#flattenthecurve Episode 49 The Penultimate Episod

Don Bradman

Better statistical analysts than me* have plotted both the decline of Covid-19 cases in the UK and the reduced frequency of #flattenthecurve blog episodes** and have noticed a strong correlation between the two.

Now we all know that correlation does not mean causation, but at the very least it is a strong coincidence and if continuing the blog means an increased risk to public health, it's a risk I'm not willing to take.

And so, in a move that I know will likely cause some disappointment (possibly) I have to announce that today's episode is the penultimate one.

Critics may say this is nonesense and I've just grown bored with it over time, and while there may be an element of truth to this, the 'in pursuit of public health' thing sounds far more grand and noble so I'm sticking with it.

Reader: But why not make this one the final episode?
Me: Well I can't end it all so tantalisingly close to 50, it's like Donald Bradman knowing he could ending his career on a batting average of 100 but saying 'nah, 99 and a bit is good enough for me.'
Reader: Didn't Don Bradman fail, and fall just short of 100?
Me: Yes, but ...
Reader: So you're going to call this your penultimate episode but fail to deliver a final episode?
Me: No! I'm not going to miss the 50 and be judged on a narrow failure rather than extensive and long term international success.
Reader: Don Bradman was a failure?
Me: No no, I ... Ok, poor choice of analogy. Maybe ...maybe I just don't want it to end on an odd number?
Reader: Well why even bother with this one, cos the last one was number 48 and that's an even number
Me: ..... erm
Reader: ha!
Me: ....
Reader: and do you have grand plans for a final episode extravaganza?
Me: ... please stop
Reader: you don't, do you?
Me: ... (** swears under breath)
Reader: what was that?
Me: ... I said I'll try to think of something.
Reader: good, cos we've sat through 49 episodes of this nonesense and want something good to come of it!
Me: something has come of it, the curve has flattened!
Reader: and that's because of your blog?
Me: well ... no, not exactly
Reader: so pull your finger out!

* I'm not a statistical analyst. I couldn't be even if I wanted to be as I struggle to pronounce the word 'analyst', it always comes out with an extra 'al' sound, and while analalyst, to my mind, sounds much better, it would I feel be somewhat career hampering.
** Not really, artistic licence used for dramatic effect


Weather

It's been hot. Too hot.

I have neither the complexion nor the hairline nor the BMI for hot weather.

I do Iike the blue sky, the sun and the absence of a cold wind blowing in from the North sea, I just like to enjoy it from the comfort of a nice quiet shaded spot in the garden. And there are no nice quiet shaded spots in the garden, because all the nice shaded spots in the garden are within earshot of the kids. And the kids are never quiet.

Thinking about it, all of the garden, the house and most of the street is within earshot of the kids, so maybe a nice shaded spot that isn't quiet is all I can hope for?

Weather 2

I've slept really badly recently as the wife thought the best way to keep cool was to stomp around the bedroom at 1am complaining about how hot it was.

She then switched the fan on, wrapped herself up tightly in a thick duvet and snored her way through the rest of the night, but apparently I'm the unreasonable one for suggesting a thick duvet is not the best way of staying cool on a hot night.

And then the kids burst into our room, argued loudly between themselves about I have no idea what and then burst back out the room upset that we didn't want them bursting into the bedroom arguing. Kids. Pfft.


Weather 3

To make the most of the 'mini heatwave' (or nice spell of warm weather as all non-tabloid journalists call it) I've decided to take Friday off. The forecast for Friday is now thundery showers. Of course.

If anybody else had Friday booked off before me, I can only apologise.


Campervan

We tried the campervan out last weekend. We didn't camp in it, but we took it out, lost things in the cupboards, scratched the bumper on a rogue pebble (that nobody owned up to knowing anything about) and spent time trying to work out how the hell the electrics work (you flick a variety of switches until you get lucky and land on the right combination), where the rattling was coming from (the fire extinguisher) and how to make sure the fridge door stays shut when you go round corners (you wedge it shut with the small bit of kebab stick left especially by the previous owners).

It's been great fun so far, and exactly how we imagined it!

The van is however much quieter than the one we hired years ago and so I can still hear the kids squabbling, bickering and generally causing an annoyance in the back, so I feel a little let down in that respect, but overall things are looking good.


School

Henry found out who his new form teacher for Year 7 is going to be. They stick with the same form teacher all the way through secondary school, 5 years with Henry will be ... character building. Good luck Miss Curry.

Henry is excited to meet her, mainly because I've told him I know her naan. Nobody gets detention on their first day, right?

#flattenthecurve Episode 48

The End of an Era: Thoughts on Change and Love

When routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And resentment rides high
But emotions won't grow
And we're changing our ways
Taking different roads
Love, love will tear us apart again
Love, love will tear us apart again
(Love Will Tear Us Apart, Joy Division)

Change. While some embrace it, the word, it's implications, the memories and feelings it stirs and the threat to routine that it promises strikes fear into the hearts of many others.

Love. Can it be defined in a way that is universally accepted? Where would we be without it, but equally can the pain it can cause us be equalled in life?

Both words have been the subject of debate, the cause of conflict, and the inspiration for art and music throughout history.

Julie Andrews is widely quoted as saying "All love shifts and changes. I don’t know if you can be wholeheartedly in love all the time"

Echo and the Bunnymen told us "Nothing ever lasts forever; Nothing ever lasts for-e-ver-er"

Further still, a well known proverb says that, 'All good things must come to an end'.

All sombre, thought provoking, and ultimately correct. And after what feels like a lifetime, change is upon me also. I have come to the end of one journey, am questioning whether the love remains and have decided a separation is required.

It was a unilateral decision, a choice I felt I had to make. It's come as a shock to the wife, and the kids were initially surprised too. They've taken it well though, Henry was a little disappointed to begin with but then he's older and has shared some of the happier memories.

While it has been my decision, and I've been unhappy for a while, it hasn't been easy and it will feel strange when, as always happens, the world moves on and somebody new takes my place. I'll just have to live with that though.

Hopefully the split will be as painless as possible. I've had a chance to get used to the separation before announcing it as, since lockdown in March, we have remained close yet become ever more distant.

Thankfully the financial implications are already resolved, which is so often the trickiest area to come to an agreement on in situations like this.

So yeah, I'm free, looking to move on, and I'm open to offers and suggestions: what else can I do at 3pm on a Saturday, probably with one or more kids and the wife in tow, now that I'm not going to renew my season ticket?


Moving On

Another famous proverb says that when one door closes, another opens. On this occasion there are 5 new doors, one of them slides, and they all open into (and out of) our brand spanking new (well, 15 year old) campervan.

Yeah, really - a campervan! Fret not, we had a week in a yurt last year so of course we are now expert campers. I wrote a similar blog to this one on the yurt trip last summer, I might share it some time. Lucky you!

Anyway, camping and campervans: we've done loads of research (the wife has joined several online VW campervan and camping forums, asked questions and spoken to lots of people for recommendations, advice and guidance, while I've watched Carry on Camping a couple of times) and I am mechanically minded (I know how to refuel a van, inflate the tyres and fill the windscreen washer bottle, what more could I need to know?) so I really can't foresee any problems.

The original intention had been to do a big tour of Europe with the kids this summer. Damn you Covid-19! Scotland still counts as Europe, yeah?


Green Fingers

More exciting news from Chez Victory, our earlier gardening endeavours are starting to bear fruit with about a million little seedlings emerging from the small plot of land to the side of our house that has been transformed from building site tip to finely raked topsoil to neighbourhood cat toilet to cradle of new life in just a few short weeks.

My initial excitement at the emergence of the first seedling quickly turned to surprise when seemingly overnight the whole area turned green with little plants pushing their way through to daylight and into an immediate scrap for the natural resources needed for life. The number was overwhelming, and it turns out we've used about ten times more seeds than we need. Oops.

I'm not sure who to blame this one on, it's either my gardening expert sister in law who has overseen the landscaping, planting and upkeep of countless gardens without a problem, and who advised the wife on what we should do, or my city living, nature hating wife who employed the 'nah, it'll be fine - I can always buy some more' approach to me asking if I should really be chucking seeds about with such abandon. I'll let you all form your own view here.

I'm a little concerned that the humongous mass of biodiversity now streaming forth from our little patch of mud will cross breed, cross pollinate, cross fertilize and eventually form a new terrifying superbreed of weed that will terrorise the street, nay the neighbourhood, nay the world?

Maybe, maybe not. I'll keep an eye on things and do some seedling thinning out if needs be.


Body Part Designs

I left you last time with a promise to investigate strange body part designs, and I know some of you will be keen to hear of developments in this new area of activity.

Well, research is going well, but the internet has a eye boggling, mind blowing wealth of material to get through, so I am not ready to report back just yet. It's keeping me busy though.

#flattenthecurve Episode 47

While there are so many important things happening in the world it seems rather pointless and stupid to send out my rather pointless and stupid blog. I'm still going to share it, I just thought I should explain that I'm not thoughtless or immune to global events, just here isn't the place to talk about them.

If you do prefer more stimulating intellectual and political debate, I suggest you head over to my new blog where I talk in depth about a range current affairs. It's available here:

www.goodluckwiththatitdoesntexist.co.uk

For those of you sticking around here for more of what you know, let us commence!


The Cut of Their Jib

Some people go on body language, others take a person on what they say while still others believe that actions speak louder than words.

Some people swear by personal appearance, the strength of a person's handshake, their political persuasions, their charitable work ... the list goes on.

As for me? Well I believe you can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat a potato waffle.

Seriously, if you can't eat a waffle by cutting it neatly into squares and rectangles along the bars of potatoey goodness, then there is something not quite right.

I put this to the test at home and, sadly, I'm going to have to let two people go. The wife and Henry have proven themselves to be untrustworthy and scatterbrained to the point of chaos. Eva and I looked on aghast as they thoughtlessly cut all sorts of angles and shapes out of their waffles and even, on a couple of occasions, cut through more than one at the same time.

I know, I was shocked too. They seem such reasonable people usually. You think you know people, then they let you down when you need them most. Sad times.


Home Schooling

I've not mentioned homeschooling much recently, so thought an update was due. You'll be pleased to know we've been working the kids hard, but just for a few hours a day, we aren't tyrants or anything.

Eva has made some amazing progress, she works independently, has a desire to learn and takes a keen interest in everything around her.

She does still come out with some absolute mind-numbing stupidity from time to time though. My two recent favourites have been:

"Henry, did mam and dad call you Henry when you were born?"

And

"Mam, if babies are born without hair, how can you tell if they are a boy or a girl?"

Henry, meanwhile, has shown some real, albeit slower, progress. He is up to level 140 on Fortnite and has learned to open his ice lolly wrapper at the stick end instead of the lolly end. He nearly remembered to read all of his maths questions properly one day this week too. Small steps, hey.

He also comes out with some quite unbelievable comments, and is of a giggly persuasion too, so when he recently fell apart in fits of laughter as we were having tea we waited with baited breath for what words of wisdom he was about to bestow upon us.

On eventually calming down he was able to explain that he'd just realised that the Fortnite XP ('Extra Points') coin in the bathroom window of the house behind us was actually the back of a mirror. He'd never wondered why they had a Fortnite XP coin in the window, he'd just taken it for granted that that's what it was. Ah well, at least he can laugh at himself. I suspect it's a skill that will come in handy.


Dreams

My weird dreams have been continuing. Most aren't fit for a family based blog, but last night's meets the acceptable dream sharing standard, so here goes.

The dream that I dreamed ... dreamt? hmmm, not sure the correct past tense there - a bit like dived/dove, that one always trips me up too. Anyway, back to the dream, the dream was about a violent miniature horse. We lived on a farm, and the horse lived in a field with a small polar bear. They both kept escaping, the horse would slither under small gaps in the fence while the bear would sort of blunder his way around, and the horse would go round headbutting people and kicking up a fuss.

The bear always seemed quite morose about the escaping, a little disappointed that the horse was upstaging him but equally lacking in desire to cause problems for anybody.

I wondered whether the horse and bear were metaphors for any people I know, but I couldn't think who.

Anyway, Eva woke me from my dream bawling her eyes out and being melodramatic about some minor slight or other, managing to knee me in the lets-not-go-theres while Henry lurked around in the background looking shifty and grumbling.

Nope, still not worked out what the horse/bear dream was all about.


DIY

I present this conversation verbatim (ish) - no comment, I believe, is required on my behalf.

Henry: Dad, what you doing?
Me: I'm fitting a hand towel holder thing for the hand towel
Henry: (**looks at the hand towel sat quite happily on the radiator) Why?
Me: because your Mam wants it here
Henry: (**looks at the hand towel sat quite happily on the radiator again, then looks at me perplexed) but ... (**points at the hand towel sat quite happily on the radiator)
Me: I know Henry, but your Mam wants this hand towel holder thing so we don't ... so we can ...
Henry: You don't have to do everything Mam asks you know
Me: (** looks blankly at Henry)
Henry: Yeah ... I'm going upstairs now


DIY Again

You can tell you are an accomplished DIYer when you have your own special DIY pencil. I have my own DIY pencil.

It is slightly larger in girth than a standard pencil, making it slightly too large for a pencil sharpener, but otherwise operates like a normal pencil.

I think the extra girth has two functions:

(i) us manly DIYers have manly muscly hands, so like a more substantial pencil to hold on to; and

(ii) you have to sharpen them with a Stanley knife, which is even more manly and DIYish.

I was explaining the mystique behind the manly extra girth DIY pencil when The Wife pointed out it was a training pencil for reception kids who can't grip normal pencils properly, and she has a large pencil sharpener made just for sharpening large pencils.

I still like my manly special DIY pencil.


DIY Again Again

The second worst bit about DIY jobs is starting them. The third worst bit is finishing them properly. I'm writing this while I should be starting the latest job, so I'm going to be in trouble if I don't start soon.

And the worst bit? The worst bit about DIY jobs is when the wife says "oh, I don't know, you decide" and leaves you to work out where the stupid flamin' hand towel holder should go when you don't think you need one in the first place.

Hurrumph.


In Other News

On Friday I bit my tongue, and I bit it so hard that it bled. I didn't deliberately bite it like, that would just be weird.

It did make me realise just how dangerous eating can be, with rows of hardened chunks of sharp enamel sitting in such close proximity to the soft muscular organ that is the tongue.

Crazy.

I'll ruminate for a while on other strange body part designs and feed back to you next week. There's a couple I have on my mind already, but I'll not spoil the surprise for you.

I'm away to load up Google now to do some research, my account is used across several family devices so I'll make sure I use the 'incognito mode' to protect the innocent. And the kids.

#flattenthecurve Episode 46

Friday Morning

There was panic in the Victory household Friday morning as a medical emergency unfolded: I was blinded by flashing white lights in the back garden. It was horrendous, and the accompanying dizziness made the spectre of the sky falling in seem distinctly possible.

The wife was worried it would be permanent or life threatening so she checked the life assurance was up to date then asked if she should call a Doctor. "No" I replied firmly, confident the problem would pass.

And pass it did. As I said to the wife, with work to do and a full programme of odd jobs to look forward to for the weekend ahead, there really was no time to die and thankfully the loss of vision was short lived.

As my eyesight began to recover, the images that had been temporarily burnt onto my retinas began to resolve themselves and the cause of the flashing light phenomenon became apparent. It turned out that the wife was wearing shorts and her first lower limb outing of the year was working in tandem with the beautiful May sunshine to dazzle onlookers. And she has the cheek to say I have milk bottle legs.


Later

Though the eyesight problems earlier in the day substantially resolved themselves quite quickly, I was left with a strange yellowy hue to my vision for the rest of the day. Ophthalmologists refer to this, apparently, as Golden Eye: an annoying but otherwise harmless ocular imbalance.

I was also left emotionally and mentally fatigued, so come the evening I was in need of some liquid refreshment to quell the nerves and steady the soul.

The wife fancied a casino royale so I turned bar tender, and although we were all out of the key ingredients for that classic, I did successfully mix up an espresso martini. Succesful only if you count covering the kitchen and the wife in a sticky combination of XO cafe tequila, black coffee, vodka and sugar when the lid came off the shaker as I was shaking it as successful that is. Ah well, live and let die. Or words to that effect.

I was left both shaken and stirred by the cocktail misadventures so stuck with a couple of cans instead, leaving the wife to quaff the remains of my poorly executed late 80s era Tom Cruise impression. She said it was delicious though, which offered me a quantum of solace.


Saturday

Saturday thankfully saw an end to the ridiculous and pointless charade of trying to squeeze as many Bond references into as few words as possible. Will it return? Who knows, nothing surprises me these days: you can never say never again.

Oops.

For the sake of taste and decency I have opted not to publish the section referencing the late Honor Blackman's character.


Monday Morning

And so the weekend was over in a flash. A blink of an eye. A blur of dismantling, moving and rebuilding old kids bedroom furniture, building new bedroom furniture and utility room cabinets.

The highlights of the weekend?

Eva couldn't for the life of her understand why being helpful didn't include talking incessantly while her Dad tried to work out how support bar 4 on Henry's new bed attached to pole B using weird looking bolt 104435 and tool 104001, although bar 3 and pole A used screw 103345 and a cross head screwdriver despite the instructional pictures looking identical.

The cats slunk around scowling at everybody, because that's just what cats do, and when things are noisy they like to do it even more. I'm sure it's just for dramatic effect.

I was told off for not being enthusiastic enough about the new gate and fence we had installed. The gate opens and shuts, the fence doesn't look like it will fall down, we paid what we felt was a reasonable price: I'm really not sure my "yeah, that looks fine, thank you" reaction warranted such abuse.

And finally. We seem to have a Magpie nesting near us, it spends quite a lot of its time squawking and cawing on in the back garden using those horrendous squawky cawy voices Magpies have. I think it could be my new pet hate. I've just realised, it's supposed to be bad luck to see just one Magpie. Great: squawky, cawy and bad luck, just what I need.

#flattenthecurve Episode 45

Blurred Vision

On the Parklife album track 'Bank Holiday', Blur told us that:

Bank holiday comes with six-pack of beer
Then it's back to work A-G-A-I-N

Well, wrong on both counts this time round Mr. Albarn and friends. The Wife did the shopping and bought no beer (so I had to settle for a pineapple spiced rum and coke - how very metrosexual of me) AND I had the Tuesday after the bank holiday off work too.

Another example of Britpop Cool Britannia 90s culture not translating well to 2020, or just a very random start to my blog? I'll let you decide.


Ideas

Since the days of "Dad, I've wet the bed", "Dad! I've done a poo!" or "Dad, I'm going to be sick" the words I dread the most when I'm woken up are "Andrew, I've had an idea" or even worse "Andrew, I've been doing some research".

I'm not pointing fingers here, but the only person who calls me Andrew in our house is The Wife.

When it's just an idea, it isn't so bad. Although I may be in for a bumpy ride, I can usually talk her out of whatever crackpot suggestion she is about to make. But when she's progressed an idea to doing research, there's usually no way out. And it usually means work for me.

Being most definitely a 'not a morning' type person, my cognitive reasoning takes quite a long time to get up to full speed, so waking up can be quite stressful just in case there has been new ideas or researching to contend with.

Some of the more expensive early morning idea or research conversations I've been dragged into include:

- Wouldn't it be nice to get married?

- Wouldn't it be nice for Henry to have a little brother or sister (before you ask, this was a very matter of fact conversation, not a pretext to any ... 'schenanigans')

- I've been looking for architects

As you can tell, I'm usually on the losing side of these early morning chats. Though in fairness they don't always turn out bad.

Bank Holidays are always a worry, as they seem to be used as an opportunity for 'ideas' to be shared and new jobs to be done around the house, so on Saturday when I made it to mid-morning and was keeping myself busy with a spot of DIY I had chosen to do in the back garden, I thought I was safe. How wrong I was.

The wife emerged from indoors with a smile on her face, brandishing a mobile phone in one hand and a tape measure in the other. "While the kids are playing out the front Andrew .... "

"It's quite cold out here" I protested, glancing at the tape measure with some concern and getting my excuses in first "and the neighbours are out and ..."

"What? Oh, don't be filthy" she scowled "no, I've been thinking."

She lied, she hadn't been thinking. Or rather, she hadn't just been thinking. It had progressed way beyond thinking. Rooms had been measured, children had been consulted, hopes had been raised, and the IKEA order was ready to send.

Next weekend I will be dismantling Eva's bed, moving her furniture around, taking apart Henry's bed and rebuilding it for Eva. I will be constructing a new bed/desk combo for Henry, replacing hinges and doors on existing damaged furniture and (and!) building and installing three units plus a work top in the utility room.

And I know the wife thinks this can all be done in a morning, and come Sunday evening she'll be 'surprised' it all took so much longer to do than she thought it would, and I'll just get scowled at for pointing out that I said it would take a lot longer than she thought.

And it's not like it's going to be outside in the garden where I can potter about and drag the jobs out either.

Pfft.


B&Q Take 2

Oh no, its happening again. Somebody is making a fool of themselves in B&Q car park, right in front of me.

This time a couple with three kids are trying to fit a bedroom worth of flatpack furniture into their medium sized hatchback.

They also seem to have forgotten to dress the toddler, who only has a t-shirt on. Yes, only a t-shirt.

"Mam!" shrieks one of the kids. "He's doing a wee!" I'm guessing the 'he' in question was the t-shirt wearing toddler, rather than the Dad, but as I was focusing really hard on looking at my phone at this point I couldn't be too sure.

And now they are driving off with half the back seat folded down, 3 kids squashed into the remaining back seat space with 2 child seats unconventionally sitting on top of them.

The B&Q manager fella did point out that what they were doing was illegal and they were on camera, but to no avail.

On a positive note, they didn't notice me noticing them. Thankfully. The wifee looked as hard as nails.


Lockdown Confessions

Taking my lead from our unelected head of state (no, not the Queen, the other one - the Cummings fella) I've decided to come clean on some lockdown transgressions of my own. Hopefully this will stave off press interest.

- On a couple of occasions my daily exercise exceeded one hour. I know this will shock people, but in my defence the noise that the kids make is far more manageable when you're outdoors.

- Also (yes, there is more) I may have stretched the definition of 'essentials' while out shopping, and strayed into the luxury branded items once or twice. Especially in the ice cream section, I do like ice cream.

- And finally, handwashing can seem such a chore at times. Though on the occasions I decided life was too short to always be handwashing, I was extra specially careful to rub my hands together vigorously to make sure any germs were superheated by friction and so killed off anyway. That works, right?

#flattenthecurve Episode 44

In an attempt to broaden my horizons, step out of my comfort zone and appeal to a wider readership, I've decided to do a nude edition.

Not really. You're safe, it's just a slow news day.

#flattenthecurve Episode 43

The Rules of Parenting

The kids made the most of the beautiful weather on Wednesday morning by sitting in their bedrooms. They were being quiet though, so we didn't disturb them - first rule of parenting, pick your battles.

This made me think of all the other rules of parenting we probably all follow without realising, so I wrote a few down as they came to me.

1. Pick your battles. If you picked up on everything your kids did or said that was wrong and tried to correct it you would combust. I tried, it wasn't pretty.

2. Learn when to turn a blind eye to screen time. Weekend mornings, for example, sleep is important for parents too.

3. Develop a noise that can be used to respond to inane questions that doesn't confer any approval of whatever it is they are whittering on about but gives the impression you are paying attention (my favourite is erhummm).

4. Check what The Wife has said before agreeing to anything, The Wife is always right even if (in fact, especially when) she is wrong.

5. Always have snacks available. See point 6.

6. If in doubt, Haribo. But never Tangfastic, they are mine.

7. Keep your behaviour expectations low. Really low. Lower. Yep, that low. Unless you are shopping, then anything goes.

8. Kids cannot clean behind their finger nails. Just accept this and move on.

9. You can never ask a child to brush their teeth just once. Instead, you have to ask them to brush their teeth, then ask them again, then tell them you're sick of them wasting their time and yours and tell them to brush them properly. They won't brush them properly, but it buys you a few more minutes to finish your brew.

10. Some people forget how much hard work babies are. Remind these people, repeatedly. You're only allowed one slip up here. People with 3 or more kids: I'm sorry, I should have shared this earlier.

11. Always have fresh fruit available, the kids won't touch it but it makes any visitors think you are really health conscious parents.

12. Never ask a child what they have done at school that day. They will deny having done anything, having ever been to school or even knowing what a school is.

Any other parenting rules I have missed? Be sure to let me know!

I, of course, was a perfect child, so have had to learn these things the hard way.

#flattenthecurve Episode 42

Bat-Pangolin Germ, by Ladonna

(Any similarity to Material Girl by Madonna is entirely coincidental.)

Some girls kiss me
Some girls hug me
I just say "no way"
If they don't give me social distance
I just walk away

They can beg and they can plead
But they will cause a fight (that's right)
Because the girls that have got no symptoms
Can still carry, ri-ight?

'Cause the infection's from a Bat-Pangolin germ
And I'm not a Bat-Pangolin bloke
You know that we are living with our Bat-Pangolin woes
Our health is no Bat-Pangolin joke

Girls want romance
Try to slow dance
That's not right by me
If they can't prove they're antiviral I
Have to let them be

Some girls try and some girls lie but
I don't let them play (no way)
Face masks and six feet of distance
Make me safe today.

Are they infected with a Bat-Pangolin germ
'Cause I'm not a Bat-Pangolin bloke
You know that we are living with our Bat-Pangolin woes
Our health is no Bat-Pangolin joke

Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ
But I'm not a Bat-Pangolin bloke
You know that we are living with our Bat-Pangolin woes
Our health is no Bat-Pangolin joke

Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ (Bat-Pangolin)
Living in a Bat-Pangolin whirl
Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ (Bat-Pangolin)
Living in a Bat-Pangolin whirl

Girls will come and girls will go
And that's all right you see
Experience has made me twitch
But it keeps me virus free

'cause everybody's living with the Bat-Pangolin germ
And I'm not a Bat-Pangolin bloke
You know that we are living with our Bat-Pangolin woes
Our health is no Bat-Pangolin joke

Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ
But I'm not a Bat-Pangolin bloke
You know that we are living with our Bat-Pangolin woes
Our health is no Bat-Pangolin joke

A Bat-Pangolin, a Bat-Pangolin, a Bat-Pangolin, a Bat-Pangolin germ

Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ (Bat-Pangolin)
Living in a Bat-Pangolin whirl
Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ (Bat-Pangolin)
Living in a Bat-Pangolin whirl

Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ (Bat-Pangolin)
Living in a Bat-Pangolin whirl
Living with a Bat-Pangolin germ (Bat-Pangolin)
Living in a Bat-Pangolin whirl

#flattenthecurve Episode 41

My bike still isn't fixed. In fact, it still isn't even in a shop where it can be fixed. In fact, it's not even booked to go to a shop where it can be fixed. It's quite ironic that this has happened when exercise restrictions have been lifted and so my unrestricted exercise is now less than my previously restricted exercise, which was in turn greater than my pre Covid-19 exercise levels.

I have been keeping my activity levels up in a variety of innovative ways though, including:


Walking

Or specifically, going for a walk while the kids are on their bikes. There are a whole host of fun activities to pass the time whilst out walking/biking. 'Fun'. My favourites include:

a. dodging wayward kids on bikes as they attempt to crash into the back of me

b. standing in the middle of nowhere wondering where the hell they've disappeared off to,

c. pushing Eva's bike up hills for her, and

d. rescuing Eva from dogs. Dogs love barking at Eva, and Eva seems quite taken with screaming at dogs, so the combination is a cacophonous match made in hell.

On Monday we added a new walking/biking activity to the list: snail counting. Eva has a thing for snails, being the proud owner of a Giant African Land Snail. Between them they counted about one bazillion snails in one morning walk/bike. I didn't have the heart to tell them that as Henry was riding ahead of Eva there was a good chance that the snails Eva spotted were the same ones Henry spotted just moments before, so their actual snail count was only about half a bazillion.

Also, I should watch where I'm walking, the count of live snails ended up being a couple less then half a bazillion. Again, I didn't have the heart to tell the kids.


Digging

Eva has been helping me dig out the garden in an attempt to clear the compacted earth and rubble that was left behind after the extension was built.

I say 'help' in the loosest possible sense of the word. Google has two definitions of help:

help (/hɛlp/) verb

1. make it easier or possible for someone to do something by offering them one's services or resources.

2. endlessly distract your dad from doing what he needs to do, making him take twice as long as necessary and causing extra grumpiness, then expect excessive praise and an extra snack

I'll let you decide which one I made up to describe the kind of help Eva was providing.

We're up to 90 bags of rubble so far, at the last count Eva contributed four medium size rocks and a small twig. And even then she flounced round the garden waving the twig about asking what she should do with it. She did not like my first suggestion.

If Eva was a fan of The Mock Turtles she'd probably have been singing "Can you di-i-i-ig it?" To which I'd have replied "Oh no, cos you've got your face in the mud looking for worms just where I'm wanting to land my shovel. Again." Catchy? I think so.


Tidying Up

I took a break from the kids to go up into the loft to do a spot of tidying up. I spotted our suitcases lying in the corner, so I took the opportunity to let them know that we won't be going on holiday this year, and they burst into floods of tears. Just what I needed, more emotional baggage.

This isn't true, of course. I would never voluntarily do any tidying up, I was there hiding from the kids.

#flattenthecurve Episode 40

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

"Daddy" asked Eva in that wheedly little voice she uses when she's either after something or about to be cheeky "is your t-shirt a medium?"

I did my "ermmmm" sound that I do when I'm distracted and want to sound non-commital, but she swiftly followed up with a "because you can see the shape of your tummy!" She then proceeded to laugh hysterically while prodding said tummy.

Eva is 7, and has that dangerous combination of having her father's sense of humour, her father's good looks and her father's lack of filter. She's basically a little me, there's no hope for her. Mind, she doesn't get her stroppy nature from me, wonder where that comes from?

A game!

Rearrange these letters into the name of a person, with no link to the previous comment about being stroppy. Honest. 'Honest':

T E H W I E F

To be fair, Henry has a good sense of humour too. Him and Eva had been arsing around doing something stupid (I forget what, life seems like a never-ending spell of kids arsing around doing something stupid these days) when a clash of heads provoked tears of outrage from Eva. It was generally accepted that Henry was to blame, so we gently prompted him with a "now what do you say to Eva?" suggestion.

"Eva" announced Henry, looking (with hindsight suspiciously) calm, serious and sensible, and taking us all momentarily off guard. "That really hurt my chin." And off he wandered with a huge grin on his face.


We're S.H.O.P.P.I.N.G

Going to B&Q is now like lining up at a theme park for a big rollercoaster, they have a wooden framework queueing area that you have to wind your way around, it's just the warning signs that are different. And the rollercoaster at the end isn't as exciting, though as you've got to push it yourself it can still be quite good fun, especially the corners. Anyway, I've paid for the damage, the security guard wasn't anywhere near as scary as he looked, the CCTV footage has been erased and we agreed that no more will be said on the matter.

The whole escapade was quite exciting actually, the fella in front of me in the queue must have been a headline writer for the Daily Mail. He was on the phone describing the scenes of 'absolute chaos' as he waited in line calmly alongside about 10 other people, who were all standing quietly and correctly observing their 2m of social distance.

I think he was just upset that'd he'd judged the weather badly as he was shivering in his shorts and t-shirt. I always worry somebody will read my mind in situations like this and take offence at me internally mocking them, so I have to pretend I'm busy doing something on my phone and concentrate on not making eye contact.

The headline writer must have been related to the woman on the door at Home Bargains too, who described their short, well beheaved queue as being 'mental'. Mind, Home Bargains is always a bit mental so maybe she had a point.

While most other shops rely on signage to prompt good customer behaviour, Home Bargains rely on middle aged women hollering at you across the shop. God help you if you don't comply with an instruction with a nanosecond.

Or if you ask for help for that matter. "Aisle 3. Or 4. Maybe. If we have any, but I don't think we do." was amongst the most useful responses I got.

I'm not entirely sure Home Bargains is safe at the moment. All the sensible customers self-conforming to social distancing outside the store go to pot in the cheap chocolate section. And the checkout scrum must be a breeding ground for plague, small pox and a multitude of STDs, let alone Coronavirus. I'm going to self isolate for a month just to be on the safe side. Although, the chocolate is very cheap, so I may be tempted to change my mind.


Light in your head and dead on your feet

I have a confession. It is probably going to alienate a good deal of my readership, but honesty is the best policy and I hope that is something that is appreciated by you all.

It's Mary Berry. I can't watch her on the TV without ... I just can't watch her. I'm sure she's lovely really, but ... nope, Brisitish Institution or otherwise, I just can't.

*Shudders

It's got to the point where I can't eat any cake without imagining her Montgomery Burns-esque skeletal and paper thin skinned fingers sinisterly creeping menacingly through a batch of softening butter and sugar. In my nightmares she's drooling too, into the cake mix. Does she do that in real life, I've never watched long enough?


And the Lyrics

"'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play"
Shake it Off, Taylor Swift

"We're S.H.O.P.P.I.N.G"
Shopping, The Pet Shop Boys

"Light in your head and dead on your feet"
Baker Street, Gerry Rafferty

#flattenthecurve Episode 39

Some of us may have been left a little confused by our Prime Minister's new Covid-19 slogan last night, so I've taken the liberty of doing some research into how we can all Stay Alert. And it's surprisingly simple:

1. Become alert
2. Do not become unalert.

Step 1 you will have to work out for yourselves I'm afraid, I'm not doing everything for you.

Step 2 you will also have to work out for yourselves. Sorry, I'm really not being very helpful here am I?

Quite what we are remaining alert for will no doubt be explained fully in further prime-ministerial pronouncements.

Stay safe people.

Oops, stay alert. I meant stay alert!


In other news, Eva and I flew a kite yesterday. It dodged and ducked and weaved and danced all over the place, and was really quite entertaining for a few minutes until the wind dropped suddenly and it got stuck in a thorny bush. No analogy with politicians is intended.


In other other news, Henry's SATS were due to start today. I can't begin to imagine the detrimental impact that not undertaking these tests will have on him and his friends. I wonder why that is?

Ooh, isn't Andrew being cynical today! Normal service will resume tomorrow.

#flattenthecurve Episode 38

Special Double Entendre Episode

As my blog is vaguely family orientated (although I'm aware a couple of swear words do slip out from time to time) I've been trying to avoid double entendres.

However it's been getting harder and harder to do so, so I've decided to get it all out in one go with a special double entendre episode.

If this rubs you up the wrong way I can only apologise in advance, but it was inevitable that standards would go down over time.

Note to my Mother:
Mam, I can only apologise. You didn't bring me up this way, where did it all go so wrong?


Sweets For My Sweet, Sugar For My Honey

We're a big fan of Haribo in our house, with Tangfastic considered the king of the ket (* see note for non-Northerners below).

I was lucky enough to grab the last fun size bag in the cupboard earlier, 8 little sweet nuggets of fizzy delight all to myself.

The wife was visibly distraught and begged me to give her one. I was reluctant as the kids were hanging around somewhere, but I'm nothing if not generous so I shared my packet with her discreetly.

* ket (/kɛt/)
noun NORTHERN ENGLISH
a sweet, especially an inexpensive one of a type intended mainly for children.


I Drove My Tractor Through Your Haystack Last Night (Ooh Ar Ooh Ar)

After work it was a nice sunny evening so I thought I'd try a spot of gardening.

We're lucky as we have two gardens, though as neither of us are exactly horticulturists we've split maintenance and upkeep between us. We've become quite territorial about them actually, so the deal is that the back garden is mine while the wife takes pride in looking after her front garden.

Trouble is, she can't manage the lawn mower so I need to take care of trimming both our lawns. The wife's had become a bit overgrown recently and I was finding it hard going. She noticed I wasn't making much progress so she suggested that I should have a go round the back first then finish off at the front later. She's thoughtful like that.


I'm Bored, I'm the Chairman of the Board

Tuesday evening and the wife told me she was sick of TV and wanted to try some board games. Scrabble was the game of choice, but we had to be careful as the board is a bit wobbly.

We tried it on the sofa, then on the coffee table, we even tried it in the floor but my back got sore so we ended up having to finish off on the dining room table.

I finally managed to win. With no tiles left in the bag I concludied the game firing off an impressive double word score that contained no blanks.

The wife complained that I always finish first, maybe she just needs more practice.


Disclaimer
The wife and I have been married for many many years, there is of course no way we could share sweets, take care of the garden and complete a game of Scrabble all on the same day.

Please let us never, ever, speak of this episode again.


And the lyrics?

"Sweets for my sweet, Sugar for my honey"
Sweets for My Sweet, C.J.Lewis.

"I'm bored, I'm the chairman of the bored"
I'm Bored, Iggy Pop

'I drove my tractor through your haystack last night (Ooh ar ooh ar)"
The Combine Harvester, The Wurzels

#flattenthecurve Episode 37

You've Got Style, That's What all the Girls Say

As parents, we walk a fine line between telling our kids the right approach to take in life to make sure they avoid the pitfalls on the pathway to adulthood, and allowing them to make, and hopefully learn from, their own mistakes in life.

I try to err on the side of the latter approach rather than the former (where it is safe to do so, of course) and as a result I was accompanied on my morning walk today by a miniature astronaut (Eva) and Willy Wonka (Henry).

As I reasoned with the wife, I need content for my blog, and while fancy dress may be considered by some to be inappropriate walking attire, a walk with an astronaut and Willy Wonka has far more entertainment potential than a walk with two grouchy rat bags who woke everybody up far too early again and aren't allowed to wear what they want.

It looked like the walk was going to be sadly uneventful, the astronaut/Willy Wonka race across the field was notable only for its lack of notable events. Aside from Willy's top hat blowing off mid race and an attempted.tripping incident with the walking cane. There was mild amusement on my behalf when Henry started repeatedly singing "Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka" mispronouncing "Wonka" by replacing the O with an A, but as he wasn't being ridiculously giggly at the same time he clearly wasn't doing it on purpose.

But then came the dog and the horse.

The dog was first. Eva is terrified of dogs, we have no idea why. She's never been bitten or even barked at, but the sight of a Cockerpoodle, Labradoodle, French Bullpug, Rottweilahuahua, Dalma-Russell or literally any other dog you can possibly imagine causes her hysterics and she wails and waves her arms in the air. But dogs do seem to ignore her, thankfully. Until today.

On this occasion, the approaching greyhound seemed overcome with delight at finding a miniature astronaut in his path and raced over to investigate. Eva shrieked and scooted behind me, the dog dodged, ducked, weaved, and finally licked Eva full in the face.

Ellie (the dog) bounded back to her owner delighted to tell her all about licking an astronaut for the first time, while my little astronaut stood rooted to the spot aghast. Apparently it was my fault because I'd told her not to run away.

And the horse. The horse was ... how do I put this delicately? ... the horse was a male horse. Very clearly a male horse. And Mr. Horse liked the look of Mrs. Horse. I thus had the task of guiding miniature astronaut and Willy Wonka past the amorous horse without either child noticing it's amorousness. And without intervention they of course would have noticed, they can be very observant when we don't want them to be. Ok, so this has nothing to do with astronauts or Willy Wonka, but it amused me no end.


Who Lives In a House Like This?

The neighbour was out creasoting his fence this morning. Again. I think he creasotes his fence more than I cut the lawn. He always says hello when you see him, but he strikes me as a bit odd. Can't quite put my finger on why though, maybe it's his ponchant for creosote.

It did make me realise that actually we have a quite a few odd neighbours. You've already met the people over the road with the hot tub (least said, soonest mended there) but there's a few others worth mentioning too:

In number 69 there lives a transvestite. He's a man by day, but he's a woman at night.

There's a man in number 4 who swears he's Saddam Hussein. Say's he's on a chore to start the Third World War

In 110 they haven't paid the rent, so there goes the TV with the repo men.

In 999 they make a living from crime. The house is always empty 'cause they're all doing time

In number 18 there lives a big butch queen, he's bigger than Tyson and he's twice as mean

And finally, in 666 there lives a Mr Miller. He's our local vicar, and a serial killer

So if you find the time please come and stay a while, in my beautiful neighbourhood. My neighbourhood, my my, my beautiful neighbourhood.

Any similarity between my neighbourhood and that of 90's Scouse band Space is entirely coincidental.


You Pretend You're High, Pretend You're Bored

It's garden waste collection day today. That this is noteworthy perhaps demonstrates more than anything how dull lockdown life is becoming. If it wasn't for Gangs of London and After Life I think I'd have slipped into a boredom coma by now.

Gangs of London is epic, although we missed the first episode so not really sure how they managed to shoehorn Caitlyn Stark into becoming John Shelby's mother. There must have been some glaring continuity errors though, as both died ages ago. Oops, spoiler alert for latecomers to Game of Thrones and Peaky Blinders.

That aside, well worth a watch.


And The Lyrics

"You've got style, That's what all the girls say"
Dress You Up, Madonna

"Who lives in a house like this?"
Neighbourhood, Space

"You pretend you're high, pretend you're bored"
Stupid Girl, Garbage

#flattenthecurve Episode 36

The Chills That You Spill Up My Back

I was reminded this weekend of an event that occured whilst the wife was pregnant with Henry, or 'it' as we referred to him then as we didn't know whether it was going to be a boy or a girl and so hadn't chosen a name for it.

As the episode paints me in a bad light you can probably guess who reminded me of it, but if not I'll give you a hangman style clue: Th_ Wif_

The event centred around the fairly inauspicious dessert, Angel Delight. Specifically, the wife's Angel Delight. The wife craved Angel Delight, probably would have killed for Angel Delight if she'd had to, and came very close to killing somebody for depriving her of Angel Delight. That somebody she nearly killed was me.

To this day I'm not entirely sure how it happened, I was probably trying to be funny. Perhaps wind her up. But somehow, for some long forgotten reason, I took the Angel Delight out of the supermarket trolley, it didnt end up going back in the trolley and the missing Angel Delight wasn't spotted until we got home.

In her version of events, the episode ended with her standing in the kitchen sobbing, quite literally bawling her eyes out, due to the lack of Angel Delight in the house. A pregnant woman deprived of the one thing in life she craved at that moment.

In my mind the episode came to an amicable end when I nipped to the Spar for a packet, but the wife refutes this version of event.

This may seem a very minor event, and I'd agree, but it's clearly something that has scarred the wife as she reminds me of this event nearly as often as she reminds me of the unfortunate tin of peaches bouncing off her head in Asda incident, but that's another story for another day.


Something of a Phenomenon, Telling Your Body to Come Along

Eva has developed her own guide to the measurement of bike riding ascents and descents, dispensing with the more common percentage gradients you see on road signs, or the older but still in use '1 in x' approach. She has a five step method that is as beautifully simple as it is illogical:

1 Too scary (any down hill section steeper than a 10% drop, but with the notable exception of a section 5 descent)

2 Flat (any down hill section less than 10%)

3 Up hill (any surface that is flat, or any down hill section that is less steep than the immediately preceding down hill section)

4 Too hard (any incline at all)

5 Why not Dad! (any section that is so steep it could feature on an episode of 'World's most dangerous bike rides'. Typically, a section 5 slope is identified by Eva pausing briefly at the top of a ridiculously steep drop before I point out she'll probably kill herself if she plunges down the near cliff in front of her, sparking fury that I have the temerity to prevent her from causing herself serious bodily harm.)


Oh, No, No You Can't Disguise

The wife thinks I am using too much artistic licence in my semi-autobiographical blog.

She said this whilst bungee jumping naked off the Burj Khalifa tower, shortly after completing her Ironman triathlon in world record time.

I disagree.


And The Lyrics?

"The chills that you spill up my back"
Groove is in the Heart, Deee-lite

"Something of a phenomenon, telling your body to come along"
White Lines (Don't Do It), The Sugarhill Gang feat. Grandmaster Flash

"Oh, no, no you can't disguise"
Little Lies, Fleetwood Mac

#flattenthecurve Episode 35

In an attempt to make my blog mildly interesting I've decided to start using song lyrics as titles for each section, with the lyrics having a vague link to the subject in that section. How exciting is that?!

No prizes I'm afraid, it's just for fun. Answers at the end.


Come Up To Meet You, Tell You I'm Sorry

Things have been a little quiet on the blog front this week, but for that I can make no apologies. I have, you see, been undertaking an important scientific experiment, one that with hindsight should have been conducted in isolation but we live and learn don't we?

"What, pray tell" I hear you clamour "have you been experimentating on?"

Patience, I say, for the story shall unfold presently. But first be warned: if you are of a squeamish or nervous disposition then you may wish to stop reading now.

You may wish to stop reading regardless of whether or not you are of a squeamish or nervous disposition, but that's entirely besides the point. And a little rude, might I add!

Here we go.

My current anti-perspirant of choice is L'Oreal Men Expert Invincible Sport Absorbing Anti-Perspirant. Yes, it was on special offer in Tesco, and it was in a bright yellow container so caught the eye. Besides having a name that hardly rolls off the tongue (insert your own roll-on anti-perspirant joke here) L'Oreal make a couple of bold claims about their Men Expert Invincible Sport Absorbing Anti-Perspirant

Claim the first. It is an 'XXL' Roll-On. L'Oreal does not make clear the bases on which it describes it's Men Expert Invincible Sport Absorbing Anti-Perspirant as being 'XXL' but in the two obvious measures, roll-on head size (perhaps slightly on the large side, but in no way even XL let alone XXL) and container volume (a measly 50ml), I can with some certainty refute their claims.

This first claim was not the subject of my scientific endeavours however, oh no, it was merely an aperitif, an amuse bouche if you will, to whet the appetite.

Claim the second. L'Oreal Men Expert Invincible Sport Absorbing Anti-Perspirant boldly states that it provides a 96 hour non-stop dry feel. 96 hours!

(Remember the vidiprinter in the Grandstand days of Final Score where they used to write out in words any big scores? If they were reporting on Anti-Perspirant claims (perhaps on a slow, weather affected winter day) this would have read: L'Oreal 96 hours (ninety-six) Applications 1)

So yes, if you haven't already put two and two together, I decided to test this 96 hour non-stop dry feel claim. Ah the opportunities lockdown presents us, who'd have thought such an endeavour possible in the days of public transportation and face to face a working?

And why did this prevent me writing blog updates? Well if you're going to do something, you need to do it properly. And I'm sure you all agree, 4 days worth of half hourly sniff tests (in three anatomically strategic locations) is mentally and emotionally draining for both myself and the wife. Yep, I had to rope the wife in too, as not all the anatomical locations were in easy reach of my nose and I didn't want to resort to scratching and sniffing.

Spoiler alert: I could have, if I had been less committed to the scientific cause, stopped well before the 96 hours but no, I had started so I intended to finish.

And finish I did. In a fug filled stupor of malodoured exhaustion.

L'Oreal: you lied.


Post-Experiment Findings

On closer inspection following my first post experiment cleansing, and with no little disappointment, I realised that my L'Oreal Men Expert Invincible Sport Absorbing Anti-Perspirant actually makes no claims about being malodour free for 96 hours, just that you would be dry. This feels a little bit of a cop out for an anti-perspirant really, I'm imagining the meeting where they decided to proceed to full scale production:

R&D Technician One: But boss, you smell bad after just 24 hours!
R&D Boss: But are you dry?
R&D Technician Two: well, yes but ..
R&D Boss: Job done, roll on production
R&D Technician One: yes, great pun boss again (*rolls eyes) but we're developing anti-perspirant, people expect not to smell
R&D Technician Two: He's right boss, and then there is the stickiness and ...
R&D Boss: Sticky isn't wet, not wet equals dry, don't mention smell on the label and go to production. Or you're fired!
R&D Technicians one and two: yes boss

I'll have to chalk this episode down as experience, and remember to read the packaging properly in future.

As to the 96 hour non-stop dry feel? The jury is out. Sticky, I think, comes some way between dry and moist, but I'm not certain there is an actual scale I can refer to. Sorry.

Disclaimer. This of course isn't entirely true. I had to utilise both my spouse and the scratch and sniff methodologies, she's less committed to the pursuit of science than I am as I found out at 2.30 one morning when she woke to find me dangling my .... no, let's leave that there.


One Dream, One Soul, One Prize, One Goal

Eva has discovered a trick with the TV. It could, nay it will, be a life saver.

In a burst of mid afternoon excitement she discovered that if you press and hold the power button on the Sky remote for a couple of seconds it turns off the sky box and the TV all in one go. We've been using two remotes for over a year, and are constantly losing one of them.

Although we initially thanked her for her discovery, she smugly banged on about it for ages so I ended up telling her off for not working it out earlier, no good comes from over praising children after all.


Oh Aye and Up She Rises

The wife did the shopping today and out of the blue has changed her alcohol tipple of choice from white wine to spiced rum. I can only assume therefore that she is either having it away with a pirate or she is planning on running off to sea and is getting in some rum drinking practice before she departs.

As we don't get many pirates around here, and the wife has only left the Victory estate a couple of times a week for the last few weeks (and then only for shopping expeditions) my guess is that it's the running away to sea option she's following. She does pick up accents and dialects very quickly though, so I'll pay attention to see if any pirate chatter creeps in over the next few days.


I Swear It's Everywhere, It's Everything

I've worked out what's wrong. It's so simple, so obvious, I don't know how I've never worked it out before. It's the only logical conclusion really.

Every time one of the kids wants to speak to me and I'm somewhere else in the house they will start talking to me before they get into the room I am in. So often I will hear something like " .... isn't that right, Dad?" or " ... said I had to ask you" and I have no idea what on earth they are talking about.

Sometimes I just go with the flow and say yes, or no, or make some other random stuff up, but this can backfire so is reserved only for times when I really can't be bothered.

Conversely, the wife often waits until I am leaving a room until she starts to speak to me. It is always dangerous to guess an answer to a wife question as, frankly, she comes up with as many wacky ideas as the kids but has far more clout in the forcing through changes/making decisions, so I have to stop what I'm doing, smile and listen attentively. Ish.

The conclusion? I must live in a parallel universe that closely resembles, but is slightly out of line with, the universes the wife and the kids inhabit. How they then communicate with each other when they must be even further apart in time is still a mystery though, I'll ponder some more and get back to you.


We Move Like Cagey Tigers

You have to be very careful what you feed long haired cats because everything (literally, everything) gets stuck in their fur. And if they eat something that doesn't agree with them ... urff.

And cats don't like being pinned down and cleaned.

And I really hope that it was a smear of mud on my knee afterwards, but I suspect not.


And the lyrics?

"Come Up To Meet You, Tell You I'm Sorry" The Scientist, Coldplay

"One Dream, One Soul, One Prize, One Goal" It's a Kind of Magic, Queen

"Oh Aye and Up She Rises", Traditional Sea Shanty

"I Swear It's Everywhere, It's Everything" Parallel Universe, Red Hot Chilli Peppers

"We Move Like Cagey Tigers" The Lovecats, The Cure

How many did you get right?

0 - Must try harder

1-4 - Good effort

5 - You googled, didn't you!

#flattenthecurve Episode 34

Super Hero Tuesday

Eva's Tuesday was mostly spent wearing a large hand drawn picture of a beef burger pinned to the front of her t-shirt and a white cape marked with the letters 'BB' pinned to her shoulders. Well, the shoulder area of her t-shirt not her actual shoulders, pinning it to her actual shoulders would be a little cruel.

And why shouldn't she dress like a beef burger superhero if she wants to? We're only young once after all. It's the kind of thing that 7-year olds can get away with, whilst us adults would draw unwanted attention from unusual passers by.

So where did the BB inspiration come from? Well, the story began early on our morning walk when the kids ran past me bickering, as they so often do. This time it was about the correct way for superheroes to fly. Of course. Eva was preferring a two arms pointing forward simultaneously technique, while Henry was insisting it was one arm forward only.

I kept my head down as I really didn't want to get involved with this one, but they ignored me ignoring them and demanded an answer: Henry trying out his new stern look, Eva her pleading puppy dog eyes.

I whipped out my trusty 'How to be a Dad' book hoping for an answer, but it was no use; its superhero section neglected to offer a solution to the correct flying technique conundrum with which I was now faced. And of course no such book actually exists.

So, though it pains me to say it, I panicked. Instead of repling with one of my stock answers such as 'I don't know, ask your Mam' or distracting them with an 'are you sure you've brushed your teeth' type question or just ignoring them, I replied "it depends which super hero you are talking about."

Schoolboy error.

The remainder of the walk was then a discussion about which Super Hero each of the kids would be. All I wanted was some peace and quiet, but I then had to referee ridiculous arguements about whether a 'Gherkin Launcher' (Eva's idea) was a better weapon than a 'Gherkin Gun' (my suggestion).

We finally decided upon the following:

Eva would become Super Beef.

Super Beef's weapons would be a gherkin gun, red sauce rocket launcher, laser seeds, burger grappler and cheese goo.

We do regularly call Eva 'Beef'. The etymology is quite simple: Eva became Eva Beaver (because it rhymed) which became Beav' (because Eva Beaver is quite a mouthful) which then became Beef, so the name worked quite well really.

Quite why her Cape had a large BB written on it when her initials would be SB was never properly explained. I suspect it was a mistake, but she'd never admit that.

Henry would become Super Hen.

Super Hen would be more stealthy than the weapons-heavy Super Beef and would only carry his Hen Dispenser, a weapon designed to fire (yep, you guessed it) hens. Not just any hens though, miniature explosive hens and miniature mad pecking hens.

We didn't get much of a chance to discuss Super Dad, other than Eva thought he could maybe 'try to make people laugh'. Ah well.

On the plus side, there wasn't a single complaint about how far we had walked.


Visitor?

Later, when I ventured downstairs for some lunch, there was a strange woman in the kitchen. I did vaguely recognise her, but couldn't quite put a name to the face so I kept my distance just to be on the safe side.

After a while it dawned on me, it was the wife! Her hair being done and her having make up on really threw me. I thought she must be after something and it turned out I wasn't far wrong.

After a few minutes she flitted off upstairs with a little wave. After warning the kids to stay downstairs I followed her to the bedroom where she sat on the bed smiling demurely and waiting patiently for proceedings to commence.

"Shhh" she warned me "everybody is on line and I don't know how to mute the call".

She saw my confusion, so added "My work video call? You forgot, didn't you?"

"We, no ... cup of tea?" I mumbled, before traisping back downstairs.

#flattenthecurve Episode 33

Walk on the Mild Side

There's nothing like a peaceful walk in the April sunshine to start off your week, and when Monday arrived full of beautiful clear skies and birdsong I stepped out with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.

Sadly, I was chastised everywhere by a pair of noisy, bickering kids. I tried my best to lose them, taking unannounced turns down quiet streets, making random diversions through wooded sections of parkland, but they tracked me all the way home and then had the audacity to sit in my kitchen demanding snacks and drinks.

The wife seems quite taken by them and has decided we should keep them. She'll regret it, I'm sure.


Lost Weekend

"But Andrew" I hear you cry, "Andrew! What about the weekend? What exciting adventures did you and your family get up to?"

And my reply? Nothing. Nowt. Zilch. Well, nought out of the ordinary.

Sometimes it's nice be be outdoorsy and active and up to stuff. Sometimes you need nothing more than a good sit on your backside all weekend, and this weekend was a sit on your backside weekend.

I did manage to watch a little niche arthouse film starring a Northern Irishman, a Scotsman, an Israeli woman, and a small boy who they allowed to race dangerous looking flying contraptions in order to get a spare part for their space ship. They took him away from his Mam because the farce was strong with him. Or something like that. Maybe they were producers for a new Carry On film, I don't know. The story went off on a tangent after that so maybe we will never find out.

The wife said this was the 1st film in a series of 9 but also the 4th, which clearly makes no sense, and apparently they have a little bit of a cult following. If this one is anything to go by I can't imagine the rest will be very good so I'd avoid if I was you.


Scary Stuff

After the weekend's ritual shaving of the beard I am still not accustomed to my lack of facial hair, which has caused a couple of problems.

1. I scared the hell out of myself when I walked past a mirror and didn't recognise myself. In my defence it was quite dark, and I was getting up to see what the noise coming from downstairs was. Turned out it was the kids, they'd resurrected Camp Victory and thought stupid o'clock in the morning was an ok time to start farting around banging doors.

2. My face was cold when I went out walking early on Monday morning.

I feel I was a little rash in removing so much hair in one go, let the beard regrowing commence!


6-0*

While I was sitting round doing nothing this weekend, the wife found time to make bagels. Homemade bagels. They were amazing! You have to boil them in sugar water before baking them, who knew?!

She even got inventive and made a couple that were crescent shaped instead of doughnut shaped, which provided a bit of variety. Oh no, wait ... news just coming in ... ah, they were mistakes. Oops. Very tasty mistakes though. They were so popular in fact that she was pressurised into making a second batch on Sunday.

In other bagel related news, according to a Monday morning weigh-in I ate too many bagels this weekend. Nothing to do with lockdown chocolate and beer consumption of course (medicinal only, you understand).

* a completely random tennis reference there, if you were wondering.

#flattenthecurve Episode 32

Five Long Weeks

My favourite lockdown activity so far has been beard growing, but the time has come to say goodbye ... or has it?

https://youtu.be/VJvz1zv2I7A

#flattenthecurve Episode 31

Dictionary, Diction is Scary

I learned a new word this week: ultracrepidarian. Somebody who gives advice on matters outside of their knowledge.

At the risk of appearing ultracrepidarian myself, please do NOT ingest or inject yourself, or anybody else, with any disinfectant. Or any other household cleaning products for that matter.

Unless of course you use fresh lemon juice or vinegar for household cleaning, in which case these can continue to be ingested. They're especially tasty on fish and chips. As is tomato ketchup, but I'm not clear on the household cleaning efficacy of ketchup.

Can anybody remember who the village idiot was before Trump came along?


Saturday Morn

Does everyone remember Saturday Night, by Whigfield? Well after extensive research, I have uncovered the lyrics to a previously unreleased tired parent weekend edit.

I present to you, Saturday Morn:

Dee dee na na na

Saturday morn, I feel the air is getting hot
Slept in baby
Heating came on, and I just wanna make it stop
It drives me crazy

Saturday morn, shush, I just don't wanna move
Lie in baby
It's quiet time and not one minute I can lose
Quiet baby

Da ba da dan dee dee dee da nee na na na
Lie in baby?
Da ba da dan dee dee dee da nee na na na
Heat off baby?

Saturday morn, I feel the air's still getting hot
Heat off baby!
If I get up you know that I will make it stop
I'll drive you crazy

Saturday morn, shush? The kids are being good
Lie in baby?
Leave them alone. Breakfast? We can let them chose?
Lie in baby

Saturday morn, arse, I'm gonna have to move
Toilet, baby
My bladder is full, and not one minute I can lose
Prostate baby?

Saturday
Saturday
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday
Saturday
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday (Da ba da dan dee dee dee)
Saturday (da nee na na na)
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday (Da ba da dan dee dee dee)
Saturday (da nee na na na)
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday
Saturday (Oh yeah hey)
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday (it's lie in time, yeah)
Saturday (it's lie in time, oh)
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday
Saturday
Saturday morn
Saturday morn
Saturday (it's lie in time, yeah)
Saturday (it's lie in time, oh)
Saturday morn
Saturday morn

#flattenthecurve Episode 30

High Hopes and Aspirations

Some days Eva astounds us with her intelligence and insight. Only some days though, other days she comes across like some kind of babbling ape child with brains of mush. This morning was one of the 'brains of mush' days.

She burst into our bedroom at stupid o'clock bellowing "Dad, dad, there's something wrong in the kitchen"

"Nghhh" I replied, still asleep "kitherchin?"

"No, Dad, the kitchen"

There was not a sound coming from the wife at this point, not a snort nor a snore nor a grouch, so I reckoned she was either dead or pretending to not hear. Either way I was on my own here, so I did what any right minded Dad would do: I ignored the situation and hoped it would go away.

It didn't go away.

"Dad, dad" Eva persisted "I think it's the fridge"

"Ok" I said calmly "Go downstairs ... "

"Yes" said Eva, leaving the room.

"Come back!" I shouted "I haven't told you what to do downstairs!"

"Oh, right ..."

"Go downstairs and check if the fridge door is shut properly"

"But how do I do that?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering like she'd been set some gargantuan, impossible task.

"It's really tricky" I replied (Oh yeah, it's never too early for sarcasm) but I think you can manage. You need to ...."

"Yeah?

"Push the fridge door." Then, after careful consideration, I added "and push the freezer door too."

I'm not sure if it was the addition of the freezer door to the equation, but my suggestion was clearly unreasonable and prompted a wailing noise from Eva that eventually formed itself into "Nooooo, can you do it Daddy?!"

I remembered Roxette's 'Dressed for Success' again, but dismissed it out of hand. The curtains were shut after all.

Anyway, I got downstairs, I cautiously entered the kitchen and the fridge was standing there upright and proud making very normal fridge type noises, with both of it's doors firmly shut. I glared at the child before slouching back to bed.

Brains of mush that one like.


Favourite Days

We've had a lot of days recently that have been beautifully sunny but not very warm. These are my favourite kind of days, but only because you get to see a few people who have been hoodwinked by the sun and think it's really warm, head out in shorts and t-shirts and then end up looking like bloody idiots cos everybody else is still wrapped up warm while they are freezing cold.

Always makes me laugh.

Does that make me a bad person?

That was a rhetorical question!


Walk on the Wild Side

We all went for a nature walk for Eva yesterday afternoon, she's trying to earn some Beavers badges in her spare time. She's very competitive, so she'll probably be finished all the Beavers badges and be half way through the cubs badges before they get back to regular meetings.

Anyway, the nature walk. It was hell. A living, torturous, children being competitive over nothing hell. And grasshoppers the size of rabbits.

That last bit might need some explaining.

We were about halfway through our walk, shortly after Eva had nearly danced her way over a cliff edge and then got upset with me for telling her off about it.

A diversion from giant grasshoppers ...

The cliff edge dancing context
Me: "Let's turn around and go the other way, there's a big sheer drop here that is far too dangerous to try to climb down"

Eva's rection
(* dancing, on tip toes beyond where I said we needed to turn back) shouting "ooh, where?!"

Her arguement
"But Dad, I didn't know what the word 'sheer' meant!"

My rebuttal
"So you chose to ignore all the other words that included 'turn around' and 'go the other way' and 'too dangerous', focused on the one word you didn't know and thought you'd prance over to have a look anyway?"

Her defence
"Yessssss!"

It's hard to argue against logic like that.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, giant grasshoppers. So we'd just had another arguement about whether she'd seen a squirrel or a rabbit ("I think it was grey and had a funny tail!" was the the best discription she could come up, my bet was she'd made it up - the amount of noise she generates prevents the sighting of any animals on a nature walk) when we found a pile of rabbit poo.

We weren't looking for poo particularly, I hasten to add, it was just there in the middle of the path.

"What animal do you think this is from Eva?" I asked.

Henry: (*giggling) "It's poo! It's poo! Eva, Eva, it's poo! ... Mam, look! It's poo!"

Eva: (* being very serious, trying to ignore her brother) "I know this, I know this, it's ... Grasshopper poo!"

Apparently laughing at you daughters stupid comments is unfair, not the done thing, and doesn't help anybody. Sorry wife.

Eva started to storm off, then realised she didn't know where she was, so stormed halfway back again before maintaing a short distance from the rest of us that she must have thought conveyed her displeasure with us but was close enough so that she wouldn't lose us.

A moment later she spotted a dog (on a lead, a long way away) and decided that was scary enough to allow her to join us again.

#flattenthecurve Episode 29

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah
I was supposed to be in Wales this week, well Tuesday/Wednesday anyway, zip wiring my way through some caves. Covid-19 put paid to that, but will get booked in again. Sometime soon, hopefully.

I decided to keep one of the leave days I'd booked to spend some 'quality time' with the kids, aka do more of their homeschooling with them. I don't know how teachers keep a straight face, or keep their cool.

Henry's work today for example was a comprehension exercise based on a animated story they had to watch first in YouTube.

One of the last few questions was: Why has laughter been included in the closing credits?

Henry's answer: She has been dragged into the closing credits to give her something to do, I think.

Me: (* after I'd stopped laughing at him) So, who is 'she', Henry?

H: She's the daughter

M: (* re-reading the question) Where does it mention "daughter' in the question, Henry?

H: (*confidently) There (*points to the word laughter) ... oh ... I didn't read it right

M: Is there actually a daughter in the final credits Henry?

H: Errrrr, yes. Maybe. I'm not sure

M: Ok. Did you make up an answer just so you could say you had done it?

H: Yes (* pet lip comes out)

M: Shall we do that question again Henry?

H: Hurrumph.

M: (* rolls eyes)

After we were done I went for a lie down. I deserved it.


Rekindling Old Passions

Social media has been full of stories of people revisiting past hobbies during lockdown: art, music, writing, cookery, health and fitness, and so on.

My own personal trip back in time has been culinary in nature and I've been recreating classic dishes of my childhood.

So far I have had a corned beef sandwich and a corned beef toasted sandwich.

I did mix things up later in the week when I had a corned beef wrap. It's important to get the balance between evolution and staying true to your roots just right, I think I nailed it this time.


Dressed For Success

Remember late 80s/early 90s soft rock band Roxette? Turns out they were way ahead of their time. The lyrics for their 1988 single Dressed For Success were originally a discussion on suitable attire for home working.

You gonna get dressed for your work?
I'm sitting around in my boxers, baby.
Get dressed for your work!
Sit in my 'pants for my 'kit!
Underpants?
Yeah, yeah, yeah!

Perhaps.


Life Long Learning

Every day, as somebody once said, is a learning day. And this is especially so for children, where learning opportunities crop up at the most unexpected moments.

For example, Henry recently asked what a wedgie was. Who am I to deny a child essential education?

#flattenthecurve Episode 28

Interplanetary, Quite Extraordinary

As somebody once said, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.

I'm more of a confectioner than an astronomer though, so I prefer to think of this in terms of Mars and Snickers. Of course Snickers are nutty so I'll let you decide whether or not that is appropriate, by which I of course mean I wouldn't want to cause any anaphylaxis for any nut allergy sufferers.

Whatever your preferred analogy, it is undeniable that men and women are different. Although I've been married a good long while now so I've come to terms with these differences, this did initially came as a bit of a surprise - I led a very sheltered childhood.

Some of the more obvious differences I have spotted between myself and the wife include:

Late night/early mornings
I'm an owl, the wife's a lark. This means it's ok for her to fall asleep on the sofa while watching TV on an evening, but I'm still expected to share the getting up early rota. I'm still not 100% clear on how this works but the wife assures me that's just how it is, and who am I to disagree?

Chocolate
The wife's favourite chocolate is Whole Nut. I think this says a lot. I suspect she'd agree, just perhaps not in the same way. I like whatever the kids have lying around. Yes, this means I'm a chocolate thief.

Coffee
The wife likes hers the same way she likes her men; tall, sweet and smooth. I like mine short, hot and bitter. (I was very careful how I wrote, rewrote and wrote again that sentence!)

Tea
The wife likes Earl Grey with plenty of milk and sweetener, I like proper tea.

We manage these differences as I guess all married couples manage their differences: with honesty, respect, tolerance, understanding, and plenty of swearing under the breath and smiling through gritted teeth.

There is one difference that I think we are going to struggle to get past though: doodling. I am a doodler, the wife is not. We've been sharing an office space during lock down and this discovery seems to have really shocked her. She hasn't looked at me the same way since, I think it may be too much for her to take.


Thought for the Day

Are locksmiths considered key workers?

#flattenthecurve Episode 27

Back to (Home) School

With the Easter holidays drawing to a close, home school restarted today and we are back to our previous 'not normal but not holiday' routine.

Henry was up bright and early and decided to get dressed in his school uniform. He's not the biggest fan of school work, but is clearly missing seeing his friends despite being able to Facetime with them. Poor lad.

Eva on the other hand loves school, so it was a bit surprising to find she now loves home school more. Of course this could have just been because she likes to be contrary. If Henry had said he was glad to be off school still then Eva would, I'm sure, have told us how much she was missing school.


Sum-Times I feel Like Throwing My Hands Up in the Air, I Know I Can Count On You

I was back on maths duty today, Eva only cried once (it's my fault, apparently, that she hasn't learned her 4 times table) but otherwise did well with her multiplication questions.

Henry was learning about angles. He really wasn't keen and was being very obtuse, I got quite grumpy with him and told him it has become a reflex whenever he has to learn something new. That seemed to set him straight and he settled down. After that he pulled his chair in to the table at just the right angle to be comfortable and got on quietly. Thankfully he is developing quite an acute sense of when to stop pushing his luck.

Five angle based puns in one paragraph, I am on fire today, even if I do say so myself.


Kick Start Redux

The kids loved Kick Start; I'm so pleased I don't have to disown them. By all accounts the paperwork is a minefield, and the Grandparents would not be happy. Though it would save them money on birthday and Christmas presents so there would have been positives as well as negatives.

That's by the by now anyway, we've sat through a couple of episodes on YouTube, the early fervour hasn't yet diminished and I'm sure I heard Eva humming the theme tune as she came downstairs too.

Henry was a bit surprised to find out one of the contestants was younger than he is now. Luckily, said contestant was rubbish, had a couple of nasty looking falls and failed to finish the course, so that cheered us all up no end.


Fresh Country Air

We went for a walk today instead of a bike ride as I was aching from overdoing the bike ride the day before. We headed over the fields and quarry near our house, it gave the kids a chance to explore a bit, spot where they could build dens and bicker about, well anything and everything really. As they frequently seem to do.

Bickering kids never seem so bad when they are a hundred yards behind you and you can't hear what they are saying to each other, so I kept walking when they'd stopped. I knew they were bickering though as I could see Eva had her hands on her hips and was stamping her foot while Henry was doing the usual frantic gesticulating he does when Eva doesn't believe him and he can't think of a better way of explaining whatever it is he is trying to explain.

By the time they realised I hadn't stopped walking and they'd run to catch me up they were full of questions: "Why were you hiding up that tree, Dad?" "I didn't know you had a camouflage coat, Dad?" and "Are you sure if we walk in the opposite direction to you we won't get lost, Dad?"

On the way home we stood watching a horse for a while. The horse lay just yards from us and I thought it was staring us out until I realised it was actually asleep. It had a very floppy fringe that covered its eyes, imagine an Emo hairstyle on a horse and you'll get the picture.

I was weighing up which of my horse stories to tell the kids, either the one about the horse that bit my shoe (while I was wearing it) or the one about the angry horse that chased the wife and I across a field, but before I had a chance a jogger came past and disturbed the horse.

Whether it was just by chance, or whether the horse was disturbed to find us looking at it when it opened its eyes we will never know, but it then let rip with a truly magnificent series of farts. We scarpered before the smell hit us. Do horse farts actually smell bad? I have neigh idea, but I wasn't hanging around to find out.

#flattenthecurve Episode 26

The Phantom of the Semi Autobiographical Blog

The wife and the kids watched The Phantom of the Opera on TV on Saturday. I am not an Opera fan, but was sat in the same room as them and couldn't be bothered moving, so I just grumbled all the way through and complained how loud it was.

It turned out to be a pre-recorded special 25th birthday edition (do not call Southwick Community Police Station to report that the Albert Hall is full of posh chaps and chapesses and really should be closed down without checking your facts first, I learned the hard way) and as a special treat they unmasked the Phantom at the end. Seems it's a fella called Andrew Lloyd Webber. Hideous looking creature, scared the hell out of the kids.

Anyway, in tribute to Musical Theatre (pronounced, as all us thespians know, as thee-eight-er) I have decided to sing today's blog in an operatic soprano voice. Just a shame it's only available in text form really.


The Great Cake Debacle

I feel sufficiently recovered from the cake ordeal touched on briefly in Episode 25 to retell the sorry tale in full, with perhaps just a dash of dramatisation for entertainment purposes.

It began Friday morning, in the kitchen ...

"Ooh, Bournville!" I squeaked, excitedly, spying a giant bar on the kitchen bench.

"Leave it, it's for a cake I'm baking" snarled the wife.

Perfect, I thought, I love chocolate cake, and off I skulked back upstairs to work.

Later
"Is there any coffee left?" I tentatively enquired.

"Leave it" barked the wife "it's for a cake I'm baking."

Chocolate and coffee cake. Is that a chocolate cake and a coffee cake, or one coffee and chocolate cake, I wondered? I don't care, either or both would be amazing. Could my wife, indeed could my life, get any better? I smiled to myself as I headed back to the Surface Pro grindstone.

Later Still
"Andrew" crooned the wife "which loaf tin do you think I should use?" And of course I was only too glad to put my work on hold briefly to assist in such a crucial matter.

Later Later Still
Aromas of baking drift through the house. I'm notice I have started to drool.

Later Later Later Still
I tentatively set foot in the kitchen, and espy the cake. The cake. The cake to end all cakes.

It isn't ready for eating, so I shuffle out the kitchen and volunteer to have lumps kicked out of me, aka play football, in the garden with Henry. The wife has made cake after all, she deserves a break.

And then I fix up Henry's old bike for Eva to use as her's really ain't so great. The wife, I reason, deserves a longer break after her cake baking exploits.

She's sad as Santa brought her the old bike (Eva was sad, not the wife) but excited at the prospect of a new bike too, and in a burst of genuine DIY skill I managed to properly fix the front brake.

Ok, in the spirit of honesty and openness it would have remained unfixed if Eva hadn't spotted I'd overtightened one of the screws. What she has in natural bike maintenance awareness she sadly lacks in modesty however and took great delight in mentioning this repeatedly for the rest of the day.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the cake. Occasionally, whilst in the garden, I looked up and I could see the cake through the dining room window. It was calling to me, beckoning me, enticing me with its chocolatey coffee cakeyness.

Cake!

At Last
And finally, the cake was presented as being ready for eating.

"Is there (* sniff) ... is there a funny smell?" I venture, a little perturbed. "A cat maybe, or a child perhaps?" I suggest, as I look around the room.

"Nah" says the wife, sniffing, it'll be the bananas."

"Oh" I exclaim relieved, "they smell awful. Shall I chuck them out?"

Bananas and me, you see, have history. I hate them. I hate the smell, I hate the taste, I hate them I hate them I hate them. In a former workplace a colleague used to dispose of her banana based waste in a different room, such was my intolerance of the curvy yellow demons of the fruit bowl. I've been known to gag when the kids eat them too near me.

I once bit into a banoffee pie under the misapprehension it was just an 'offee' pie. This was at a wedding do at Tall Trees in Yarm more than 15 years ago. The fact I remember the event to this day should illustrate my feelings about bananas if people were still uncertain.

I hate them so much I'd gladly put off cake tasting for a couple of minutes to dispose of some yellowy-browning stinking curves of death.

"No need," replies the wife "they're gone. I used the last two in the cake."

There was a moment of silence as the enormity of the admission struck home. A brief pause before my heart was audibly crushed. Nay, cleft in twain, then crushed.

Twice nay, for it was cleft in twain, splintered, then crushed. Then painstakingly stuck back together before being ceremoniously, publicly and humiliatingly cleft in twain, splintered, crushed and ground into the earth.

The wife is fully aware of my banana history, having known (and loved?) me for 20 plus years. But still she chose to put the tropical crescents of poison in the cake. The wonderful, beautiful, delicious chocolatey coffee-ey cake of my day dreams has been sullied. In my eyes it is now a non-cake. Percakea non grata.

This feels like something that will be mentioned for years to come. Forever, in fact. Alongside the espresso jelly that bounced when dropped, and the pearl barley and belly pork risotto that caused slimey-sloppy queasiness and resulted in a dash to the chippy before it shut for the night.

And then, then she had the temerity to ask me to slice some up for her and the kids. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this.

Cake (* sob)

It was too soon, sorry. (* Sob) I thought I could brave this out. I tried, at least.

(* Sob)


Cats Again

The cats don't eat cake, or bananas, so I thought I'd be safe going to make friends with Jessie, only to discover she had a stinking great turd hanging from the long fur around her ... around her ... around her let's just leave that thought there.

I held her hissing twisty body and snappy head while the wife brandished a fist full of toilet roll to clean her up.

I reckon she's done it on purpose just to wind us up, so making friends will have to wait.


Brownies

In an act of honourable contrition, on Saturday the wife made me brownies. The soft sticky cakes, not the Brown Owl doting, toadstool jumping, mini Girl Guides.

They smell full of hazelnutty chocolatey goodness and she's well on her way to being forgiven for the cake debacle based on just the appearance and smell alone.

They've got to cool first, so I'll let you know how the tasting goes after I've been out with the kids.

Later
We returned from our bike ride with two new records set by Eva, the distance record and the number of tears per mile. Both were somewhat stress inducing, so I wa ready to taste the brownie.

And the verdict? It was good. So good! Cake? What cake?

It's more of a desserty type thing than a sliced cake type product for having with a cup of tea, which means I was compelled to have a scoop of ice cream with it too. What a shame, hey.


Shopping

The wife seems very keen for me to go and do the shopping today. We don't desperately need anything, I think she's just keen to get me out the house.

I can't wait to see her face when I remind her the 'one trolley, one person' rule is still in force so I can't take the kids.

Unless it really is just me she wants shot of?


Kick Start

Whenever I'm out on my bike trying a really dangerous manoeuvre like bouncing up a kerb, swerving between 2 well spaced sticks on the ground, or going down a slight bank (I'm really not a brave bike rider) I can't help but hum the theme tune to Kick Start.

There's a prize for anybody who knows the name of the the song used as the theme tune?*

Kick Start was the pinnacle of 1980s televisual entertainment. If you don't remember it, or have never heard of it then:

(i) what have you been doing with your life? and

(ii) it was a programme presented by Peter Purves (of Blue Peter fame) featuring people (usually young men with dodgy 'taches, it was the 80s after all) riding trial bikes through skips of water, over oil drums and under bamboo poles stood on sticks, all racing against the clock to get back to where they started and win the adulation of the handful of other trial bike enthusiasts gathered in a damp field in the middle of nowhere. And then they did it all again in reverse.

Sometimes the action was broken up my over eager St. John's Ambulance people taking overly enthusiastic tumbles down slippery embankments.

It really was compelling viewing. There was a kids version too, along the same lines as the adult version but with easier obstacles and fewer 'taches.

I'm going to introduce the kids to it on YouTube. I may have to disown them if they don't like it as much as me.

* Theme tune prize? Not really, it's just for fun. The Kick Start theme tune was called Be My Boogie Woogie Baby by Mr Walkie-Talkie. If you don't remember it, Google it. If you do remember it, Google it anyway, it really is as brilliant as you remember it. The first half anyway, it does get a bit repetitive and has some strange vocals in the second half.


Kitchen

The boy and I returned from our Sunday cycling Tour de Sunderland to find the wife had reorganised the kitchen cupboards. Again. I've only just got used to the previous reorganisation, how many times can one woman reorganise the kitchen cupboards!

There are of course some questions that cannot be answered by one man and his trusted friend Google alone, so I need your help on this one. Answers on a postcard please, addressed to:

For F***s Sake Where's The Chocolate Hobnobs Now?
PO Box I've Already Told You Once!
Sunderland
SR5 If I Remembered I Wouldn't Be Asking Again, Would I!

Deep breaths .... deep breaths.