Hang in there little guy, we got a sticker

So this week I had a TIL moment, for those who are not ‘down with the kids’ TIL stands for ‘today I learnt’. I leant this from my recent foray into reddit as a social media platform. By which I mean the thing I kill some time on now I have forcibly withdrawn myself from fakebook. When I say ‘I learnt this’ I mean that I spent a few weeks reading those posts and thinking ‘wow I never knew that’ before realising that was why it was titled TIL.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand, my TIL involved the dentist. Now everyone know I am terrified of the dentist, despite all the motors and wizardry that is not a comfortable chair! My inquisitive tongue recently discovered a hole in a tooth and I decided it needed repair before it started being painful.

I called the dentists who explained that they are only doing treatments during crazy flu. That was fine I explained as I had a hole in a tooth. They explained that I needed a check up before treatment, funny I thought that they weren’t doing check ups.. All booked in and ready to go for the traditional exploratory prod.

If you haven’t been to a dentist during crazy flu I highly recommend standing outside of the pharmacy on methadone day to prepare yourself. They keep the door locked and book you in via the window, after you get the secret knock right. Then you hang around outside waiting whilst people come and go, each time the door closes it is locked. Thankfully people were leaving but if you arrived at the start of the day and saw people going in but never leaving it may well cause you to have second thoughts.

When your allotted slot arrives you ae summoned in, masked, measured and assessed before being led to the waiting room. Yes that is correct, you wait in a car park to be led into an empty waiting room.

Once I arrived at the dentist he had a whistle-stop tour with the little mirror and agreed that I had a hole. It would appear that somebody had stolen his weapons because there was none of that obligatory, and terrifying, probing and pulling to try and break it up. Normally they get that little stainless steel pick axe in there and after a few goes manage to chip a chunk off and mutter ‘exposed D3,P2, Apple’ or some such garbage to the girl on the computer. Then you get to reception with a huge jagged hole where the minor issue was and are told ‘he can see you in 5 weeks’. Apparently during crazy flu we stick to the mirror.

My treatment options were explained. I wouldn’t want an extraction (correct), I could have a filling or wait for a new one to grow. The last option confused me until he explained that the tooth was a baby tooth. Cue the computer operator trying to work out how to insert a baby tooth in an adult chart whilst exclaiming ‘it looks cute next to that one’.

I have had some fairly significant dental work in my life and I do try and attend relatively regularly. At no point has a dentist pointed out that some of my teeth have been there a damn sight longer than the others. The dentist found the whole subject entertaining enough that I would have thought that somebody would have noted it by now. The fact that it had to be added to the charts that have followed me around also seemed odd, surely a quick count would confirm the missed some?

So why was this secret kept from me for all of these years? On the wander back home I pondered this and realised it is all part of the scam. So I have said before that every ‘all good’ check-up is followed by ‘we need to keep an eye on…’ which encourages you to book the next check up. I must not be the only one who, despite regular brushing, takes a jet wash and sand blast before visiting the dentist.

I just know that he will criticise some part of my dental hygiene and recommend seeing the pyscho they call the hygienist. That is why they never mention the tooth that I have had since a baby. That tooth is clear an unequivocal proof that I am doing this right, I preserved a tooth I should have lost 40 years ago. Telling me that I need to floss or scrape, inferring that I am barely doing enough, it is all lies.

Imagine your horse wins the national and the vet says he needs to lose some weight? Or running the marathon and the doctor telling you that you need to get out more. That’s why you wont tell me that I still have my baby teeth, you don’t want to congratulate me because it ruins your message of fear. You may not like my tongue being pierced, you may think I should floss more (what is that even about) but let me put the truth to you. My dental regime is superb and has preserved my baby teeth longer than my baby photos, its like a bloody museum in there.

On that note I am off to buy some strawberry toothpaste for my special little guy, its been hell but he has hung in there and deserves recognition.

The rarest, the bravest and little spiders

Time is really rushing by now, the pub opens at the end of next week and there is still so much to do. I had an overnight visit from Dave and his lad last night the extra labour was a real help but just having friends around and taking some time (only a little) to relax helps even more. It is odd when people visit me now as I am fiercely protective of both my little island and my little pub and desperately want people to love them both. You will notice that a stroll along the cliff is obligatory for all visitors and like a proud new father I will be a pace behind you waiting for you to be stunned. I don’t expect the pub to stun you, any sign of me being stunned is simply because I am punch drunk, but I do want you to like it. The pub is not just a home and business it is very much my baby and when you scatter those few favourable words about you can be certain that I snatch every single one and file it.

After some work yesterday I took a break to walk down the cliff with the lads and then back up to the Crab for dinner, since I never eat out alone this is a rare treat. When Dave tired they went back to the hotel and I returned to work, its pub time that is just how it is. Walking around the bay and down into the old village I was reminded once again what a truly stunning place this is and how lucky I am to be able to live here despite the distance it puts between me and friends. So how is it all going? Well the roofers are mob handed and on target to get the scaffold down by opening, they will go on to do the roofs at the rear during trading. The stonemason thinks he will just make it but had disappeared today to have a baby, well observe the process at least! Baby arrival also put one of my beer installs at risk but I think that is now resolved. Beer survey is tomorrow but install is next Thursday, horribly close to opening but they assure me that it is no risk.

My water softener engineer arrives tomorrow from Reading, oddly water softener engineers don’t occur on the island and we have to import. The water softener service is an unexpected expense but I am assured that it is good for another 20 years and is a very expensive piece of kit so it is a sensible expense. The decoration that remains is to complete one room of the right hand bar (I always label them from behind the bar rather than the street) the front door, window reveals and the gents toilets. In truth there is lots more to do but that is to my eye and not yours. One of the benefits of visiting the Crab last night was to cast an eye over the decoration and recalibrate my aspirations. I still have mountains to do but am hopeful of getting the bar vacated for cleaning by the weekend just have to set a stop on what I am going to achieve before opening. Having the lads here meant the morning kerb crawl from Rich’s boys took all of 10 minutes and I got to wave goodbye to 12 yards of rubbish that has been cluttering the place up although I have to apologise for exposing the big brave men to island spiders and to Jo for having to console her ‘brave soldiers’ when they get home. The opening is definitely happening despite the incredulous looks that I receive when I say this (Thanks Ad for the “oh this month”).

How am I in the midst of all this? Well I am 1 stone down from the pub diet but its a stone that I didn’t need, I am exhausted and very conscious that I am missing lots of details. The cash and time burn is astonishing even for somebody who predicted massive problems and I have taken to never getting out of ‘scruffs’ since I live on a building site there seems little point. I think the best description came from one of the trades who was looking around the pub appreciatively. I asked him if he fancied a pub and without hesitation he answered “No, have you looked in a mirror? we reckon you are on fast forward, you are actually ageing in front of our eyes”. The most important thing though is that I love it, I love my pub, love the island and the people and love the fact that my passion for this place can drive me into 18 hour days continuously now for over three weeks.

Inappropriate blushing

A few years ago something changed in the brewing of Becks lager and I became violently allergic to it. This was not just flushed cheeks but itchy, burning skin and difficulty breathing. Some experimenting revealed that the challenge was specifically the bottled product and I henceforth avoided it. It would be nice to think that was the end of the story but, since Ms Nature is involved, it is not.

Since the rather scary incident with Becks I have developed occasional alcohol blush. This reaction results in scarlet blotches across the skin and is a common ‘allergic’ reaction in Asians. The cause of it in Caucasians is less well understood but it does tend to be random, as I have found, rather than every occasion.

Thanks to Dr Google and some unintentional experimentation I have moved a step closer to understanding the triggers, further experiments will be needed to confirm. The theory is that a reduction in ALDH slows the metabolism of acetaldehyde which is also the mechanism used in drugs to treat alcoholism.

The annoying thing is that the symptoms seem random, well they did. On Saturday night I drank some beer, nothing unusual in that, on Sunday afternoon it hit. After one pint a friend enquired as to whether I had been welding, the colour is that vivid. But here is where research is king, apparently ALDH reduces with hydration levels. Obviously drinking beer reduces hydration but there is one other key from the weekend, chinese food!

I have not eaten Chinese food for some time, I avoid it because it is unhealthy, often unpleasant and also because it dehydrates me. This weekend I had a craving for crispy chili beef which I satisfied on Friday. Unusually for me I conserved part of the meal for Saturday night and thoroughly enjoyed it. It would seem that the combination of alcohol and salt reduced my hydration level and this triggered the blush. I think that there may be more to it than this because I didn’t suffer a hangover which is the usual indication of dehydration but it’s a start.

In other news I have yet another scary example of the welfare culture of this country. My friend’s daughter asked to do something over the weekend and he explained “daddy doesn’t have the money for that”. Without a thought his daughter advised going to the bank to get some money. Daddy then had to do the whole ‘you have to work for money speech’ to explain how money gets into the bank.

Ever thoughtful his daughter was not going to leave it there “don’t they put money in your bank for you? They do for mummy” obviously he attempted to explain the reason that mummy got money paid into the bank but his daughter seemed less than convinced. I felt for the guy and the situation he found himself in, how should he explain it, in fact how could anyone? Do you explain to your daughter that in the UK the state sponsors mothers? But if you don’t then you have to make the case that mum is wrong and that’s not a winner either.

In a country that is massively over populated, has high unemployment and huge welfare dependency how do you explain state sponsored childbirth? Like the ever improving economy and the never ending glass it is a myth but unlike the last two we believe it. So the friend whose young, part time employed son has recently become a father was proud. The lad has split with the mother but “give him his due he helped her move into her flat”. As a father, hell as a human being he should be in despair. Another child with no future, born to a young mum and funded by a bankrupt state, it’s not an inspiring situation.

Of course the father will ‘step up’ and graciously accept the £1 per week reduction in his tax credits which the state will impose as child maintenance. The mother’s parents will be declaring how well she is doing as the state funds the next 16 years of her life. This general acceptance of the situation is symptomatic of people faced with a situation that they cannot understand. It won’t be long until the card makers hit upon this lost opportunity and produce ‘welcome to the gravy train’. A clothes company will produce baby clothes with ‘sponsored by the national debt’ emblazoned upon them. Remember you heard it here first.

Sod the dodo this phrase is nearly extinct!

As we have already established today I am a fan of accuracy in language similarly I am in favour of a wide vocabulary. There is a phrase that I would like to bring back into more frequent use, in fact there are two but they are similar. The first is the phrase to ‘man up’ and the second, which should be reserved for cases that need a little more emphasis, is ‘man the f*ck up’. This phrase should be applied regularly with regard to any situation where somebody just needs a dose of, well man up. I suggest that we start of with some examples so that we can all understand where this almost lost phrase should be used.

In the news yesterday there was the story of a policeman who smashed the window of a range rover driven by a 71-year-old who had been unable to open the door (as requested) due to central locking issues. This man was filmed taking 8 strikes to break the window and disable the dangerous 71-year-old whom he had pulled for not wearing a seat belt; the driver was subsequently awarded £20,000 for the incident. The policeman was subject to “ridicule” by his colleagues and has sued the police for constructive dismissal, he was successful and awarded a significant sum. I suggest that a more appropriate sentence for a policeman who couldn’t handle a little ribbing from his colleagues was a solid dose of  ‘man the f*ck up’ with costs against him.

The police  also offer our second example which comes from today’s news. Apparently a pig’s head was left on a police vehicle’s bonnet and they are reviewing CCTV to identify the culprit. Now the interesting thing in this is that the police acknowledge that no crime has been committed, so why try to track anybody down? Are they looking to return the head? of course not they are looking to bully some poor idiot into saying something that they can arrest him. Just a thought lads but how about feeding the head to one of the dogs and grabbing a hot mug of ‘man the f*ck up’.

Flu is next on the list or, to be more accurate, colds. We all hate colds, they are horrible, annoying and generally unpleasant but they are not the flu. As a 40-year-old man I can count on one hand the number of times that I have had the flu, amazing eh? not twice a month throughout the winter or every January, go figure? Trust me you know when you have flu, it is a serious infection and lemon flavoured powder is not going to help. In 2009 there was a relatively minor outbreak of flu in the UK and nearly 400 people died, you do not die from a cold*. Flu is hideously debilitating and potentially life threatening. There is no such thing as man flu of course, research has shown that men suffer more in fever situations because they have more temperature receptors in their brain but that just makes it worse. The root cause of the illness is a cold, C-O-L-D, get it? When you are crawling along the floor in agony you may have the flu, but if you expect sympathy then I want to see a doctor’s note otherwise, go buy a box of tissues and help yourself to dose of ‘man the f*ck up’.

Lets finish with the concept of Health and Safety teams, it is an established point of fact that they are the enemy. In world war terms they are speaking German, if they had been present in the world war we would all be speaking German. They are not your friends and they are not your ticket out of work, if you call the H&S to come to your work site then I think they should answer “hello son” just to make it feel more like you have called your mother. You are supposed to work around these people not engage with them. There is a reason that they prowl the workplace like Nazi officers, asking them if the job is OK is like asking a commandant in a prison camp if he minds you digging tunnels! Real men work under the alternative rules of Stealth and Hasty, much more accomodating of our ways.

Of course it is too hot, too cold, too hard, uncomfortable and downright bloody horrible doing that task, that is why we pay you. When you smash your car up you expect somebody to cut the broken bits out and rebuild it not stroke their beard and say “hmmm looks kinda sharp perhaps we’re better off scrapping it”. You are part of mankind, the champion of your environment and capable of overcoming all hurdles, so it’s a dirty/dusty/sharp if everything was made of lavender-scented marshmallow do you think we would need you? Next time you toy with the idea of downing tools because the sun is in your eyes, your shoes itch or you have a splinter hit the vending machine, £1 will buy you a tin of ‘who cares man the f*ck up’.

 On reflection the world has gone too far for simply ‘man up’ we clearly need to move to ‘man the f*ck up’ immediately. The good thing about this phrase is that it is self-regulating, if your child has never heard you swear then they need cuddles and strawberry flavoured pain relief. If, on the other hand, they are as fluent as you in profanity then next time the whinge bend down, tousle their hair and tell them to man the f*ck up. I ask each and every one of you, when next confronted with a demand for sympathy, to consider the use of the phrase. Your default position should be ‘man the f*ck up’ and the more that you use it the less you will be faced with demands for sympathy.

*Unless you sneeze in a full face crash helmet whilst taking a high-speed bend, then it is possible

Three legged goats and I’m behind him

I dropped my TV remote with the hotel reception this morning in order that they could replace the batteries whilst I was at work. Normally I would, in keeping with most of the world, simply removed said batteries, warmed them with my hands and replaced. The reason that I enlisted the hotel’s services was that they now have screws securing the battery cover. This change came about a year or so ago when this particular hotel upgraded the TV units themselves, the TVs are not secured to the wall or chained to the table. 

I don’t know why but I take this action very much as the thin end of the wedge. I cannot think for one minute that the hotel loses a significant amount of batteries to theft. Sure there will be people who need a couple of batteries and exchange their exhausted cells for the ones in the remote but would people actually collect them as an implied gift, surely not. There is, in my opinion, an implied trust between a hotel and its guests and I would be very concerned if this changed. Will the next step be securing the remote to the TV by means of a cord? Or perhaps they will install airport scanners and as you to empty your bag on exit? I implore all hotels considering moves such as this to consider their position, you have the name, address and credit card details of all of your guests so don’t look upon it as stealing, look upon it as shopping and charge them. Imagine the embarrassed company executives explaining why there is a $5 charge on their invoice for “TV remote batteries”.

 Following the vein of security I had to refresh one of the many licenses one requires to work on infrastructure this week. Anyone that works in big organisations or on significant infrastructure will be familiar with this particular style of boredom. It seems inherent in big organisations that common sense requires some sort of formal assessment. When such assessment is undertaken high failure rates result in the whole thing being ‘dumbed down’, eventually you have a test that a one eyed field mouse could pass. In the mad world of equality the normal human beings have to regularly take these tests despite always passing with flying colours.

 I have always considered that this should be approached in a similar manner to the old joke of “read all of the questions”. The joining instructions should advise you to get up, get dressed and put on your shoes then call this number. Those that call have shown enough ability to be awarded a pass without disrupting their lives any further. Sadly we don’t live in Gav’s world so I found myself travelling across the city for what is, in this case, a bi-annual affair. My hopes that the ability to negotiate the elevator and reach the training suite would be sufficient evidence to produce a pass were dashed when we were required to sit and wait.

 The first challenge for the 20 or so candidates was the basic reading test. Each one of us had to present identification in the form mandated by the joining instructions. There was a failure at this stage for the guy that simply hadn’t brought any evidence, despite his protestations that he “knew he was him”. Victim two had been too quick to claim success, having secured his passport he did not read the second line that required proof of address, he was quickly dispatched. The third early bath was somewhat more special and was operating under the section marked ‘if you do not hold a British passport’. Apparently he needed photographic identification and to meet this requirement he had passed a document. The woman inspecting his ID observed that there was a small child in the photograph and, for a minute, I fully expected him to say “it was many years ago”. 

This young man was not so daft, he leant across and pointed at the picture “that is me, behind my son”. I caught a glimpse of said picture and the man did indeed appear to be holding a small boy up to the camera so the ID was worthless. This didn’t stop the man complaining, it was obvious that it was him in the picture because it was his son, who else would be holding him? But you could see his hair and one ear behind his son couldn’t you? I was actually quite taken aback, and just a little let down, that he didn’t open his bag, produce a small boy, hold him up in front of his face and say “see, like this”.

 Three down the remaining filed into the room to undertake the PC based assessment. Once the invigilator had taken the time to settle the 4 or 5 who could not comprehend the mystery of a mouse and the three that had failed to enter their name in the box titled “name” we commenced. 16 questions that a three legged, Albanian mountain goat could get correct. The sort of ‘test’ that you can almost feel the PC cringing at displaying. On this occasion only two of us completed it in the 4 minutes that a human being should need. A further 5 drifted out during the allotted 20 minutes and the rest had to be wrestled out of their seats having become stuck on a question.

 I often wonder why these organisations do not look at these sorts of tasks as natural selection and an opportunity to remove the pond life. For me I would hire a sniper and save the elevator the effort of taking the brain dead back to the ground floor. I should point out that I do not consider simply not being computer literate to be a failure, there has to be some exceptions. A colleague refreshed the same license recently and on the mandatory course was a hawk handler. This guy had real issues with the PC, I guess ‘mouse’ had an entirely different meaning to him. When faced with incredulous invigilator who couldn’t understand how he had never used a PC he turned and explained “I fly a bloody big hawk around buildings”.

Secret codes and subliminal messages

Before this post I would like to point out that I am not a pervert, well no more than any man that is. I have become increasingly bemused by an incongruity in the types of underwear worn by women. I should point out that I am not studying the subject in any significant manner, it is more a case of ‘what I am shown’ than ‘what I discover’. Clothes choices mean that the revelation of underwear is one that is often difficult to avoid. I don’t want to judge people but we are all brought up with certain preconceptions and I am wondering why these displays seem to reverse them.

It would seem, from my random survey, that those that you expect to ‘dress down’, the matronly types and spinsters, actually don’t. Indeed the very masculine train driver that leant over in front of me at the station almost caused me to stumble at the delicate lacy (albeit size 20+) ensemble that she displayed. Conversely the extremely appearance concious young ladies seem to have opted out of any VPL concern and joined the Bridget Jones fan club. And so skin tight clothes reveal swathes of swaddling cotton.

Before I get assaulted for stereotyping I will reiterate that I am simply questioning a simple male’s view. I had always assumed that younger women put more effort into dressing up and that, in general, this tapered off as they got older. If this is the case then has fashion changed dramatically and I have missed it? Or perhaps the selection of underwear reflects aspiration rather than reality? I have taken advice on this and was given some story about the Bridget Jones choice being a groped choice from the bottom of the drawer after leaving the high end stuff hanging from the light fittings. Now I can see the appeal of this story, but herein lies the problem. As a man I am suspicious of such an easy answer, that plays to the male mind and I suspect this is a ploy.

I think there is much more to this, I think there is some hidden code. The new DaVinci code is written in knickerbox! Is this code aimed at guys, some subliminal coding perhaps? After all Colin at work has discovered a whole world of handkerchief code for gay guys, perhaps this is the girl version. It is a difficult subject to broach but there seems to be a wealth of research material out there. Just to recap, if you see me watching your rear I mean no harm I am simply trying to deduce what you are telling me!

It is odd that once you think of something it seems to increase the chance of occurrence. I guess it’s almost like Schrodinger’s cat in that all eventualities are possible until you look. I was idly considering the post that I have just written yesterday when I fumbled my phone. I was actually on a train at work about to take a picture, in taking the phone from my pocket I took an accidental picture. We’ve all done this, along with ‘pocket dialling’ it is a hazard of cell phones. I thought nothing of it, took the picture I needed and returned to the office. Last night I discovered the pocket picture and offer it for debate below. To enable the debate I can confirm that there are no ‘pre-loaded’ pictures on my cell. I have not seen the picture before nor the scene that it shows. The picture hasn’t been sent to me, it hasn’t been displayed on the phone in any way, to my knowledge until last night when I discovered it.

There were no advertisements or other images that I could have captured on the train that would explain the image. Now I am sure that it possible that the phone company sent me something remotely although I don’t see why and I didn’t get any alert. In fact if it was remotely sent by the phone company then it would reside in the handset memory but it does not. The image below resides in the camera folder on my SD card, this is where the camera is set to store images it captures.

I cannot explain the image unless, that is, there is a very small nursery in my pocket, with a view to a new house. I know that when I do my laundry I will be listening for baby sounds carefully though, after careful study I have observed that the baby is not present. Alternatively perhaps Aleisha is trying to show me her new bedroom?

 

Appropriate clothing, princesses and poor disguise

I met up with Pete and Barb on Sunday, the wonderful foster parents to little Aleisha and Harriet. Aleisha is settling easily into her adoring new family and both foster parents speak very highly of them. Apparently there are another couple of mandated hour-long visits but her new parents have asked the foster parents to keep visiting after that. Talking to them I could see the joy for her new start battling with sadness that she has moved on. It is the selfless ability to let the joy win that makes them able to do what they do and astounds me. Hearing how happy she is and how she has now started to sit up was lovely, even if I do miss seeing my little Princess. Her new parents sound perfect and clearly understand how lucky they have been to be able to bring a gorgeous young girl into their family. It is great to know that Aleisha will have the start in life she deserves and so much love and attention.

Having made sure my Princess was ok I seemed to spend a couple of hours observing people. There are some times when quirks just stand out and yesterday was one of them. I watched a woman come to the bar with designer shades and a designer bag. From the designer bag she retrieved an expensive looking purse and proceeded to debate what funds she should use for her purchase. Having flicked through the thick wad of notes in her purse she apparently concluded that this was worthy of only a twenty. You may be wondering how I saw all of this, it was actually performed rather theatrically with the intention that her audience were aware. I managed a sly smile when I noticed that the theatre had not reached the credit card slots in the purse. There at the front was dog-eared reward card for a low-cost food retailer. When you’re trying to look loaded a gold or platinum card is called for, at least to hide the Iceland card.

During the afternoon a number of men chose to enter the bar bereft of shirts. I should point out that there is no sign or rule precluding this specifically but does there need to be one? There is no sign that states that one’s genitalia must be covered but we still wear trousers. I can’t understand why some men feel the need to enter premises with their shirt off. I love the sun and I am the first one to wander around in shorts without a shirt, after all there has to be an advantage to being the sex without breasts doesn’t there? But when you enter a business to conduct a transaction you should wear all of your clothes, it is just the right thing. What would you do if your chef or your barman greeted you without a shirt, it is just not cricket. There are, I am led to believe, establishments that operate a topless policy please understand that they are the exception and not the rule.

Having despaired of people’s ability to dress themselves, or at least remain dressed, I reverted to uncle gav. A visit from young Indya gave me plenty of opportunity to carry her around the pub collecting glasses and generally shrieking. It is great that an adult who knows of my injuries will wince when they shake my hand but a child has no such concerns. There was never a doubt in Indya’s mind that I could support her weight and indeed run around with her. This is another part of the maturity in parenthood debate. Children don’t need to know your difficulties, your worries or your stress they need to know that you are an ever-present rock, always stable and always capable. So Indya doesn’t need to know that I couldn’t lift a kettle this morning, my kids don’t need to know that it breaks my heart not to see them, they have enough time to stress when they are older.

My little lady

Given that I am still smiling after the weekend I have to share the reason. I was lucky to see the gorgeous Aleisha twice over the weekend. All my friends know that they will lose me when my baby girl is around. The absolute icing on the cake was a sleeping girl on Sunday. Watching her blink open, focus and give me a big smile made my weekend. As daft as it sounds I am still grinning now. Don’t get me wrong, I am a broody man, I love babies but Aleisha and Harriet before her are so much more.

We all have problems and trouble in life, luck and fate are often blamed. Aleisha doesn’t worry about the start in life that she has had. She doesn’t fret or stress, she happily accepts the love lavished on her by amazing foster parents. Aleisha is such an animated baby, she studies everything around her. The world entertains and enthrals her in such a way that you cannot doubt that she will tread her own path. There is something in the innocent smile of one so young that makes you remember that all trials are transient.

Aleisha will soon meet her lucky adoptive parents. They are overjoyed and desperately keen to take on their new role. It’s a wonderful story and one that I consider myself lucky to know. I am told that babies have very little memory of early life, certainly I can’t remember being a baby. I like to think that just maybe I’ve helped Aleisha with one more preconception. Perhaps when she is older and meets a heavily tattooed man she won’t be intimidated she will just smile and get an urge to say ‘boo’. One thing is for sure she has melted the heart of this old man.

Leaking, gorgeous and eclectic titles

It transpires that the size of the picture in Amazon does not accurately reflect the actual size of the device, go figure? so now having reorganized my living room the new laser printer has a home and my old mate Andrew was the happy recipient of the old inkjet. I have, inadvertently, discovered another great advantage of laser over inkjet, I actually found this during the transportation of the devices you see laser printers don’t leak. As I was walking the inkjet down the road I mused over the fact that my fingers felt wet, then I checked and sure enough they were full of black ink the ink having emptied itself through the breath hole. I wouldn’t be overly distressed about the ink leakage if it wasn’t for the fact that I am only upgrading because the inkjet repeatedly tells me that its empty, well it bloody is now!

I delivered a wonderful set of cute clothes to the lovely Danny and Jodie yesterday and was treated to a cuddle of the most adorable 5 day old Lily, what a stunner! It’s so nice to see a young family rather than the horror stories that you hear today about single parents and unwanted pregnancies, really does return your faith in human nature. The red-hot apartment and heavily swaddled baby reminded me of bringing my own son up in a freezing house camped out in front of the fire for fear he would get cold. I for one am sure that Lily has a wonderful life with loving parents to look forward to and I will leave her my cell phone number in case she ever needs anyone to bang her parents heads together. As a slight aside, the irritating proliferation of ‘keep calm and …’ T shirts does nothing to detract from a newborn baby grow with the legend “Keep calm and giggle”, just warms your heart. Having left the newborn I was treated to seeing my fostering friends and their 5 month old (and just 12 pound) ward, it took some time but not only did I get rewarded with a smile and a gurgle but a set of limbs desperately perambulating towards me, another stunner and I apologise to my more adult friends for ignoring them, well a little anyway. As is doubtless clear from this post, I adore babies can there be anything more gorgeous, more innocent and more amazing than a baby?

In other news I idly looked through a catalogue today before returning it to the shelf and wondered if anyone has a more eclectic bookshelf than I do? On this shelf a catering equipment catalogue resides between a cookbook and a motorcycle repair manual, next to these is the Engineer’s relay handbook, the excellent Treitel’s Law of Contract and then One Million Tattoo’s. I could almost hear the Lloyd Grossman voice drawling ‘now who would live in a house like this’

Free the adults and peppermint shoes

Many thanks to Jenny for pointing out the thing that I was missing with the god awful rise in “onesies”, it’s not because the world has gone mad or because some modern foodstuff is causing mental regression. The reason that I keep seeing adults wearing the bloody things is much simpler, they can’t get them off! This is so obvious when I think about it, after all that’s one of the advantages that they have for babies, they can’t undress themselves, so the same must be true for these poor unfortunate adults. Much like a cat stuck up a tree or a child with its head in railings these adults have crawled into the “onesie” and are stuck, they need our help not our derision.

Never one to mock the afflicted I have now altered my attitude to these poor unfortunates and in future when I see them I will respond more appropriately, I intend to treat them much as a small child so will wrestle them to the floor for convenience and then attack the fasteners. It will be harder to control their struggling limbs as they are larger but my memory tells me that one arm and one leg at a time is the way forward and always make sure the head is supported. Imagine the joy on their faces when, rather than laughing at their misery, I actually help them and release them from their shackles, I shall be held up as a saviour. If you want to share in the gratitude and adulation then just remember next time you see a “onesie” on an adult set them free, together we can save them all.

The great weather entrapment is going full swing on the coast today with probably the largest flakes of snow I have ever seen gently drifting onto the ice cream signs. If it keeps up we could have tourism by default because those that are here wont be able to get out.

Honourable mention to Elaine for yesterday, when faced with a young gay couple she took it all in her stride despite their youthful lack of self control and very public displays, only after a few hours did she think to ask one of the couple how her boyfriend was. It was a sight to behold as she was slowly walked through the storyline of breaking up, changing paths and making up, the woman is a legend so much so that I am going to buy her some peppermint shoes on account of the amount of time that they spend in her mouth!