adam & Joe on 6Music and listened to two forty-year-old blokes pretend to be teenagers.
By midday I began to feel really guilty and felt I was in danger of letting the day slip completely away from me, so I showered and dressed, maintaining the holiday motif by wearing shorts, and tripped downstairs.
Lukas was the only one of my sons present, although my weekend pseudo-son, Danny, had already found his way to Chez BrynT and the pair were blowing each other's heads off on Call of Duty. Lukas actually noticed I'd gotten up and told me he was getting worried as he thought I might be ill. I said I just fancied a bit of a lie-in. Lukas didn't answer as he was swearing at Danny who'd just dropped a grenade on his a$$.
I asked Lukas if he felt like doing anything today; my son then looked at me as though I was a some crazy dude. He said, like what? So I said, dunno, perhaps we could go to the pictures and get some father-son time in. Lukas said what about Danny, so I said okay some father-son-and-special guest time (although that qualifies as a bit of a bind - it's not that I don't like Danny; he's just one of those vacant, scruffy, lollopping kids who's never going to leave a mark on life (or even a smudge)). Lukas said I could have had some father-son time on Thursday if I'd taken his to basketball. This was unfair, and I told Lukas so. He sort of reddened and started to look a little guilty, so I hoped he thought it a bit unfair as well.
In the end we didn't go to the pictures, but we watched a couple of films that I'd managed to (...ahem...) purloin whilst munching on crisps and popcorn and drinking whiskey (me) and shandies (Lukas and Danny). The first film was Yes Man which was not as half bad as I thought it would be as it contained that caveat "Warning: Many Scenes Will Contain Jim Carrey" but aside from the odd Carrey-gurn he contained himself and some of the dialogue was extremely well done. I'd read the book (and spotted the author, Danny Wallace, as an extra at a bar in one scene) and it there was about 5% of the book in the film.
Second film was the remake of "The Day The Earth Stood Still" starring a wooden Keanu Reeves playing a wooden alien made of wood (I've made that last bit up). The plot of this film is thus:
Keanu: Humans are scum. You are killing The Earth. We are going to wipe you from this planet.
Woman: But I love my son (even though he's no blood relation to me) !
John Cleese: Here I am in a cameo playing someone very clever. Listen to some Bach.
Keanu: I was wrong! I must save you!!
Then it was back to bed. And my body made me pay for my laziness this morning. Big Time.
I thought I'd managed to kick this insomnia business as it hasn't troubled me for such a time. I've really rediscovered the knack of sleeping; I think the fact I have wrestled with my minimal drink problem and thrown it off is the reason for this. Each night I've barely slipped under the covers before my brain succumbs to the beautiful darkness of a little death practise. Plus there's the fact my life seems to have simplified over the past couple of months. The last time I faced a sustained period of sleep-ills was during that dreadful Andrew/Kevin business. Now everything in most departments seems settled I can succumb to Mr Sandman without concern.
I woke up Saturday morning and instead of yanking myself from beneath my duvet as I normally do I allowed myself a cosy half an hour of a luxurious semi-snooze. I let my mind drift to whatever region of space it felt a need to drift to and it hitch-hiked its way down to Southampton. Lord - it was so nice waking up with someone else in a bed last weekend. It would not have even mattered if we'd not gone on to have $ex, or had had $ex the previous evening. Just the presence of another human being of adult age in the bed was indescribably lovely and I don't think I appreciated it in all its splendiferousness at the time (a curious habit of mine). I know I shouldn't think this but it brought back such rigid memories of Poppy. Usually like me she was an up-and-at-em type of gal but on the odd Sunday (of course before Andrew and Gabriel and Lukas and The Grim Repear came along) when it came to bed you could hardly get us out of the thing. Poppy was the only person in my entire history who I shared a bed with as half of a couple.
Eventually I got up and brewed myself a coffee and put on some toast. But then I though to merry hell with it and took coffee and toast and the digital radio upstairs and went back to bed. For chuff's sake, I'm on holiday aren't I? I tuned into to Adam & Joe on 6Music and listened to two forty-year-old blokes pretend to be teenagers.
By midday I began to feel really guilty and felt I was in danger of letting the day slip completely away from me, so I showered and dressed, maintaining the holiday motif by wearing shorts, and tripped downstairs.
Lukas was the only one of my sons present, although my weekend pseudo-son, Danny, had already found his way to Chez BrynT and the pair were blowing each other's heads off on Call of Duty. Lukas actually noticed I'd gotten up and told me he was getting worried as he thought I might be ill. I said I just fancied a bit of a lie-in. Lukas didn't answer as he was swearing at Danny who'd just dropped a grenade on his a$$.
I asked Lukas if he felt like doing anything today; my son then looked at me as though I was a some crazy dude. He said, like what? So I said, dunno, perhaps we could go to the pictures and get some father-son time in. Lukas said what about Danny, so I said okay some father-son-and-special guest time (although that qualifies as a bit of a bind - it's not that I don't like Danny; he's just one of those vacant, scruffy, lollopping kids who's never going to leave a mark on life (or even a smudge)). Lukas said I could have had some father-son time on Thursday if I'd taken his to basketball. This was unfair, and I told Lukas so. He sort of reddened and started to look a little guilty, so I hoped he thought it a bit unfair as well.
In the end we didn't go to the pictures, but we watched a couple of films that I'd managed to (...ahem...) purloin whilst munching on crisps and popcorn and drinking whiskey (me) and shandies (Lukas and Danny). The first film was Yes Man which was not as half bad as I thought it would be as it contained that caveat "Warning: Many Scenes Will Contain Jim Carrey" but aside from the odd Carrey-gurn he contained himself and some of the dialogue was extremely well done. I'd read the book (and spotted the author, Danny Wallace, as an extra at a bar in one scene) and it there was about 5% of the book in the film.
Second film was the remake of "The Day The Earth Stood Still" starring a wooden Keanu Reeves playing a wooden alien made of wood (I've made that last bit up). The plot of this film is thus:
Keanu: Humans are scum. You are killing The Earth. We are going to wipe you from this planet.
Woman: But I love my son (even though he's no blood relation to me) !
John Cleese: Here I am in a cameo playing someone very clever. Listen to some Bach.
Keanu: I was wrong! I must save you!!
Then it was back to bed. And my body made me pay for my laziness this morning. Big Time.
Saturday 4 April 2009
One Day Too Soon
Felt oddly detached at work yesterday; the holiday mode always seems to kick in one day early doesn't it? And you end up resenting those wasted hours at work when you could be prematurely extending your holiday even further. But then if you did that the day before would become your resented pre-holiday day, so you'd want that off as well, and so on and so on until you arrive back to the day you were born. Then of course you'd have no money to take the holiday in the first place. Plus you'd be a new-born, which would limit your choice of destinations somewhat. But then again you might get cheap flights.
Peter Handyman came to me about eleven and told me to make sure everything was in order with my current tasks before I left. This took about half an hour. So I decided (as I was in a holiday mood) for once I would (as I decided about a month ago) join the lunchtime pilgrimage to the pub. I popped over to see Andy and asked if "they" were going to the pub (they were) and if it was okay if I joined them (it was) and would you like me to drive there and take a couple of people (it was).
There were eleven of us in the end. The weather was not quite good enough to sit outside but we being men we braved it with our beers. Drinking at lunch is usually fatal to me (as even one pint releases several measures of sleep-inducing hormone into my brain leaving me to struggle through the afternoon in a semi-comatose stupor) but as I'd slipped into my holiday togs already I didn't think it would matter. So I had a pint of John Smiths.
Eleven blokes together with one common theme (work) yapped for an hour and a half about the one thing that eleven blokes together with one common theme (work) would inevitably talk about. Work. I said eleven blokes but really it was ten as I didn't join in too often; mainly because the talking about work simply seemed to be about slagging off other departments and individuals. I don't tend to join in with this sort of thing - not because I'm an excessively nice guy (although like - I think - most people I tend to think I'm a decent enough chap), I just don't really pay that much attention to anything outside the scope of my immediate work. I certainly don't play ego games. So I just sipped my beer and listened to what A had said about B and what C had said D had said about E and that F fancied G whilst H has allegedly slept with I, J and K (I didn't know if this meant all at the same time). They never got to Z, which I think would have been me.
One thing I did notice, though: When anyone 'accidentally' (as that was the impression I got) mentioned Peter Handyman the conversation track swiftly changed and some furtive glances were thrown in my direction. Odd. I hope I'm not viewed as the boss's pet. Or the boss's snitch. I do seem to have the least amount of Handyman flak since he took over from Alan (just one snarling argument now well over a month ago). I hope he's not playing me for an idiot.
The only other subject I managed to join in with was a brief chat about football and even then I struggled, as nothing more than a lapsed Aston Villa fan. And I was found out when someone told me that Emile Heskey was doing well, and I had no understanding of how this related to me, as I had no idea Emile Heskey (who last I know was at Liverpool) now played for the Villa. A lot of the guys found this quite funny for some reason (I just played along).
I crept out of work a few minutes early. Well, half an hour early in fact. My premature voluntary ejection went (I think) completely unnoticed. It helped that Peter Handyman seemed to have disappeared around lunchtime. I'd contributed absolutely nothing to my company since I'd come back from the pub anyhow. I'd really pushed my luck by allowing myself an extra half pint before coming back to work, and spent the remaining time snapping matchsticks with my eyelids. So as I wasn't much use, I thought it okay to go.
Came home in reasonably chipper spirits to commence my holiday to ... a completely empty house! Lukas had left me a very terse note telling me he was at Dannys and was likely to sleepover. Gabe was nowhere to be seen but of course there'd be nowhere other then Lians. No idea about Andrew. No idea about Colin. My only company was Ripley so, as my Lent alcohol ban seems to have been dismissed (is Lent over anyway? I must check when I get the chance) I settled down with another beer and a purring pussy and TV.
Next thing I remember is snapping awake at eight. An amused Gabriel was standing over me, shaking me back from slumberland. He said he would have left me but my snoring was in danger of rupturing the house's foundations.
I shook myself awake then remembered I was suppose to ring Sarah tonight, which I did so, as I wasn't really in the mood for polite conversation. Fortunately, neither was she. She was very sharp with me - surprisingly and oddly upsettingly so. I put down the phone after a very brief ten minute chat, very slightly confused. And slightly rejected.
So much for holidays then. Perhaps tomorrow will bring me better tidings.
Peter Handyman came to me about eleven and told me to make sure everything was in order with my current tasks before I left. This took about half an hour. So I decided (as I was in a holiday mood) for once I would (as I decided about a month ago) join the lunchtime pilgrimage to the pub. I popped over to see Andy and asked if "they" were going to the pub (they were) and if it was okay if I joined them (it was) and would you like me to drive there and take a couple of people (it was).
There were eleven of us in the end. The weather was not quite good enough to sit outside but we being men we braved it with our beers. Drinking at lunch is usually fatal to me (as even one pint releases several measures of sleep-inducing hormone into my brain leaving me to struggle through the afternoon in a semi-comatose stupor) but as I'd slipped into my holiday togs already I didn't think it would matter. So I had a pint of John Smiths.
Eleven blokes together with one common theme (work) yapped for an hour and a half about the one thing that eleven blokes together with one common theme (work) would inevitably talk about. Work. I said eleven blokes but really it was ten as I didn't join in too often; mainly because the talking about work simply seemed to be about slagging off other departments and individuals. I don't tend to join in with this sort of thing - not because I'm an excessively nice guy (although like - I think - most people I tend to think I'm a decent enough chap), I just don't really pay that much attention to anything outside the scope of my immediate work. I certainly don't play ego games. So I just sipped my beer and listened to what A had said about B and what C had said D had said about E and that F fancied G whilst H has allegedly slept with I, J and K (I didn't know if this meant all at the same time). They never got to Z, which I think would have been me.
One thing I did notice, though: When anyone 'accidentally' (as that was the impression I got) mentioned Peter Handyman the conversation track swiftly changed and some furtive glances were thrown in my direction. Odd. I hope I'm not viewed as the boss's pet. Or the boss's snitch. I do seem to have the least amount of Handyman flak since he took over from Alan (just one snarling argument now well over a month ago). I hope he's not playing me for an idiot.
The only other subject I managed to join in with was a brief chat about football and even then I struggled, as nothing more than a lapsed Aston Villa fan. And I was found out when someone told me that Emile Heskey was doing well, and I had no understanding of how this related to me, as I had no idea Emile Heskey (who last I know was at Liverpool) now played for the Villa. A lot of the guys found this quite funny for some reason (I just played along).
I crept out of work a few minutes early. Well, half an hour early in fact. My premature voluntary ejection went (I think) completely unnoticed. It helped that Peter Handyman seemed to have disappeared around lunchtime. I'd contributed absolutely nothing to my company since I'd come back from the pub anyhow. I'd really pushed my luck by allowing myself an extra half pint before coming back to work, and spent the remaining time snapping matchsticks with my eyelids. So as I wasn't much use, I thought it okay to go.
Came home in reasonably chipper spirits to commence my holiday to ... a completely empty house! Lukas had left me a very terse note telling me he was at Dannys and was likely to sleepover. Gabe was nowhere to be seen but of course there'd be nowhere other then Lians. No idea about Andrew. No idea about Colin. My only company was Ripley so, as my Lent alcohol ban seems to have been dismissed (is Lent over anyway? I must check when I get the chance) I settled down with another beer and a purring pussy and TV.
Next thing I remember is snapping awake at eight. An amused Gabriel was standing over me, shaking me back from slumberland. He said he would have left me but my snoring was in danger of rupturing the house's foundations.
I shook myself awake then remembered I was suppose to ring Sarah tonight, which I did so, as I wasn't really in the mood for polite conversation. Fortunately, neither was she. She was very sharp with me - surprisingly and oddly upsettingly so. I put down the phone after a very brief ten minute chat, very slightly confused. And slightly rejected.
So much for holidays then. Perhaps tomorrow will bring me better tidings.
Friday 3 April 2009
You Appear To Be Writing A Blog
I need an extended break. It's been a while - not counting Christmas, it's been six months since I last had some time away from work. The old Duracells have powered down and are in need of re-juicing. I just need a spell on the sidelines; away from my desk and the meetings and the looping code that loops everywhere apart from where you precisely want it to go. When I look out the window at the moment I see skies that are brighter and bluer than a new born baby's eyes and I immediately get to thinking I want some of that. My office smells of recycled sweat and it gets both stifling and suffocating and it gets in your clothes and eventually you cannot wash it out anymore. So I need a break.
I already had next Wednesday to the Wednesday afterwards booked off for our brief and once important and now forgotten trip to Germany. So the idea to bookmark this minor excursion with two extra days off each side to make up a full fortnight off (or if you're counting, sixteen days) contained a few degree of appealing mileage. My only stumbling block would be to clear it with Peter Handyman. Who's been back in the past couple of days but hardly in the sunniest of moods. But, the last time I checked he was still pretending to be my chum so I knew it wouldn't be a completely hopeless endeavor.
Leaving school is marvelous, isn't it? The two major joys of which are no more homework and no more teachers. So, you get into work (with its longer hours) and you start taking work home (because those longer hours are not quite long enough to cover what you need to do) and you encounter bosses (who are far worse than teachers as a teachers could do was lob a board rubber at you whereas bosses can make every day of your working life a intermidable misery. Hold on...)
So wearing my eight-year-old boy's body with its red, nobbly knees and laughably unfashionable pudding-bowl cut I crept up to Peter Handyman's desk. He sat there, staring balefully at the screen. He must have been in a bad mood as you could smell the barely-subdued anger. He looked at me and asked how much I knew about Microsoft Word. I said enough to know it's a complete pile of cack. Peter went on: There's been an new install overnight and now whenever I try to type a letter that bloody paper clip pops up and tells me I'm doing it wrong.
Ah yes. The Microsoft Paperclip, possibly the most hated animated character in history behind Scrappy-Doo and Sir Fred Goodwin. Only my company would install a version of Word on our machines that still had that bloody thing on it. I wouldn't bat an eyelid if an edict came out telling up we were all going to have to revert to Windows 3.1. I once opened a blank word document and typed in "Goodbye Cruel World" just to see if that chuffing paperclip would pop up and say "you appear to be writing a suicide note. Would you like me to help you with that, or perhaps give you the number of the Samaritans?" - but it obviously had the sense keep quiet.
So I reached across to Peter's keyboard and mouse and a few clicks later the pesky paper clip laid six feet under. Peter thanked me and asked what I was after. I said I'd like to extend my holiday a couple of days either side. He made a little bit of a pantomine in appearring to deliberate but then told me that that would be fine once I'd bombed off an email to personel informing them of my requirements. Which I did so immediately at my desk.
So from five-ish tonight I shall have sixteen clear days off. This hath sparkedth my better mood a little. No idea what I'm going to do with so much free time (aside from the time spent in Germany although I've still no real idea what we're all going to do whilst we are over there. I'm relying on Colin to provide the suggestions on that count. Obviously a look around Cologne will be on the agenda, but other than that...)
Came no closer than solving the Lukas/Gabe Basketball/Martial Arts conundrum last night. Last weeks decision (neither of them) was a bit of a cop-out, next week we will be in Germany, so this week I had to take one of them. I told them to flip a coin, hoping (with complete selfishness of course) that Lukas would emerge victorious as I can at least watch him play, but Gabriel emerged the triumphant flipper. Lukas reacted in a way I was quite surprised by - he started crying. Not gushing tears but his face filled up and his lips thinned as he struggled to maintain a twelve-and-a-half year old's expected composure; it was weird and so unLukaslike in seeing him like that. I put my arm around him but he shrugged it off and went stomping off to his room. Bit of an over-reaction, I thought. I asked Gabe if he knew if anything was up with Lukas at school but he just shrugged and said he didn't have anything to do with Lukas at school. So much for sibling concern, then.
Took Gabe to the Martial Arts academy and we had a very brief chat along the way. I asked how he'd gotten things sorted with Lian but he just said they'd gotten back together naturally, whatever that meant. I asked if he'd asked her why she'd not gotten him anything for his birthday but he said the topic had never arisen, and hopefully it never would.
I will ring Sarah up tonight and see if I can persuade her to make the long trip up from Southampton some time before I am off to Germany. It really is about time she met the boys. If she can survive that, then at least I can allow myself a little further hope that this relationship may somehow turn into something concrete.
I already had next Wednesday to the Wednesday afterwards booked off for our brief and once important and now forgotten trip to Germany. So the idea to bookmark this minor excursion with two extra days off each side to make up a full fortnight off (or if you're counting, sixteen days) contained a few degree of appealing mileage. My only stumbling block would be to clear it with Peter Handyman. Who's been back in the past couple of days but hardly in the sunniest of moods. But, the last time I checked he was still pretending to be my chum so I knew it wouldn't be a completely hopeless endeavor.
Leaving school is marvelous, isn't it? The two major joys of which are no more homework and no more teachers. So, you get into work (with its longer hours) and you start taking work home (because those longer hours are not quite long enough to cover what you need to do) and you encounter bosses (who are far worse than teachers as a teachers could do was lob a board rubber at you whereas bosses can make every day of your working life a intermidable misery. Hold on...)
So wearing my eight-year-old boy's body with its red, nobbly knees and laughably unfashionable pudding-bowl cut I crept up to Peter Handyman's desk. He sat there, staring balefully at the screen. He must have been in a bad mood as you could smell the barely-subdued anger. He looked at me and asked how much I knew about Microsoft Word. I said enough to know it's a complete pile of cack. Peter went on: There's been an new install overnight and now whenever I try to type a letter that bloody paper clip pops up and tells me I'm doing it wrong.
Ah yes. The Microsoft Paperclip, possibly the most hated animated character in history behind Scrappy-Doo and Sir Fred Goodwin. Only my company would install a version of Word on our machines that still had that bloody thing on it. I wouldn't bat an eyelid if an edict came out telling up we were all going to have to revert to Windows 3.1. I once opened a blank word document and typed in "Goodbye Cruel World" just to see if that chuffing paperclip would pop up and say "you appear to be writing a suicide note. Would you like me to help you with that, or perhaps give you the number of the Samaritans?" - but it obviously had the sense keep quiet.
So I reached across to Peter's keyboard and mouse and a few clicks later the pesky paper clip laid six feet under. Peter thanked me and asked what I was after. I said I'd like to extend my holiday a couple of days either side. He made a little bit of a pantomine in appearring to deliberate but then told me that that would be fine once I'd bombed off an email to personel informing them of my requirements. Which I did so immediately at my desk.
So from five-ish tonight I shall have sixteen clear days off. This hath sparkedth my better mood a little. No idea what I'm going to do with so much free time (aside from the time spent in Germany although I've still no real idea what we're all going to do whilst we are over there. I'm relying on Colin to provide the suggestions on that count. Obviously a look around Cologne will be on the agenda, but other than that...)
Came no closer than solving the Lukas/Gabe Basketball/Martial Arts conundrum last night. Last weeks decision (neither of them) was a bit of a cop-out, next week we will be in Germany, so this week I had to take one of them. I told them to flip a coin, hoping (with complete selfishness of course) that Lukas would emerge victorious as I can at least watch him play, but Gabriel emerged the triumphant flipper. Lukas reacted in a way I was quite surprised by - he started crying. Not gushing tears but his face filled up and his lips thinned as he struggled to maintain a twelve-and-a-half year old's expected composure; it was weird and so unLukaslike in seeing him like that. I put my arm around him but he shrugged it off and went stomping off to his room. Bit of an over-reaction, I thought. I asked Gabe if he knew if anything was up with Lukas at school but he just shrugged and said he didn't have anything to do with Lukas at school. So much for sibling concern, then.
Took Gabe to the Martial Arts academy and we had a very brief chat along the way. I asked how he'd gotten things sorted with Lian but he just said they'd gotten back together naturally, whatever that meant. I asked if he'd asked her why she'd not gotten him anything for his birthday but he said the topic had never arisen, and hopefully it never would.
I will ring Sarah up tonight and see if I can persuade her to make the long trip up from Southampton some time before I am off to Germany. It really is about time she met the boys. If she can survive that, then at least I can allow myself a little further hope that this relationship may somehow turn into something concrete.
Thursday 2 April 2009
What's That Coming Over The Hill?
April Fool's Day - yet another 'special day' I actively dislike. I think I was stung at an early age (details may follow) and have abhorred this day since I was a pre-teen.
Surely there's no need for a centralised day of tomfoolery any longer. The World Wide Web and Email have put paid to that; almost every day some bogus piece of trash bares pops up and provide a moment's titillation for those sad enough to require a moment's titillation to brighten their lives. For a moment.
Everywhere I've been online today there's been some wag doing their fooling duty. Most of them completely tedious. Please, cyberspace generation, grow up!
Occasionally you do get ones that are a stroke of genius; so much so they grow beyond myth and become accepted as crazy fact. My all-time favourite by a country mile is one from a few years back which claimed that the US state of Alabama had passed state legislation decreeing that the value of pi is three, not 3.14159265358979323846...
This was in line with the text in the bible (I Kings 7:23) which states that the alter font of Solomon's Temple was ten cubits across and thirty cubits in diameter, meaning that the ratio of circumference to diameter was three, hence - according to God - pi must be three (this would not explain why God decided to craft every other perfect circle in the universe to a circumference/diameter ratio of 3.14159265358979323846...).
The nub of this spoof is that it is perfectly believable; although by claiming this I am not accusing the populace of Alabama to be dumb rednecks - it could have been centred upon demographic of bible-bashers. If people are willing to believe that the Universe was created in six days, and that the world became populated thanks solely to the jigging and poking of one dude and one dame, and that Noah sailed a boat with 20 million critters upon it (none of whom died or got eaten, as generally happens with critters - plus, as Eddie Izzard spotted, how come so many people were wiped out whilst fish and floaty birds got away Scot-free?) I'm sure they're dumb enough to think the value of pi is up for grabs.
This April Fool's has now passed into Urban Legend, which is cool.
My own aversion to April Fool's Day stems from my naivety and desire and willingness to believe - but then I was only (I think) twelve at the time!
I was alone in the house and (just for a change) watching TV. I was waiting for the interesting stuff (probably Top of the Pops) to start at seven but was half-watching the light-news/entertainment magazine show, Nationwide (I was still too callow to have the hots for Sue Lawley). My quarter-interest was piqued by a segment introduced solemnly with a "some viewers may find some of the images contained within the following report disturbing".
This seems extremely embarrassing and ridiculous now, but bear with me and remember I was twelve (and a young twelve):
The report followed complaints by locals of "strange-goings-on" at a Government Research Facility. A Crack Nationwide reporting team was dispatched but were denied access other than a brief hand-over-the-camera-lens interview that stated nothing of any dubiousness was occurring. But! The Crack reporting team broke into the establishment and filmed:
(...please don't laugh...)
A living, breathing, Tyrannosaurus Rex!
Oh, I wanted to believe. I so wanted to believe mankind had managed to resurrect our Jurassic friends. In fact I wanted to believe so much that I did! Ignoring the rather obvious date of the report, the unlikelihood of said event, and the general crappiness of the "filmed" dinosaur (these were very much pre-Jurassic Park days - Doctor Who was still be chased by men in rubber suits).
In fact I wanted to believe so much that I spoke to my dad about it once he'd come in from work. Which at the time was a rare occurrence.
Of course none of my school-chums believed it. But I wanted to believe it *so* much that I stood as the lone supporter of such insanity.
April 2nd popped along and Nationwide showed a still of a playful T-Rex (and very, very obviously fake) with the "leader" of the Crack reporting team's head in its rubber-toothed jaws.
It broke my heart. It wasn't that I felt embarrassed by my devotion to the hat-stand notion that some Brit boffins had found a way to resurrect dinosaurs (although the following morning at school was notably hellish, more so than usual). It was the disappointment that something so wonderful was simply a jape. My dreams and illusions of running from the school bus whilst being pursued by Pterodactyls and Dimetrodons - shattered. How cruel is it to do something like that to a child?
If only I'd had a Michael Crichton moment and worked out I'd just seen the catalyst to a best-selling thriller that would be turned into a ground-breaking film followed by a decidedly lacklustre sequel and a slightly better third movie (and, apparently, a fourth, on the way).
My dad didn't let me forget about my foolishness for another seventeen years (until we stopped talking to each other altogether). If he ever felt I was out-smarting him in a group setting, he would say "remember that time Brynley thought they'd brought T-Rex back to life" and then go on to recall my foolishness whilst I sat reddening and sinking into my seat.
Needless to say, nothing foolish happened at Chez BrynT yesterday...
Wednesday 1 April 2009
Oops
Another day without Peter Handyman. Isn't it strange how an entire department grinds to a halt once the manager disappears? Except that of course it doesn't, everything just trundles along and you'd be hard-pressed to even notice that the manager isn't present. Therefore it's rather easy to surmise that the manager is not the brains of any operation - he's the appendix.
I've had a quiet couple of days. I've walked down the hill twice in the last couple of days, just to enjoy the relative sunshine and the sensation of air filling (and then escaping from) my lungs. On a less than pleasant aspect I felt quite ragged and light-headed once I was back up the hill and into work. I even get exhausted now just walking a couple of miles; strange to think I used to run at least this distance most days. I've been hoping the more pleasant weather may have served to return my rusted running mojo back to me, but so far, there's zero sign of this. It is alarming how something that stole a fair chunk of my time now has slid from my schedule and there's no sign of a relapse. I'm not even bothered now that I can't get on the jeans I used to be able to get on until up to about Christmas; or even that I've tipped over the fifteen stone mark. I think fifteen stones is quite reasonable for someone of my height and my age. I could be slimmer and I could be fitter, but would it make me any happier?
Speaking of happier, someone who is much happier is Colin, although he's reminded me of something that stupidly had completely slipped my mind, which in turn had made me unhappy. Plus the news that Colin has given me has not exactly made me happy.
He's sorted, and he is on his way, and he is off abroad again. Not to Germany this time, but to Eindhoven, where he's secured himself a job with Phillips, a six-month contract as a software engineer. I asked him why he hasn't sorted himself something in the UK, to which he said he'd tried, but there is just nothing going at the moment, so he was forced to set his sights further afield and after a ton of negotiation and a bit of pleading and an intense drop in his salary expectations, he's secured himself a job, and has managed to sort accommodation as well. I asked him if this explains all his absences of late, but the said there was no connection. He said: I've told you before Bryn, I'm sorry but I don't like it here and I don't like being here. I really can't stand Andrew because he's so bloody full of how wonderful he is, although I can't imagine I was any different at his age. Lukas is just some weird, unemotional shell, and Gabriel, who's the only one of your kids I can make any connection to, is never around.
I told him I was sorry we didn't meet his standards. He told me there was no need for me to be like that: There's nothing wrong with you or your lads, he explained. It's just not me. I thought we'd be two single blokes on the pussy-prowl together but you only came out with me once and you made it dead clear you hated every minute of it, so I stopped asking. It's not a problem, we've just grown into two different blokes. Doesn't mean we have to stop being brothers, but we ain't going to be buddies.
I asked how are we going to be brothers when he's in Eindhoven. We didn't make too good a job of it whilst he was in Cologne. Colin said, well, we'll just have to make sure we make a better job of it.
He continued: Anyway, how did your weekend go? Gabe said you'd gone down south to chase some woman or something? The one you met on our speed-date sesh?
I corrected him on multiple accounts, explained that the weekend had gone very well indeed (without divulging the nitty-gritty) and if things continual to go well myself and Sarah could very well become a couple. Colin actually patted me on the back! I didn't feel patronised ... much. He said what my next plans were and I told him about Sarah and Ruth coming up to Chez BrynT over Easter, to which Colin frowned and said won't they be a bit surprised when they get here and find the house locked up and empty. I asked for an explanation; Colin opened his eyes wide and said one word: Germany.
Jeez. What an idiot. The "final" family holiday that I held so dear just a month ago - so much so that I was physically twisting arms and laying on the emotional blackmail in order to get all three of my sons to go with me - had totally fallen out of my mind. I dusted down a few old notes in my head and shoved them back into my memory: Yep, we fly to Cologne from East Midlands around midday on Thursday, the day before Good Friday, and we return on Tuesday, early afternoon. No idea of what we are doing and where we are staying, although I know it is Colin's responsibility for the latter.
So a little later I was on the phone to Sarah, apologising for making arrangements for the Easter weekend, explaining that I had forgotten we were spending the "weekend" (only a tiny white lie) in Germany. She did not sound impressed, even questioning how something so fundamental as a family trip abroad could have slipped from my mind. I tried to make light of my stupidity by admitting that I was purely at fault and had been completely dumb. I don't think this admission generated much in the way of sympathy, and Sarah's "bye" measured a considerable amount of degrees lower that her previous "hello".
Damn.
I've had a quiet couple of days. I've walked down the hill twice in the last couple of days, just to enjoy the relative sunshine and the sensation of air filling (and then escaping from) my lungs. On a less than pleasant aspect I felt quite ragged and light-headed once I was back up the hill and into work. I even get exhausted now just walking a couple of miles; strange to think I used to run at least this distance most days. I've been hoping the more pleasant weather may have served to return my rusted running mojo back to me, but so far, there's zero sign of this. It is alarming how something that stole a fair chunk of my time now has slid from my schedule and there's no sign of a relapse. I'm not even bothered now that I can't get on the jeans I used to be able to get on until up to about Christmas; or even that I've tipped over the fifteen stone mark. I think fifteen stones is quite reasonable for someone of my height and my age. I could be slimmer and I could be fitter, but would it make me any happier?
Speaking of happier, someone who is much happier is Colin, although he's reminded me of something that stupidly had completely slipped my mind, which in turn had made me unhappy. Plus the news that Colin has given me has not exactly made me happy.
He's sorted, and he is on his way, and he is off abroad again. Not to Germany this time, but to Eindhoven, where he's secured himself a job with Phillips, a six-month contract as a software engineer. I asked him why he hasn't sorted himself something in the UK, to which he said he'd tried, but there is just nothing going at the moment, so he was forced to set his sights further afield and after a ton of negotiation and a bit of pleading and an intense drop in his salary expectations, he's secured himself a job, and has managed to sort accommodation as well. I asked him if this explains all his absences of late, but the said there was no connection. He said: I've told you before Bryn, I'm sorry but I don't like it here and I don't like being here. I really can't stand Andrew because he's so bloody full of how wonderful he is, although I can't imagine I was any different at his age. Lukas is just some weird, unemotional shell, and Gabriel, who's the only one of your kids I can make any connection to, is never around.
I told him I was sorry we didn't meet his standards. He told me there was no need for me to be like that: There's nothing wrong with you or your lads, he explained. It's just not me. I thought we'd be two single blokes on the pussy-prowl together but you only came out with me once and you made it dead clear you hated every minute of it, so I stopped asking. It's not a problem, we've just grown into two different blokes. Doesn't mean we have to stop being brothers, but we ain't going to be buddies.
I asked how are we going to be brothers when he's in Eindhoven. We didn't make too good a job of it whilst he was in Cologne. Colin said, well, we'll just have to make sure we make a better job of it.
He continued: Anyway, how did your weekend go? Gabe said you'd gone down south to chase some woman or something? The one you met on our speed-date sesh?
I corrected him on multiple accounts, explained that the weekend had gone very well indeed (without divulging the nitty-gritty) and if things continual to go well myself and Sarah could very well become a couple. Colin actually patted me on the back! I didn't feel patronised ... much. He said what my next plans were and I told him about Sarah and Ruth coming up to Chez BrynT over Easter, to which Colin frowned and said won't they be a bit surprised when they get here and find the house locked up and empty. I asked for an explanation; Colin opened his eyes wide and said one word: Germany.
Jeez. What an idiot. The "final" family holiday that I held so dear just a month ago - so much so that I was physically twisting arms and laying on the emotional blackmail in order to get all three of my sons to go with me - had totally fallen out of my mind. I dusted down a few old notes in my head and shoved them back into my memory: Yep, we fly to Cologne from East Midlands around midday on Thursday, the day before Good Friday, and we return on Tuesday, early afternoon. No idea of what we are doing and where we are staying, although I know it is Colin's responsibility for the latter.
So a little later I was on the phone to Sarah, apologising for making arrangements for the Easter weekend, explaining that I had forgotten we were spending the "weekend" (only a tiny white lie) in Germany. She did not sound impressed, even questioning how something so fundamental as a family trip abroad could have slipped from my mind. I tried to make light of my stupidity by admitting that I was purely at fault and had been completely dumb. I don't think this admission generated much in the way of sympathy, and Sarah's "bye" measured a considerable amount of degrees lower that her previous "hello".
Damn.
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