I got the power!

Power cut in London yesterday evening, nearly got caught in it, would've done had I been tempted enough to go to the boozah, another redundancy leaving do, but the weather was shite and I was knackered, so instead I watched all the lights go off in the background of the local evening news. Me poor mate got caught though and was txting as he reached some milestones along his tortuous route home...
Now, I wouldn't mention this at all, because it's a news item, outside of my control and therefore not worth blogging about, after all, who wants to read my opinions on George Bush or the Hutton Inquiry or the Power Cut (grrrr bloody National Grid!!...read about it here....etc...zzzzz) or any number of news worthy items? what's the point?...
except that:
a) I was nearly involved
b) Me mate was interrupting my evening TV viewing all night with his self pitying ramblings, so involved me to a point
c) see A

Everydayness

I have a routine, I come home every evening, go upstairs and flop face down onto the bed...elder smasher comes up and starts walking on my back while telling me all about his day. It's great, his weight is ideal and the pressure on my lower back is exquisite, I have taught him well...but now the pupil becomes the master, as he teases me into promising him sweets if he spends another coupla minutes working me lower lumbar....
Last night he said he was gonna do two things:
1) Eat Spaghetti pasta that evening, as opposed to Penne, his usual pasta of choice. This was great because now we could all eat the same and we didn't need to boil up an additional pan of pasta
2) When he grew up he'd become an Artist.
Naturally I spent the next 20 minutes trying to talk the kid out of it. I told him there's no money in it, except for the very talented, or what's perceived as talent these days...Tracy Emin anyone?...I extolled the virtues of becoming a lawyer or doctor instead, a profession that's market proof at least, but no, his mind is made up; I even dragged out some Art books, from the one book shelf I allow the missus to park her books, but after looking at some paintings decided he could do much better....Jeeez...next thing I'll know he'll be gay and living in some commune, smoking drugs....where did I go wrong!..
He is a lost cause then and I will have to concentrate all my paternal efforts onto younger smasher instead now. Elder smasher starts nursery next week, mebbe they can drum some sense into him, after all, a loaded paint brush will be he last thing they'll shove into his hand.

Home Alone

Got home last night to find the missus and smashers not home, got a call from her saying she was at a mates and they wouldnae be home for a coupla hours!...Wonderful, alone in the house. alone. thinking, whatever's a boy to do?...all alone like....you've guest it, had to make me own dinner!...ah but then what, after dinner like...all alone....still a good hour on me todd...(sigh) yeah, had to do me own washing up too....
Went to Homebase the other day, wallpaper peeling in landing, so needed some lining paper:
Missus: I'm just poppn' to Homebase to buy some lining paper
Me: I'll come too
Missus: Er...ok, bit we ain't buying any other stuff...I mean it!!
Me: But stuff is what I like, stuff makes me happy...ooooh
So, just bought te lining paper then.

Not much happened yesterday, quiet in the office, usual shit going down,
loads of whispering...secret meetings..etc etc...
uneventful evening, Restoration on BBC2 and bed for me. knackered.

Teething

Baby smasher has developed two new weapons in his armoury this weekend, roaring and screeching, which are a defo improvement, from his point of view, to screaming and wailing; now that he's discovered a tooth coming through he just wants mummy and daddy to take the pain away. Capol and teething Gel are the only weapons we have though and it's a losing battle I tell ya!...The screeching cutting right through and targeting the RAGE part of my brain...
"SHUT the fuck up will ya, ya little fucking fucker!!!" I coo to him, in a sing-song lullaby kinda way, when I've run out of nursery rhythms I can sing to him to help calm him down....Jeeez...how long wil lthis go on for?...4:45 Am I was awake this morning, and I'm shattered now, 8:20 Am...fell asleep on the way in on the train and I hate doing that...so undignified innit?
Not a bad weekend though, started out Friday having 4 pints after work with the bosses, then polishing off a bottle of red at home that evening. Saturday, went to see a mate and his family in Northampton and between us sunk 6 bottles of red, a couple of white and half a crate of lager. Next morning rough-as-feck but somehow managed a couple more lagers that afternoon. Monday, last Bank holiday of the year found me, what else? but D.I.Y of course...well...the missus doing some wallpaper hanging while I looked after the brats. 2 DVD's watched, Lord of the Rings, 2 Towers (crap) and The Recruit (Good)

 

Air Con....front AND rear

This morning…rummaging through my sock and pants drawer…
Me: Can’t find any pants…any clean going spare?
Missus: (sleepily)er…should be some in yir sock drawerrrzzzz
Me: Am there now, looking…can’t see any…
Missus: uuummm I’ll put a wash on today then…zzzzz
Me: (fumming)..
Reaching for my swimming-bloody-trunks….I start my day…National Slackers Day!!..
Gonna finish off my camping thoughts then, it’s not that I wanna give the impression I didnae have a nice time there, I mean the weather was lovely, the scenery great and by and large everything went without a hiccup…but I just wanna cough this up and I’ll leave it at that, because:
a) This guy really pissed me off…
b) It’s Friday and I’ve nowt else to write about


There’s a certain type of person that goes camping, from yir starter type with their 2-man tent, to yir young family type with a larger 4-man tent (us) right up to yir older type with caravan/motor home monsters, they’re all basically the same type….but the type is a movable one, a shifting one that seems to range between nice and friendly to obsessive-nice and friendly, the type that just wants to talk to you, wants to be your buddy, share interesting on-the-road experiences with you, compare kit with you, “tut” at you when you tell him the route you took to get to the site and how you plan to get back.

I can handle the sort that says “morn’” to you at the communal washing-up sinks…or call over to you when you drive back from a day out at the beach or where-ever…even the ones that stare at you when you’re eating yir re-constituted dried pasta…and hold up their BBQ’d burgers in comparison….
But the ones that kill me are the manic ones that love being in the open air and want to stay up talking about it all night, to anyone who’ll listen, talking about the air conditioning (front AND rear!) in their caravan…talking rubbish, droning on…and on…the ones that see camping as a way of meeting people, as THE only way to meet NEW people and see nothing wrong with disturbing others that, I dunno, mebbe don’t have an electricity hock-up, so have no lights, no telly….no radio…and therefore go to bed early… Some nights, I’d be like, fuck me what time is it? One AM in the FUCKING morning and I can hear some cunt droning on and on about his caravan…or the route he took here!! And I wanna just shout out
“Fusksakeman go to fuckingbed yacunt and let people sleep!!”..
But I don’t, I lay there listening…and I’m thinking…drifting in and out of consciousness….air con front AND rear eh?…that’s not bad…that’s not bad at all

 

Lament

Dear God, thank-you for the silly wee bint in the mini skirt you placed before me on the packed, 4-fucking-coached 7:40am train this morning. Amen

So, went out last night and, despite the promise I made myself to only drink Carling black label, ended up on the Stella. Hammered I was. On the way home I stumbled across one of Ultravox’s best pieces of work, that is, Lament!…on me minidisk…Oh god, remember thinking…wow! Musta recorded this in a weak moment, but my god, it stands the test of time and over and over again I played it, still listening to it when I got into bed…remember trying to get the missus to listen to it too..

Missus: Look, leave me alone will ya, I dunt wanna listen to that crap OK!!??
…..Ok love, Jeeeez…your loss not mine…One of Mr Ure’s finest work…

And just as my eyes start seeing
After all the pain
The twist in my life starts healing
Just to twist again
In stillness, in sorrow
Returns that softly sighing lament…
….Oh god…my head!

 

Crunchy nuts

I’d always fancied a waterbed, I reckon it was from when I was lad and watched an episode of Steptoe & Son, the one where Harold got himself the 70’s ultimate stag statement!…And in many ways, of course, a blow-up mattress is very much like a waterbed…or so I thought...Imagine, then, my excitement when the missus said that we’d got ourselves one and were taking it camping with us!…Oh joy!…no more hard & cold floors to sleep on!…

Now, just like a waterbed, a blow-up mattress needs the optimum amount of air in it, any less and yir in trouble…and from day one, or should that be, night one, that’s exactly where we were…in trouble. After what seemed an hour or so pumping the bloody thing up, in a boiling hot tent, sweat dripping off me (can you picture me ladies?) I’m thinking, fuck it, that’ll do!…That night, on I get…and down I sink!…but wait, the missus climbs on and we sorta achieve an equilibrium of sorts, we balance out each other and we both slowly rise and inch or two off the ground….ahhh…luxury!….until one us moves that is…I turn over and the missus roles into me, she gets up in the night and I sink to the floor!
Getting outya bed was the hardest, with nothing to haul yourself up with, nothing to hold onto, you have to sorta role to one side and lift yirself up onto yir knees before finally attempting to hurl yourself out of the sleeping compartment into the middle section of the tent area.

So, here I was one morning, dawn breaking and dying for a wazz and I’ve managed to get as far as the bottom of the mattress somehow, panting, ready for the final push off…but by now all the air had whooshed up the top of the mattress that had the effect of lifting the sleeping missus into an almost bolt upright position and I was horribly reminded of the scenes in those horror movie films where coffins lurch up out of the ground, lid swinging open to reveal a grotesque cadaver, mouth gapping, head lolling to one side…not a pretty site I tell ya! Pretty scary but did seem to have a positive effect on my auxiliary bladder, the stiffness ebbing away as I finally managed to get free of the bed and out into the middle section of the tent…now…where’s the bottle….

But what’s this, no bottle!!…Noooooo!!!!…and I’m rummaging around for something…anything that’ll hold liquid and my hand brushes against an almost empty box of cereal, just a few crunchy nuts left in the bottom, enough mebbe for one bowl that morning possibly and, of course, they're all contained within an extra plastic packaging, perfect!…and I weighed up the pro’s and cons of walking to the toilet block in the freezing cold or pishing into this very large and watertight (ish) box…no contest. Seconds later I was relieving myself over the crunchy nuts, the large open box a luxury compared with previous nights aiming into a narrow necked bottle, that morning, I let ripe, waggling it about and wringing it out with room to spare!..then back to bed for an hour or so…piss in anything me..

That morning I made sure everyone had toast...

 

Car door - SLAM!!

They say that, in hot weather, you should never leave animals or children in hot cars, with the windows closed….they should add to that husbands I reckon because everytime the missus stopped to “just get some bits” from a shop it seemed…no not seemed, it did, take her ages!….popping into a garage shop to get some sarnies for lunch, 15 minutes…into sainsbury’s for some dried pasta for tea…30 minutes….it really didn’t seem to matter what she was buying, it still took a whole lotta time! So, the final time, hot day, 2 hot kids and hot me pull into sainsbury’s car park, it’s busy but not overly so
Missus: I’ll just run in and get the pasta and wine
Me: fine, take elder smasher, don’t be long
Missus:I won’t and the baby’s asleep so stay calm

SLAM!!!
Car door
Baby awakes!!..baby starts to cry…the heat beats down on the car, all windows open, baby has dummy forced into his mouth time and time again by an increasingly agitated me….still, I’m thinking, it won’t be long now…she’s only getting a coupla bits…cars on either side of me, come and go…to my left I’ve counted the 3rd car parked up during the time it’s taken the missus to do the shopping…I’m outya the car, seriously thinking of going into the shop and bawling her out…can’t though…baby in car…and…wait!…here she comes…2 bags of shopping on either arm…casually helping some old crone out of the shop and to the taxi rank…dawdling along to our car now…glances at me and gets in the car…stay calm now son…it’s been 30 minutes…but stay calm….
Back at the campsite, I walk off to cool off!!…come back…
Missus:Are you in some sorta mood?
Me:Yes…yes I am….next time I’LL do the shopping…or we ALL get out of the car and do the shopping….but what WON’T happen again is me and a screaming baby wait for YOU, in a boiling hot car, while you wander up and down the aisles taking all the time in the world!!
Missus:But it wasn’t like that, it was busy!!...really...really....busy!!!
Me:But you only went in for a coupla bits!! Not 2 bags full…jeeezus! I was doing my nut, sweating like a trouper trying to comfort a screaming brat for half an hour!!!


And I storm off….not allowing her to respond, as the neighbours were beginning to poke their heads above their windcheaters..ears twitching….for a pint
First and last row with the missus, she couldn’t (wouldn’t??) see why I was so angry…so we both fumed for the rest of the evening


Next day...me to elder smasher...
Me: So...was it busy in the shop yesterday then?
Smasher: No daddy....no it wasn't...


I had my answer

 

Top 10 things I hate about camping, in reverse order:

10:Warm/wazz shop/club Beer
9:Friendly neighbours
8:Unfriendly neighbours
7:Noise/kids
6:Shopping/Cooking/Eating
5:Caravan owners
4: Communal Showering/washing-up/cleaning teeth etc
3: Sleeping on blow-up bed
2: Pissing in bottles in the middle of the night
1:All of the above!!

I tried, I did…every evening I said to myself, right, you’ve a weak bladder, liquid passes right through you, so DO NOT drink anything after 7:00pm because you know you’re gonna pay for it in the middle of the night, that lonely cold and wet walk to the toilet block is a guarantee son!…But the thing about camping is that the evenings are so depressing, so dull, so boring, that drinking alcohol is a necessity, to get me through like..So, come 10:00 and it’s too bloody dark to carry on reading and the booze is either all gone or has gone too warm to drink I have to admit defeat and go to bed. The routine is familiar enough, go do teeth and squeeze a piss out knowing full well that I’ll be standing over the same bog in a coupla hour’s time of course…but wait! Idea!!…not original, as I’ve done it loadsa times before, but not in my role as father/husband, which is to pish in a bottle of course!…what could be simpler, we had plenty of spare bottle type containers and I couldn’t be arsed venturing out into the night…every night.
Me: Right, I’ve decided, I’m gonna “do it” in this (holding up a empty wine bottle) tonight if I need to!
Missus: Oh no!…no you ain’t, it’s…it’s…disgusting!!
Me: Ok love…justa thought like…
But, she weakened, one night, me struggling outya the “bed” at 2 a-bloody-m searching in the dark for my shoes, shorts, top etc..when she said, ok..just this once…you can go in the bottle…but BE CAREFUL!…
Bingo!!


Now, the thing about pissing in a bottle, in the dark, with a full-on bladder busting erection, is that…it ain’t fookn’ easy! Coupled with the fact that the empty wine bottle is the narrow necked variety spells trouble!!…
So, thinking of sport, dead bodies, my brother-in-law…anything, to make Mr Stiffy go down a little, and trying to aim me Jap-eye into the opening I manoeuvre my body into the classic going-for-a-wazz position while still on my knees…and….ahhhhh…there she goes…nice and steady flow….and I can hear the bottle steadily fill up, using sound as my only guide to how much spare capacity is left in the bottle, I quickly anticipate I’m going to over-spill onto the tent groundsheet!…panic sets in, no way can I stop pissing, but I know, 2 foot away, the missus is listening to my every move, my every action and will defo hear the tell-tale splashing sound of urine hitting sheet….so…against all medical advice, I begin to clamp off the stream of wee, it stings, sure…but I must’ve been close to the end anyway and I have to let the final dribbles soak into my hastily pulled up pants…I suffer for the good of the tent…easier than going to the toilet block?…you bet it was!!...


Next morning, me first up, look at bottle…curiously it’s only a quarter full, now either my judgement is off and I can’t tell, by the sound, that a bottle is filling up….or…um…someone’s been drinking from it in the night, thinking it’s water or summat…the elder smasher certainly gets thirsty in the night…and that morning I’m sure there was a yellow residue around his upper lip…but maybe I imagined it…either way I made him clean his teeth and wash his face that morning, before I gave him his morning kiss…

Without form and Void

 

I've been reading some other blogs lately and the ones I find I like, all have something in common, which seems to be finding comedic Nuggets in adverse situations.....from getting teeth pulled to listening to impromptu Cliff Richard "gigs" (same thing?)...all seem to find something amusing in these situations....

Last day then for a week...no Blogging for a few days, so I'll have to save up any interesting things that might happen down in the New Forest...So here's hoping for tetchy days, niggling tempers boiling under the surface, lunatics in charge of boats/buses/fairground rides...badly behaved kids, joyless outings and frayed nerves, bad food and service, horrible yob tenting neighbours, continuous rain...mebbe an infection or breakage of bones...otherwise I'll have nothing to blog about when I get back...

Stand by...

Tokyo Station

 

Usual nightmare getting home last night, 16:49 train to Cambridge was delayed so missed my connection at Broxbourne...luckily one quick phone call to the missus, sunbathing in the garden, and I'm sorted for a lift home!..On train, my god, the sweat coming outya me...I'm sure people were staring. Home and feet in paddling pool in garden while the missus fixed me tea! Was supposed to meet me Wareonline buddies for a beer, first Wednesday of the month, but couldn't be bothered...even the lure of beer wasnae enough to tempt me out last night. After the Bill I found myself in bed, trying to read me new book, by Martin Cruz-Smith, but so tired I dropped off. The missus and I now sleep nude with only a sheet covering our every contour, every rise and dip...would get the horn but I'm too hot, musta soaked a pint of sweat into my side of the mattress last night...when this summer's over I'm gonna have to drag it outside and try and set fire to it I tell ya! get me a new one...Decided to get my hair cut today, ready for the holiday...I have the body of a yob, may as well have the haircut of one n'all

shamba holiday park

 

Jeeez...I'm not gonna go on about the weather, too dull, but I do wanna register that today will officially be the hottest day it's ever been in England EVER!!...or so they're telling us, 100 degrees in da shade...and I have to say it's bringing some pretty inappropriate attire out in people...hairy chests and armpits on show, knobbly knees, socks and sandals combo's...and that's just the women!...my god, some people spend their entire lives covering up unsightly bumps and lumps, sagging chests and bulging waistlines but come a bit of sun...a bit of heat and it's like, Oh...so what..it's just too hot to care!!...well, lemme tell ya, it's never THAT hot...Mind you, I'm more tolerant of the ladeez and what they choose to wear in this heat, tops are tighter, plunging necklines...plunge deeper...skirts are shorter...bra's come off....oh....god....
Another bugger in this heat is that the flippn' trains stop working! my journey home last night took an hour longer than normal...all of us standing around Liverpool Street Station, dripping sweat...wondering when our train's gonna be announced...then sitting on it for 20 minutes in the station while it gets a signal to move off...(sigh)...still...coupla days left, then beers Friday, some people have actually confirmed!!...then off camping...shamba holiday park, Ringwood rd, St. leonards, Ringwood, hants....yes....Bugger...ended up talking about the weather...Doh!!

The breeze feels good

 

At least there's a breeze blowing through the office!...Not as unpleasant as I thought it was going to be..the week the temperature is expected to beat all time records!!
On Sunday older smasher, bored with the delights of the back garden, wanted to ride on his trike outside, on the pavement. Our road is on a hill and he loves running his trike up it and free wheeling down...and always on the look-out for a photo op, I grabbed the camera and snapped away!!...He must've run up and down that hill a coupla dozen times...time was I'd run the trike up the hill for him and run along side him as he free wheeled!!...but those days are long gone...long gone...

 

smasher slide show

Scorchio!!

 

Yep, it's a hot one alright, gonna get hotter too, which is why I'm sporting a pair of shorts today and exposing my legs for da ladeez. No air conditioning in the office, so what can a lad do? melt??...OK w/e, the missus got a letter from the Police informing her that our car was spotted speeding Saturday 19th July somewhere near St Albans so the fist thing that happens is I get questioned of course...as I'm the speed freak, but fortune was smiling down on me as it turns out it WAS her after all, coming home from her brothers BBQ and given the circumstances I would've been speeding too I tell ya...lemme outya here!!....so, we now have to pay £60!! fine...Keeeerrr-ching!!...ah well, £60 less to spend on the holiday, that's all love...no ones faults (snigger)...it could happen to anyone...(smug looks)...did I rub it in?...what do you think?

Fancy a drink?

 

"Fancy a drink?"...oh god...those three innocent words, put together last night and sent, via MSN, to me mate....who would've guessed the chain of events that were to follow?..that one pint lead to two, two to three, three to six!...that I'd end up on the slow train home, dying for a waz, that I'd end up walking up the hill with my neighbour, again...and that I'd be saying to him, yeah, anytime, let's go for a beer, you and me!...Oh god...and who could've guessed the hangover I woke up to this morning?!!...I mean, what kinda evil manipulative god is it anyway?!
.....Bacon sarnie and a cuppa tea will sort me out though...