I am feeling better now. I have decided to establish this blog as a resource, or seed bank, of negligent father stories. Future generations/social services will be able to look back on this record and marvel/use as evidence when taking children into care.
The first tale comes courtesy of our London correspondent. A friend of his (do we think this is one of those my mate stories?) was left in charge of his 9 month old daughter one Saturday. His wife was out with the other 2 for the day. Anyway, the baby was asleep, he forgot about her, went to the shops for a paper, had a beer on his front porch, and fell asleep. He only woke up when disturbed by some annoying baby crying. Why wasn't the mother taking care of it he wondered in his alcohol induced haze. Then his brain clicked… Ooops. Same guy lost his 2 year old daughter in a camp site. He was in charge again (what was the mother thinking!), and was sitting having a beer with his friend. Some mums were calling out if anyone had lost a little girl. He actually said no! Then saw her… She had gone about 500 yards through a busy camp site.
Astounding!. Well my advice...in future tether the child. A stake firmly driven into the ground and a length of hemp rope (difficult for little teeth to gnaw through) and problem solved. The child will be able to walk miles in a circular fashion and you are free to enjoy that well earned beer.
If you have a negligent dad story please contribute, I love you all
Friday 25 September 2009
Pretty in Pink
Hello poppets. Well what an eventful day I had yesterday. Woke up with what I suspected was Polonium 210 poisoning. After a trip to the doctors he couldn't rule out Acute Polonium 210 Induced Poisoning Syndrome but thought it rather more likely that I had a cold. Phew! what a relief. He then made me take all my clothes off for a full examination. He was German and I strongly suspect he was gay.
He was very concerned by a black, sticky, yeast like substance that he found between my toes. "Unknown to medical science" were his exact words, "referral to specialist in Vienna", "would I mind if he took photos and could I drape myself coquettishly over his examination table". I was just adjusting the nipple tassles he had given me when I remembered I had dropped my marmite on toast that morning and must have missed a bit. Panic over.
Anyway, from one German fairy to another (Can I say that?), Princess Lillifee The Movie. The daughter wanted to see this. How can I explain it to any of you who have not seen it. Well, just imagine Bambi and the cast of Watership Down meeting Sponge Bob Squarepants in a dark alley,then gang raping him. Nine months later a baby is born. That baby grows, develops a nasty candyfloss habit and starts to mainline petrol and bucket fulls of psychotropic drugs. Now add more pink than you could shake a stick at and you are still nowhere near imagining how smashing Princess Lilifee the Movie really is.
To be fair this is not my opinion of the film. I fell asleep before the film started. I have simply repeated what my 5 year old daughter told me after the usher woke me up. She has a mouth on her that one.
Just last week I caught her down the rough end of Sunnymountain Street abusing the transvestites who congregate there after midnight. She was yelling that they had no sense of style, that their shoes and handbags clashed and that some of them needed a thorough going over with an Epilady if they were going to wear those slingbacks. Some of them were actually crying. Why are you doing this I asked her? I want to be a TV critic when I grow up dad she said. It's been a long day. Have a lovely weekend.
He was very concerned by a black, sticky, yeast like substance that he found between my toes. "Unknown to medical science" were his exact words, "referral to specialist in Vienna", "would I mind if he took photos and could I drape myself coquettishly over his examination table". I was just adjusting the nipple tassles he had given me when I remembered I had dropped my marmite on toast that morning and must have missed a bit. Panic over.
Anyway, from one German fairy to another (Can I say that?), Princess Lillifee The Movie. The daughter wanted to see this. How can I explain it to any of you who have not seen it. Well, just imagine Bambi and the cast of Watership Down meeting Sponge Bob Squarepants in a dark alley,then gang raping him. Nine months later a baby is born. That baby grows, develops a nasty candyfloss habit and starts to mainline petrol and bucket fulls of psychotropic drugs. Now add more pink than you could shake a stick at and you are still nowhere near imagining how smashing Princess Lilifee the Movie really is.
To be fair this is not my opinion of the film. I fell asleep before the film started. I have simply repeated what my 5 year old daughter told me after the usher woke me up. She has a mouth on her that one.
Just last week I caught her down the rough end of Sunnymountain Street abusing the transvestites who congregate there after midnight. She was yelling that they had no sense of style, that their shoes and handbags clashed and that some of them needed a thorough going over with an Epilady if they were going to wear those slingbacks. Some of them were actually crying. Why are you doing this I asked her? I want to be a TV critic when I grow up dad she said. It's been a long day. Have a lovely weekend.
Wednesday 23 September 2009
My Day So Far....
Had a shock this morning. When I got back from taking the offspring to school there was a noose hanging on my garden gate. I was 99% certain that it could only have come from the Sunnymountain Mothers Mafia mainly because it was fashioned from an old maternity bra.
Later, while browsing through the women's underwear section of our local supermarket, someone must have slipped a note into my shopping basket while I was distracted pondering the respective merits of Pretty Polly, DKNY and Donna Karan or Skinkiss tights in various hues.
The note said "They are on to your blog. This morning was a warning. Next time they will sub contract to Fat Kath. signed A friend".
The cold hand of fear gripped me. Fat Kath is well known around here. She runs the play date concession on the southside and is widely rumoured to have been behind the mass brawl at last years WI cake sale.
I am a nervous wreck at the moment. I cant write anymore as I need to convert the downstairs toilet into a panic room.
Later, while browsing through the women's underwear section of our local supermarket, someone must have slipped a note into my shopping basket while I was distracted pondering the respective merits of Pretty Polly, DKNY and Donna Karan or Skinkiss tights in various hues.
The note said "They are on to your blog. This morning was a warning. Next time they will sub contract to Fat Kath. signed A friend".
The cold hand of fear gripped me. Fat Kath is well known around here. She runs the play date concession on the southside and is widely rumoured to have been behind the mass brawl at last years WI cake sale.
I am a nervous wreck at the moment. I cant write anymore as I need to convert the downstairs toilet into a panic room.
Tuesday 22 September 2009
Am I a Good Dad?
Am I a good dad? This question has been worrying me lately. So much so that I am hardly able to sleep in the afternoon. I suspect I am fantastic but how can I be sure as I have no reference points.
Mothers can meet up and compare notes but every time I attend one of these gatherings I am distracted by the amount of breast feeding going on. Everything starts out fine and dandy but invariably just as we are reaching the critical advice sharing stage a breast is whipped out without warning making it impossible to concentrate. All my mental energies are then devoted to maintaining eye contact and never letting my eyes drift south. After a few minutes of this staring the mother becomes uncomfortable and remembers she has something important to do on the other side of the room.
Of the few remaining Sunnymountain Street mothers who are still prepared to talk to me I suspect my stock has fallen of late due to one or two minor incidents. The first was when my daughter's friend came round to play. I left them to their own devices while I smoked a pipe of my favourite Old Scrotum's Jamaican Ready Rub on the terrace. Just before the mother was due to arrive to pick up her daughter the girls came down stairs and I saw that my little angel had drawn a clown face on her friend. The mother arrived and was enchanted by this display of infant face painting creativity. She wasn't so enchanted when she got home and found out it was permanent marker pen. Oh how we laughed when we looked at her daughters red raw blotchy little face some days later. I didn't point out that she had missed a bit and that you could still see the clowns mouth quite clearly.
To give her credit the mother did allow her daughter back to play. I decided to err on the side of caution and remove the marker pens. On collecting her daughter that evening the mother got a little hysterical when she noticed her daughter's new haircut. I could hardly see any difference and thought it was anyway quite modish. I have now also removed the scissors. The girl never came back.
Just yesterday, having finished my post lunch cigar and brandy, I decided I should go and see what my daughter was up to at the play ground. As I rounded the corner I saw the local Sunnymountain Street Mothers Mafia ranged on the benches keeping a beedy eye on their offspring. The head Capo said "Oh I really admire the fact that you allow your daughter to come down here on her own". I suspect she didn't admire it at all. They then all started breast feeding in a calculated act of intimidation. I collected my daughter, her pile of clothes and pen knife and made a tactical retreat. We spent the rest of the afternoon practicing cricket in the garden. And that is my life.
Mothers can meet up and compare notes but every time I attend one of these gatherings I am distracted by the amount of breast feeding going on. Everything starts out fine and dandy but invariably just as we are reaching the critical advice sharing stage a breast is whipped out without warning making it impossible to concentrate. All my mental energies are then devoted to maintaining eye contact and never letting my eyes drift south. After a few minutes of this staring the mother becomes uncomfortable and remembers she has something important to do on the other side of the room.
Of the few remaining Sunnymountain Street mothers who are still prepared to talk to me I suspect my stock has fallen of late due to one or two minor incidents. The first was when my daughter's friend came round to play. I left them to their own devices while I smoked a pipe of my favourite Old Scrotum's Jamaican Ready Rub on the terrace. Just before the mother was due to arrive to pick up her daughter the girls came down stairs and I saw that my little angel had drawn a clown face on her friend. The mother arrived and was enchanted by this display of infant face painting creativity. She wasn't so enchanted when she got home and found out it was permanent marker pen. Oh how we laughed when we looked at her daughters red raw blotchy little face some days later. I didn't point out that she had missed a bit and that you could still see the clowns mouth quite clearly.
To give her credit the mother did allow her daughter back to play. I decided to err on the side of caution and remove the marker pens. On collecting her daughter that evening the mother got a little hysterical when she noticed her daughter's new haircut. I could hardly see any difference and thought it was anyway quite modish. I have now also removed the scissors. The girl never came back.
Just yesterday, having finished my post lunch cigar and brandy, I decided I should go and see what my daughter was up to at the play ground. As I rounded the corner I saw the local Sunnymountain Street Mothers Mafia ranged on the benches keeping a beedy eye on their offspring. The head Capo said "Oh I really admire the fact that you allow your daughter to come down here on her own". I suspect she didn't admire it at all. They then all started breast feeding in a calculated act of intimidation. I collected my daughter, her pile of clothes and pen knife and made a tactical retreat. We spent the rest of the afternoon practicing cricket in the garden. And that is my life.
Monday 21 September 2009
Home Thoughts From Abloke
As Sunnymountain Street's resident thinker I have been musing on the topic of family. Living an expat life one of course misses aspects of home. But it is family that I miss the most. I miss coming down to breakfast and seeing my dear old mum, dry sherry in one hand, Capston Full Strength Cork Tip in the other, lovingly removing the stray cigarette ash from last nights reheated chicken tikka masala. She always insisted that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.
And my father. How we kids used to squeal with delight when he hung us upside down from the chandelier and used us to knock in his new cricket bat before the season started. Happy days.
Maybe I am becoming a sentimental old fool but even my brothers have brought a tear to my eye. I am very proud of my two younger brothers. Despite swimming in the shallow end of our family's gene pool they have both overcome being dimmer than eco friendly light bulbs and manage to live rewarding lives in the community with only a little help from their respective wives, or carers as social services designate them.
One brother works as a full time garden ornamnet and the other has held the Shropshire All Comers Village Idiot title since 1983, which is odd as he has never been to Shropshire.
Family legend has it that this family curse,which only afflicts the second and third born of the male line each successive generation, originates from 1599 when Sir Eustace Ponsonby D'Welle-Skitt was struck by a catapulted cow while besieging Jersusalem. It knocked him senseless. Given that the siege of Jerusalem had ended some 500 years earlier, and that the residents of Jerusalem only fired that cow to get rid of their one and only besieger, I suspect that there may have been a pre existing condition in the family. He later married the cow and settled down in Stow on the Wold.
Why am I telling you all this?. Well, I just get lonely sometimes is all.
And my father. How we kids used to squeal with delight when he hung us upside down from the chandelier and used us to knock in his new cricket bat before the season started. Happy days.
Maybe I am becoming a sentimental old fool but even my brothers have brought a tear to my eye. I am very proud of my two younger brothers. Despite swimming in the shallow end of our family's gene pool they have both overcome being dimmer than eco friendly light bulbs and manage to live rewarding lives in the community with only a little help from their respective wives, or carers as social services designate them.
One brother works as a full time garden ornamnet and the other has held the Shropshire All Comers Village Idiot title since 1983, which is odd as he has never been to Shropshire.
Family legend has it that this family curse,which only afflicts the second and third born of the male line each successive generation, originates from 1599 when Sir Eustace Ponsonby D'Welle-Skitt was struck by a catapulted cow while besieging Jersusalem. It knocked him senseless. Given that the siege of Jerusalem had ended some 500 years earlier, and that the residents of Jerusalem only fired that cow to get rid of their one and only besieger, I suspect that there may have been a pre existing condition in the family. He later married the cow and settled down in Stow on the Wold.
Why am I telling you all this?. Well, I just get lonely sometimes is all.
A Trip Around the Block
Everyone has a novel inside them as I believe someone once said. Since becoming a full time stay a home dad several people, all without kids, have suggested that I use my new found freedom (they really have no idea) to write. Good idea you may think, and so did I at first. I have always enjoyed writing and can spin a yarn as well as the next ex government press officer, or so I thought. I decided to start a novel. Well, days turned into weeks, weeks into months and still I have not managed to put pen to paper. I know I have a novel inside me but I just cannot find it.
Recognising that you have a problem is the first step to overcoming it, so I sought the advice of my trusted inner circle. My wife suggested that it was all due to the early onset of senile dementia and my daughter recommended that I write about princesses. As much as I love them both I dismissed their ideas out of hand and turned to a writer friend of mine who said I had a classic case of writers block. That came as something of a relief as the senile dementia idea was starting to seem strangely plausible.
Armed with my diagnosis I decided to learn more about my condition. Google informed me I was not alone. The world seems to be full of people offering advice (usually for $19.99 plus postage) on how to beat writers block.
After pulling together the top ten tips to beat the block I decided to test their effectiveness. I did it for all of you out there struggling to be the next JK Rowling and who at present don't have a Hogwarts to show for it. I will now take you through the top ten tips, my observations and the results/conclusions.
Tip 1- Talk to the monkey- that is, explain what you are really trying to say to a stuffed animal.
I wasn't really sure about this one but in for penny in for a pound. Getting along quite well until my 5 year old daughter and her friends walked in and asked if they could play too. Result/Conclusion: Could be ueful to focus the mind but make sure the house is empty first. The look of pity in my daughter's eyes will live with me until the day I die.
Tip 2- Do something easy- is there a small part of the project you could finish quickly that could move things forward.
I decided to practice my new signature for the much anticipated book launch. Result/Conclusion: I developed a Repetitive Strain Injury and becuase I like my new signature so much I will have to write to the bank and utility companies to update their records.
Tip 3- Freewriting- write anything for an arbitrary period, say 10 minutes. Don't stop, no matter even if you know what you're typing is gibberish. Get your hand moving and your brain will follow.
I discovered that I can write fluent gibberish. It is a good way to kill time and I think I had some good ideas. Result/Conclusion: Intend to spend the next month trying to decipher text to find the good ideas.
Tip 4- Take the dog for a walk- get out of your writing brain for 10 minutes.
I don't have a dog so I took my daughter instead. Result/Conclusion: Really helped clear my mind and my daughter will now fetch sticks that I throw.
Tip 5- Take a shower, change clothes,write from a new persona. Get a truly clean start, lend your voice to a personality who isn't you to see things from a new perspective.
Toying with the idea of writing a spy novel. Decide to write from a James Bond point of view. Result/Conclusion: Writing in a tuxedo is uncomfortable and those Martinis really knock you out.
Tip 6- Write someplace new- if you have been staring at the screen and nothing is happening walk away. Shut down the computer, get a pen and paper and go somewhere new.
Decide to lie on the bed to write after those dry Martinis (see above) Result/ Conclusion: Awoke feeling refreshed and ready to go.
Tip 7- Quit beating yourself up. You can't write when you feel under pressure. Focus on poistive outcomes.
Tried to go into a Zen like state. Result/Conclusion: Feeling very positive but I think I may now have a hangover (see 5&6 above).
Tip 8- Add one ritual behaviour- get a glass of water every 20 minutes. Eat a Tootsie Roll after every paragraph.
Spend an hour touring the local shops asking if they have Tootsie Rolls. No luck. I think this might have come from an American website. The water is doing wonders for my hangover though. Result/Conclusion: Totally rehydrated
Tip 9- Listen to music- put it on repeat until your draft is done.
Put on my Best of the Smiths CD that I got for my birthday. Result/Conclusion: Heaven knows I'm miserable now.
Tip 10- Write the middle bit or the title. Accept that your first draft will suck and just finish something A block ends when you start putting words on a page.
I feel a little intimidated now. These tips are very challenging and if I knew what I wanted to write I would have done it by now. Result/ Conclusion: this tip is rubbish. I am a sensitive and creative soul and no amount of threats are going to work on me sunshine.
If you are thinking about writing then I hope the above will help you remove any unwanted blockages. As for me, well I have decided to keep my novel safely inside me where it appears to be very happy. However, I am thinking about writing an Idiots Guide to Beating the Block, available soon at all good booksellers priced $19.99 plus postage.
Recognising that you have a problem is the first step to overcoming it, so I sought the advice of my trusted inner circle. My wife suggested that it was all due to the early onset of senile dementia and my daughter recommended that I write about princesses. As much as I love them both I dismissed their ideas out of hand and turned to a writer friend of mine who said I had a classic case of writers block. That came as something of a relief as the senile dementia idea was starting to seem strangely plausible.
Armed with my diagnosis I decided to learn more about my condition. Google informed me I was not alone. The world seems to be full of people offering advice (usually for $19.99 plus postage) on how to beat writers block.
After pulling together the top ten tips to beat the block I decided to test their effectiveness. I did it for all of you out there struggling to be the next JK Rowling and who at present don't have a Hogwarts to show for it. I will now take you through the top ten tips, my observations and the results/conclusions.
Tip 1- Talk to the monkey- that is, explain what you are really trying to say to a stuffed animal.
I wasn't really sure about this one but in for penny in for a pound. Getting along quite well until my 5 year old daughter and her friends walked in and asked if they could play too. Result/Conclusion: Could be ueful to focus the mind but make sure the house is empty first. The look of pity in my daughter's eyes will live with me until the day I die.
Tip 2- Do something easy- is there a small part of the project you could finish quickly that could move things forward.
I decided to practice my new signature for the much anticipated book launch. Result/Conclusion: I developed a Repetitive Strain Injury and becuase I like my new signature so much I will have to write to the bank and utility companies to update their records.
Tip 3- Freewriting- write anything for an arbitrary period, say 10 minutes. Don't stop, no matter even if you know what you're typing is gibberish. Get your hand moving and your brain will follow.
I discovered that I can write fluent gibberish. It is a good way to kill time and I think I had some good ideas. Result/Conclusion: Intend to spend the next month trying to decipher text to find the good ideas.
Tip 4- Take the dog for a walk- get out of your writing brain for 10 minutes.
I don't have a dog so I took my daughter instead. Result/Conclusion: Really helped clear my mind and my daughter will now fetch sticks that I throw.
Tip 5- Take a shower, change clothes,write from a new persona. Get a truly clean start, lend your voice to a personality who isn't you to see things from a new perspective.
Toying with the idea of writing a spy novel. Decide to write from a James Bond point of view. Result/Conclusion: Writing in a tuxedo is uncomfortable and those Martinis really knock you out.
Tip 6- Write someplace new- if you have been staring at the screen and nothing is happening walk away. Shut down the computer, get a pen and paper and go somewhere new.
Decide to lie on the bed to write after those dry Martinis (see above) Result/ Conclusion: Awoke feeling refreshed and ready to go.
Tip 7- Quit beating yourself up. You can't write when you feel under pressure. Focus on poistive outcomes.
Tried to go into a Zen like state. Result/Conclusion: Feeling very positive but I think I may now have a hangover (see 5&6 above).
Tip 8- Add one ritual behaviour- get a glass of water every 20 minutes. Eat a Tootsie Roll after every paragraph.
Spend an hour touring the local shops asking if they have Tootsie Rolls. No luck. I think this might have come from an American website. The water is doing wonders for my hangover though. Result/Conclusion: Totally rehydrated
Tip 9- Listen to music- put it on repeat until your draft is done.
Put on my Best of the Smiths CD that I got for my birthday. Result/Conclusion: Heaven knows I'm miserable now.
Tip 10- Write the middle bit or the title. Accept that your first draft will suck and just finish something A block ends when you start putting words on a page.
I feel a little intimidated now. These tips are very challenging and if I knew what I wanted to write I would have done it by now. Result/ Conclusion: this tip is rubbish. I am a sensitive and creative soul and no amount of threats are going to work on me sunshine.
If you are thinking about writing then I hope the above will help you remove any unwanted blockages. As for me, well I have decided to keep my novel safely inside me where it appears to be very happy. However, I am thinking about writing an Idiots Guide to Beating the Block, available soon at all good booksellers priced $19.99 plus postage.
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