Scary clowns and the little people

Is it just me that struggles to reconcile some apparently innocuous actions with good manners? Several times recently I have seen people, upon being asked for their train ticket, present a crumpled mess of paper. I know that ticket inspectors sometimes get a bad press but, for me, this is one of the reasons.

I would reject any such submission since it surely doesn’t meet the request. If I have asked you for a ticket then that is what I expect you to provide and I expect clear, unfettered access. You would not appreciate if the ticket inspector asked for your bag and had a rummage around looking for your ticket would you. No it’s not a big hassle or an unbearable rudeness but it’s wrong and it annoys me.

Whilst we deal with trains let’s tackle the inevitable curse of what is done with the time. It seems to be incredibly common nowadays that the same women who “can’t leave the house without makeup” actually apply it on the train. I have yet to fully study this but I presume that they make a mess of it at home, arrive at the station looking like a scary clown and correct it during the trip. I have no particular issue with the makeup application but is there any need to curse the driver when the train rocks? Last week a woman got on the train and proceeded to style a wig, with two whole cans of hairspray. It’s not like that in the movies, a quick flick and the person is transformed no crowd of commuters choking on lacquer in the background!

My other point for today is fatherhood. I am lucky to have two gorgeous and healthy children, they are my world as I’m sure any parent appreciates. I was reminded today that no matter what age they will always hold the key to this old man’s heart. When we first brought my first born home from hospital it was like carrying a hand grenade. We were the parents that rang the midwife on night one when he wouldn’t settle in his moses basket, everything was terrifying. To be trusted with this tiny form, this fresh new life was almost too much.

The reward of seeing a smile, a gurgle of recognition or just feeling a tiny chest rising and falling atop mine was amazing. Being the person who can stop the sobs and calm the breathing, the little catch of breath as you make everything right in one little persons world. We learn as parents, we don’t know what’s right we are educated by our children as they train us. I used to say when my daughter was born that we hadn’t really learnt anything but then I realised that it wasn’t ignorance it was the sheer importance of the task at hand. No matter how many children you have it can’t become routine each precious and unique life is approached with the same nervous caution hidden under a ton of love.

As the children get older their gift is the giggles and the eagerness to share their day with you. Racing home in the hope that you will catch their sleepy eyes and dreamy smile before they sleep. Being able to creep into your children and see that sly smile as they sleep, almost as if they sense your presence, is a reward that has brought many a man to tears. As they grow you watch proudly and with some trepidation, eager to minimise any risk and to protect your wards.

There comes a day when sitting on daddy’s lap isn’t the only way to close a day. As your children form their personalities and grow into the independence that you have worked for, your role becomes less obvious. Just occasionally there is a bad day, a nightmare or some hidden cue and a ball of warmth is curled up in your lap, you’re still daddy, you still fix everything. And so it goes on, the reminders of how important parents are come less often as children grow older, well they do if we do our job right.

I visited my children today and despite this being probably the toughest time in my life I could have skipped home. Those two people make me more emotional than a woman watching Bambi. The smell of my daughters hair and the strength in my son’s handshake are still fresh in my mind this morning and have reminded me that there is nothing that I cannot do in this world because I am “daddy”

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?