Bless The Weather

Yesterday, I was denied one of the greatest pleasures in my life. Contemplating the mess in someone else's house. As my avenues of pleasure have narrowed over the years this one has grown.

I went to pick up the eldest daughter from a house party. I approached the house with great anticipation. This house party, I was told, had more than twenty kids present. What joys would await me there.

As is my wont at these affairs I simply walked straight in. These are busy people. They don't need to be answering door bells. As I went into the living room and then through to the kitchen I sensed that something was gravely wrong? If anything, this house was tidier than my own. I met the husband first.

"What's going on?", I asked. "Where's the mess?".
"Ah" he said. "We were blessed with the weather. Kids played outside all day".

Definition of BLESSED
1
a : held in reverence : venerated b : honored in worship : hallowed c : beatific
2
: of or enjoying happiness; specifically : enjoying the bliss of heaven —used as a title for a beatified person

"Fuck sake", I thought. "Even God is against me now".

Protected by Angels

You can see me reflected in the car back window taking this picture. I'd parked behind and when the woman got out and went into the church hall I dived out and took the picture. Then I noticed that she'd left a small, sleeping child on it's own in the back.

Of course, it wasn't really on it's own.

Turning Thirty

Inexplicably, the other week, I found myself in charge of the book stand at the school fair. There was a game coming on soon and I was keen to quit that place. The book stand just happened to be nearest the exit and that's why I was standing there.
"This any good", a man asked, holding this book.
It's called Turning Thirty and it's by Mike Gayle who is also, it would appear, the bestselling author of My Legendary Girlfriend and Mr Commitment.

"Let me see", I said, taking the book from him.
[Turning Thirty, Legendary Girlfriend, Mr Commitment, Fresh and Witty, CD in the toaster]
"Almost certainly not", I replied. "Looks like the biggest pile of self-indulgent, clichéd old vomit since the last what's his name's..."
"How much is it?" he said.
"Tony Parsons".
"How much is it?" he said.
"A euro?"
"I'll take it" he said.
Nobody can say I don't do my bit for the school.

The Fashion, 1977

Back in the olden times, nineteen hundred and seventy-seven, when this garden centre opened, this is how little posh gardenery kids used to dress. Apparently.

A Fruity Cummerbund

Sitting in the garden with the eldest. It's hot and windy.

Me: How you getting on with "The Inimitable Jeeves"?
Her: Good.
Me: It's good, not too old for you?
Her: No, it's funny.

Ten minutes later.

Her: Dad, what's a cummerbund?
Me: Er, it's a kind of thing that men put round their waists. In the olden times.
Her: Oh. What's fruity then?
Me: Fruity ... it's like bold, cheeky.
Her: Oh. A cheeky thing you wear round your waist, then?
Me: Yes, exactly. Very cheeky.

Barriers to Learning

Look, there's a big red choo-choo train over there. I want a go on that. I'll probably climb on the roof like they do in China. I might even break up the journey and have a go on that ace blue bike on the way. First, need to get by these swings though. Every instinct in my young body is telling me to go straight. Avoid that girl on the swings. That would be ouchy. But the barrier. the red barrier, it's stopping me from going straight. I'll run through the space quickly. It must be okay. Why else would they put the barrier here. They must know what they're doing. They're professional play-park planners from the council, not numbnut nitwits. I'll do it. They surely wouldn't steer me right into the swi...ARGH, BANG, THUD, OUCH, CRASH. And finally, tears for souvenirs but, luckily, no actual fatalities.

Random Acts of Kindness

Wanton Acts of Vandalism would be nearer the mark. Do kids today have no sense of decency and respect for their betters?

Dry Your Eyes Mate

In the car the other day with the kids. They were fighting in the back like normal. Just generally making noise and not letting me listen to the music which was The Streets, "A Grand Don't Come For Free".

Then the majestic "Dry Your Eyes Mate" came on and we had four minutes and twenty nine seconds of utter, rapt silence. The power of powerful music can be something to behold.

"Put that one on again Dad", the youngest one said. So I did, even in the knowledge that the line "I'm not gonna fuckin', just fuckin' leave it all now" was about to put their daily "fuck" level up to at least four.

Curious George For Piano

In terms of complexity this is on a par with Rachmaninov's third piano concerto.

The Parade

The St Patrick's Day parade in the village in which I live.

Blessedly this critically injured man was towards the tail end of a seemingly endless procession. But worry not. He's not critically injured in real life. It was only pretend. For the children's parade.

The Last Rainbow Fairy

The very last page of the very last Rainbow Fairy book I'll ever read. Helena the Horse Fairy. The youngest Darling Daughter is five today and is therefore too old for such infantile nonsense. Last night it ended thus:

"That was exciting", Rachel said, as she mounted Shadow, noticing how much easier it was this time, Kirsty nodded. "Yes" she said, "Now we just have to find the other six Magic Sporty Objects in time for the Fairyland Olympics.". She grinned. "I think this is going to be a fairy busy week!".

I grinned back at Kirsty. And in a silvery voice, reminiscent perhaps of Jack Frost himself, I cackled "Not for me it isn't, not for me ... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...".

Sellotape Trick

Ear phones sellotaped over her ears to stop them falling off (only a bottle of wine could have inspired such genius).

She's listening to Abba. Super Trouper. The rest of us to Leonard Cohen. Hallelujah.

Eldest daughter. "Is this Hallelujah?"
"Yes, the original".
Youngest, shouting. "It's not Hallelujah, it's Super Trouper".
"No we're listening to Hallelujah", I say.
Shouting even louder, "IT'S SUPER TROUPER"

This could easily have gone on either until the next track came on or her ear phones fell off again. Deadlock. The notion that we all weren't listening to Super Trouper just eluding her.

It's quite complex.

Yellow Shorts Debacle

Again today, I found that I was merely the second biggest eedjit at the swimming pool.

More bulge issues. Slightly less than the previous week but still a not insignificant protuberance from the front of my yellow swimming shorts. The orange pair having been sidelined for poor behaviour.

Again, the bold Phoebe seemed more interested in hanging out with the man with the bulge in his shorts than playing the many members of her own species who were happily splashing around the pool. She insisted on showing me her handstands again combining that with her usual coughing and choking presumably due to the copious amounts of pool water she was taking in. I kept looking around for her parents but, if they even existed, they were nowhere to be seen. I wondered vaguely if she was one of mine now.

Anyway, I soldiered on in this manner for a while then eventually persuaded the kids, via the gift of the vending machine, that it was time to leave. As we left a man had just jumped into the pool wearing only a pair of white Gaelic football shorts. I knew he had nothing on underneath because, sadly, the cock and balls were on full public display. I quickly ushered the kids into the changing room safe in the knowledge that, for the second week running, I'd snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

Orange Shorts Debacle

A couple of things to note about my weekly swimming pool visit yesterday.

I was wearing orange swimming shorts which are ridiculously prone to air pockets. My kids were playing with this little girl Phoebe who, for some reason, was more interested in chatting to me, the man with the large bulge in the front of his swimming shorts, than playing. She insisted on showing me how adept she was at underwater handstands. While she was under I took the opportunity to pat down my bulge. As she came back up my kids arrived and they all noticed the bubbles surrounding me.
"What?", I said innocently.
"Did you just fart?" asked my eldest.
They were all laughing hard now, especially Phoebe who appeared to be choking.
"Er, yes that's right" I said, happy to take the blame for something relatively innocent.
By this time the air pocket had re-established itself, if anything, more prominently.
"Go away and play, girls", I said. "Otherwise I'll fart again".

Later, when we were leaving the pool there was a man I'd seen swimming earlier. He'd taken his boy in to get changed and left his wife watching their daughter who was having a swimming lesson. He'd obviously forgotten something because he was standing at the changing room door trying to attract her attention. The extraordinary thing, and it was extra ordinary, was that he was standing there shouting "where's the shampoo" to his wife wearing only a pair of checked boxer shorts. As I walked past him into the changing rooms I shook my head, smiling, and gave a relatively minor air bubble a small pat. Safe in the knowledge that I was merely the second biggest prat at the pool that day.

Rachel, Kirsty and Jack Frost

I've been reading these "Rainbow Magic" books every day. We have any number of them in the house. I read one every day (whether I need to or not) which is roughly double the time it takes to write them.

They are very extraordinary. They all feature Rachel Walker and Kirsty Tate and their adventures in Fairyland with the evil Jack Frost and his pesky goblins.

I struck me last night, while reading Marjorie the Carbon Neutral Fairy, that I'm actually reading these books with precisely zero comprehension. A very useful skill that they don't teach you at school.

Religion is Taxing

Truly, is it any wonder I drink?

In this speech Cardinal Seán Brady spouts any amount of dog(matic) shite, but let me give you one example where he goes into overdrive with his wrongheaded reasoning.

"Those parents who choose and value the Catholic education provided for their children are taxpayers in exactly the same way as parents who send their children to other types of schools. To disadvantage any group of parents because of their faith is completely contrary to the principle of equality and pluralism"

Leaving aside the ludicrous notion of anyone from the Catholic Church in Ireland seriously promoting "pluralism" he appears to be suggesting that the religion of tax payers can somehow be directly connected to their children's education. This is on a par with suggesting that their skin colour, carbon footprint or football team should impact how their children are taught.

Ludicrous. As any fule kno, these factors are not relevant. And neither is religion.

[drums fingers on desk ... three hours 'til cocktail hour...]

Crouch

When I arrived she was doing karaoke with the other girls and they didn't want any adults in there. So I went into the kitchen and said hello to the adults. I spotted the boys watching the Spurs Leeds game in the living room. One nil to Spurs.

I wandered over. "Who scored?".
"Crouch" one said, not lookinp up.
I lowered myself below the sofa and repeated the question.
Silence. Slowly I rose back up and looked around. The adults were chatting. The boys were staring at the game. I could hear the girls singing "Valerie" on the karaoke.
I wandered back over to the adults and chatted. As if nothing awful had happened.

Puzzle Muteson

This is Puzzle Muteson last night. He was doing a sublime cover of The Smiths' "Sing Me To Sleep" when I noticed that my left shirt sleeve was on fire. I quickly used my right hand to extinguish the enveloping flames thus ending up with not insignificant welts on three of my fingers not to the mention extensive damage to my left wrist. Fucking candles!

Puzzle did look up briefly during the inferno but, like the pro he is, continued.

Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I really want to go

Beautiful.

They've cut the sleeves off the shirt and put it in the dressing up box for Halloween. It's black you see.

Santa Mantra

Must not tell the kids about Santa.
Must not tell the kids about Santa.
Must not tell the kids about Santa.

This is my mantra.

After all these years drumming the No GOD thing into them, this comparatively harmless belief is actually quite difficult to maintain.

Anne of Green Gables

According to Wikipedia,

"Anne of Green Gables is a bestselling novel by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery published in 1908. "

This edition here has a foreword by Lauren Child who wrote Charlie and Lola. That's why they've put a Charlie and Lola style drawing on the front. It's supposed to make us, the parent, buy the book 'cos we think it's Charlie and Lola by Lauren Child even tho it's patently Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Sub Liminal.