One of the great perks of parenthood is the opportunity to be a total embarrassment to your children. The great beauty of it is that it’s something that you don’t even have to work hard at to achieve great results.
Once the kids gain a say in what clothes they are allowed to buy/wear, the best remaining opportunity a parent has for causing great embarrassment is the sleepover. As I found, just last weekend, simply walking around the house singing along (with gusto) to your favourite songs can leave your daughter squirming in distress in front of her friends. Obviously, my rendition was note perfect - but as I was singing along to the Wedding Present at the time that doesn’t mean that it was particularly pleasing on the ear.
And George has discovered that just because you are sleeping over at someone else’s house it doesn’t necessarily mean that you are out of reach of parent-caused shame. He spent most of last evening’s sleepover at his friend’s house fending off texts from his mum reminding him to share his sweets, brush his teeth and not to let the bed bugs bite. She forgot to tell him to make sure that his mates didn’t put pink zinc cream on his eyebrows whilst he was asleep - which of course they did. And by passing on that information to you I am able to continue to pile on the embarrassment, especially now that George has taken to reading the blog to find out exactly what I’ve been saying about him. As a result of which, he asked me to point out that his inoculation last week was not for ‘Nintendo thumb’ but was in fact for ‘couch potato bum’. Actually, that’s a bit unfair on George seeing as he recently gained a place on the Connolly team in the Inter-Schools cross-country. In fact, if anyone should have that injection it should be me. Since the premature demise of my volleyball career (thanks Jay) my exercise regime has been reduced to walking to the shop (okay sometimes I drive) to buy fruit and veg (well, fruit pastilles and potatoes, okay... crisps). I’m not even playing snooker any more due to the fact that the club closed down whilst I was on my two-week-tour of the UK. I came back to find an advert in the paper informing me of the fact that everything was for sale: snooker tables, kitchen equipment, furniture, staff... the lot. I put in an offer for the rather attractive brunette with the sarcastic smile (well it was always sarcastic when she aimed it my way) but I think I was outbid by the old bloke, with the limp, who played on table 5. I’m so unfit at the moment that I managed to tweak a hamstring at work the other day... whilst sitting down. I’m currently researching various alternatives for attaining regular exercise (no, not that). I’ve narrowed the choices down to: indoor soccer, squash, or pole vaulting (looks easy to me). Unfortunately, I can’t really do anything until Wendy has completed her tour of the UK and South Africa so I’ve got another month or so of couch potatoing to look forward to.
George’s sporting abilities may be improved by the fact that he is now able to wear contact lenses. He is trialling them at the moment and seems to be able to put them in and take them out without too many difficulties.
We recently enjoyed a very pleasant family outing to see Florence and the Machine (look, I know you are supposed to have family outings to the zoo, or McDonalds, and not to concerts by popular music performers, but we have to try and balance our ability to embarrass the kids with a certain amount of ‘cool’ parenting) . It was a great show, Florence is very theatrical with a decent set of pipes (and pins to match), and ‘And the Machine’ are a very talented bunch of musicians – it’s the only gig I’ve ever been to that has featured a harp solo (or even a harp at all for that matter). Talking of gigs. If you are in the north of England on 1 September you may want to make your way to the Boardwalk in Sheffield where my 14-year-old nephew is performing with his new band Disfunctioned. Billy is the bass guitar player in the group and I’m not sure how they have managed to land such a major venue for their debut outing. I’ve not heard them but I’m assured that they play both kinds of music... heavy, and metal. I have already made my apologies and said that due to a lack of a bus service between Perth and Sheffield I shall be unable to attend. I have however promised to go and support them should they embark on an Australian tour (so long as they come over to the West, as a lot of acts actually by-pass us and Adelaide and just do the big cities over in the east).
Whilst my sporting pastimes have dried-up of late , I am still attending Art Club. I know, it’s amazing that they haven’t kicked me out yet. Not only am I still going, but they do seem genuinely interested in my style of painting. Comments I have received include: ‘I’ve never seen it done like that before’, ‘it’s a bit small isn’t it?’, ‘have you finished?’, and ‘no-one else has got one like that’. I’m pretty sure that they were talking about my artwork. In fact, they are so intrigued (confused) by my dabblings that they have asked me to give a demonstration of my technique and ideas to the group at the November workshop. As nerve wracking as this prospect is I am helped by the fact that I do have some previous experience of presenting my artwork to an audience. Did I ever tell you about my appearance on South Korean TV? Oh yes, back in the late 90’s they couldn’t get enough of me over there - I managed to create an entire generation of Korean couch potatoes (hence the invention of the vaccine)... well, maybe not. What actually happened was that me and Dusty had a very enjoyable art holiday in St Ives (I say art holiday, but there was a fair amount of eating and drinking, okay mainly drinking involved as well). During one of the Art School sessions a TV crew from the South Korean version of ‘Wish You Were Here’ turned up to film the class. The rather gorgeous female host (who bore absolutely resemblance to Judith Chalmers) decided she wanted to interview me – I’m not fluent in the language but I’m pretty sure that what she said was ‘I really want to chat to this bloke because he looks like one hot stud-muffin to me’ (or something along those lines). I have no evidence that the interview actually made it into the final programme but I do have photographs to prove that such an event did occur (in fact I have them about my person at all times).
I will leave you with the news that, just like you in the UK, we in oz now have a hung parliament. In the end the nation was just not able to choose between the Sheilah and the Budgie Smuggler. As I write this they are both desperately trying to get the 5 Independents and 1 Green on board to help form a Government. It could take a while, who knows Harold Holt might even turn up to resume as Prime Minister before they have sorted it out.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
You may feel a small prick
If you get quezy at the mere suggestion of Injections, piercings and pricks of any kind then look away now... actually, I’m already starting to feel a little peaky myself. This week we are mainly dealing with sharp pointy needles.
Harriet, George and Wendy have all had injections this week in mouths, arms and hands (are you sure you’re not feeling quezy yet?). The first to get the needle was Hattie, she had to have a filling in one of her milk teeth (she declined the choice of having it forcibly removed). According to Harriet’s description of the incident the needle was at least two feet long. She was very brave and probably benefited from the fact that they just did it there and then and she didn’t get time to worry about it (I find I’m the same when I get my hairs cut... both of them). She had had a similar experience just two days before when she decided that she wanted her ears pierced. She had been toying with the idea for well over a year before suddenly deciding that this was the time (a bit like me when I was contemplating buying the ‘The Pains of Being Pure at Heart’* CD...okay that only took a couple of minutes to decide but it seemed a whole lot longer).
I seem to remember that piercings (ears only) were very popular when I was at secondary school, so much so, in fact that there was at least one person in every year that pierced their own ears with a compass. Actually (as my, then, Maths teacher Mr ‘Richo’ Richardson would have corrected me) that should be ‘pair of compasses’. You know, the things with a point at one end and a pencil on the other that you use for drawing circles - not the thing that you use to find out which way to go (no I don’t mean sat-nav, or a policeman). You couldn’t use a navigation compass to pierce your ears - that would be utter madness – whereas using an un-sterilised, blunt pointed bit of metal on your own ear is an eminently more sensible thing to do. No doubt the majority of these people who liked to inflict pain on themselves went on, in later life, to become live studio audience members for ITV sit-coms, Jim Davidson’s agent or Sheffield Wednesday supporters. Anyway, as far as I’m aware the holes in Harriet’s ears were produced by more conventional and hygienic methods. She is very happy with the piercings and as yet (to my great relief) hasn’t mentioned getting any others done (i.e. nose, eyebrow, tongue or belly button... I know there are other possibilities but I don’t even want to think about those).
After a discussion with Wendy on the subject George has indicated that he is never ever, ever having his ears pierced, either conventionally or DIY... we’ll see whether he still feels the same in four years time. Meanwhile, he had his inoculation jabs last Tuesday - one in each arm. He had the tetanus, diphtheria and whooping cough vaccine in one arm, and the hepatitis B and ‘Nintendo thumb’ vaccine in the other. I don’t know which arm got which, or whether that matters... but there were some very definite side-effects, namely nocturnal, projectile vomiting (oh yes, the best kind). George and at least four other of his classmates were violently sick during the night, luckily only one of them was actually sleeping at our house at the time (that’s George, of course). Although, whilst I was cleaning up at 2.30am (Wendy somehow slept through the whole episode) I was struggling to see how this could possibly be the work of just one person. Luckily, he soon recovered ... he was well enough to go to school the next day. Well, we sent him anyway.
The brighter ones amongst you (I’m saying nothing) will have worked out by now that it must be Wendy who had the injection into her hand. You will have also worked out that such a procedure is never going to be anything but painful... not many flabby, fleshy bits to inject into in your hand. Not surprisingly, this wasn’t the first idea they had come up with for fixing up her old surfing injury. She damaged a tendon whilst battling 2 metre waves way back in the summer and despite anti-inflamatories, finger straps and lots of verbal encouragement the injury hasn’t cleared up. So, as a last ditch attempt, before she has to go under the knife, they (those clever medical boffins) decided to try a cortisone shot. Not sure if it’s working yet but it has created some very interesting bruising and her biceps are firming up.
As part of his PEAC course this term George is building a model (00 gauge) of his ‘Dream Home’ (it just looks like a normal home but this one doesn’t appear to have his mum and dad in it). In fact, as I type this (very slowly), he is sat next to me hacking through thick card with a Stanley knife and covering the surface of my desk (quite why he couldn’t use his own desk I’m not sure) in generous layers of rather evil smelling glue . Clearly these are the sort of things that you should do only do under the supervision of a responsible adult ... oh dear.
Wendy is still in the process of booking flights for her South Africa/UK trip, so as yet she has been unable to finalise dates/times/flight numbers/aeroplane meals/where her luggage will end up, yet. It’s taking a bit of working out seeing as she is going to be on about 7 or 8 flights during her 3 week trip. The week she gets back from the UK she is going to have to fly over to Sydney for four days to attend a conference with work. Luckily it just happens to coincide with the second week of the school holidays so me and the kids are going to tag along with her (to Sydney that is, not the conference). We have no plans to climb the harbour bridge, although I am quite keen to find out where they film Aerobics Oz Style. All I know is that the Opera House is always in the background, and there are always some balding, middle aged men milling around as well (a role I was born to play).
Anyway, I’m off to watch a new Aussie TV comedy/drama that looks like it might be half decent... the first one I’ve come across in the two-and-a-half years that we have been here.
Later,
H
* The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are an American indie guitar band that ‘I’ recently discovered. They are excellent, albeit with a terrible name.
Please note how I managed to do a whole section on body piercing without once mentioning Queen Victoria’s husband. I wonder if anyone has done a DIY version of that with a pair of compasses. Oohh no.
Harriet, George and Wendy have all had injections this week in mouths, arms and hands (are you sure you’re not feeling quezy yet?). The first to get the needle was Hattie, she had to have a filling in one of her milk teeth (she declined the choice of having it forcibly removed). According to Harriet’s description of the incident the needle was at least two feet long. She was very brave and probably benefited from the fact that they just did it there and then and she didn’t get time to worry about it (I find I’m the same when I get my hairs cut... both of them). She had had a similar experience just two days before when she decided that she wanted her ears pierced. She had been toying with the idea for well over a year before suddenly deciding that this was the time (a bit like me when I was contemplating buying the ‘The Pains of Being Pure at Heart’* CD...okay that only took a couple of minutes to decide but it seemed a whole lot longer).
I seem to remember that piercings (ears only) were very popular when I was at secondary school, so much so, in fact that there was at least one person in every year that pierced their own ears with a compass. Actually (as my, then, Maths teacher Mr ‘Richo’ Richardson would have corrected me) that should be ‘pair of compasses’. You know, the things with a point at one end and a pencil on the other that you use for drawing circles - not the thing that you use to find out which way to go (no I don’t mean sat-nav, or a policeman). You couldn’t use a navigation compass to pierce your ears - that would be utter madness – whereas using an un-sterilised, blunt pointed bit of metal on your own ear is an eminently more sensible thing to do. No doubt the majority of these people who liked to inflict pain on themselves went on, in later life, to become live studio audience members for ITV sit-coms, Jim Davidson’s agent or Sheffield Wednesday supporters. Anyway, as far as I’m aware the holes in Harriet’s ears were produced by more conventional and hygienic methods. She is very happy with the piercings and as yet (to my great relief) hasn’t mentioned getting any others done (i.e. nose, eyebrow, tongue or belly button... I know there are other possibilities but I don’t even want to think about those).
After a discussion with Wendy on the subject George has indicated that he is never ever, ever having his ears pierced, either conventionally or DIY... we’ll see whether he still feels the same in four years time. Meanwhile, he had his inoculation jabs last Tuesday - one in each arm. He had the tetanus, diphtheria and whooping cough vaccine in one arm, and the hepatitis B and ‘Nintendo thumb’ vaccine in the other. I don’t know which arm got which, or whether that matters... but there were some very definite side-effects, namely nocturnal, projectile vomiting (oh yes, the best kind). George and at least four other of his classmates were violently sick during the night, luckily only one of them was actually sleeping at our house at the time (that’s George, of course). Although, whilst I was cleaning up at 2.30am (Wendy somehow slept through the whole episode) I was struggling to see how this could possibly be the work of just one person. Luckily, he soon recovered ... he was well enough to go to school the next day. Well, we sent him anyway.
The brighter ones amongst you (I’m saying nothing) will have worked out by now that it must be Wendy who had the injection into her hand. You will have also worked out that such a procedure is never going to be anything but painful... not many flabby, fleshy bits to inject into in your hand. Not surprisingly, this wasn’t the first idea they had come up with for fixing up her old surfing injury. She damaged a tendon whilst battling 2 metre waves way back in the summer and despite anti-inflamatories, finger straps and lots of verbal encouragement the injury hasn’t cleared up. So, as a last ditch attempt, before she has to go under the knife, they (those clever medical boffins) decided to try a cortisone shot. Not sure if it’s working yet but it has created some very interesting bruising and her biceps are firming up.
As part of his PEAC course this term George is building a model (00 gauge) of his ‘Dream Home’ (it just looks like a normal home but this one doesn’t appear to have his mum and dad in it). In fact, as I type this (very slowly), he is sat next to me hacking through thick card with a Stanley knife and covering the surface of my desk (quite why he couldn’t use his own desk I’m not sure) in generous layers of rather evil smelling glue . Clearly these are the sort of things that you should do only do under the supervision of a responsible adult ... oh dear.
Wendy is still in the process of booking flights for her South Africa/UK trip, so as yet she has been unable to finalise dates/times/flight numbers/aeroplane meals/where her luggage will end up, yet. It’s taking a bit of working out seeing as she is going to be on about 7 or 8 flights during her 3 week trip. The week she gets back from the UK she is going to have to fly over to Sydney for four days to attend a conference with work. Luckily it just happens to coincide with the second week of the school holidays so me and the kids are going to tag along with her (to Sydney that is, not the conference). We have no plans to climb the harbour bridge, although I am quite keen to find out where they film Aerobics Oz Style. All I know is that the Opera House is always in the background, and there are always some balding, middle aged men milling around as well (a role I was born to play).
Anyway, I’m off to watch a new Aussie TV comedy/drama that looks like it might be half decent... the first one I’ve come across in the two-and-a-half years that we have been here.
Later,
H
* The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are an American indie guitar band that ‘I’ recently discovered. They are excellent, albeit with a terrible name.
Please note how I managed to do a whole section on body piercing without once mentioning Queen Victoria’s husband. I wonder if anyone has done a DIY version of that with a pair of compasses. Oohh no.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Where have you been?
Just before I start I would like to point out that if you haven’t visited this blog for a while (where the chuff have you been?) you might want to find the last story you read and start from there. I don’t want to teach you how to suck eggs (mainly because I don’t know how to do it myself and would therefore be a lousy teacher*) but the reason I say that you should start from the back and work forward is just because I like to develop a joke and continue the theme into the next message (Okay, I like to use exactly the same joke in the next message but word it slightly differently) and if you just read from the most recent story and head back (chronologically) then that just isn’t going to work. I’m only thinking of you.
Some of the clever, technically gifted, and masochistic of you have the blog on RSS (repeat story signal) which tells you when a new (i.e. re-cycled blog is available to read/ignore). But if you are coming back after a long absence please do as I suggest and find the last story you read and start from there. If however the story was ‘I felt the earth move under my feet’ from February 2008, then you might want to order in a take away and a bottle of red because you’ve got some catching up to do. If, however, you are joining us for the first time (run away now whilst you still can) maybe I should just do a quick re-cap of the story so far.
It goes a bit like this... the decision is made, after considerable consideration and research, to move to the land where there are dangerous snakes, sea creatures, creepy crawlies and trees - hell; even the camp beds will try and maim you in oz. But this is also the place where the sun is often out, narrow pot-hole ridden roads are banned, and (so I’m told) attractive women grow on trees (actually, they are probably the dangerous trees I mentioned earlier). We duly packed up, said an emotional farewell to the old country, and flung ourselves into our new life with a confidence the belied the enormity of the move. And it has continued like that, we’ve never doubted that it was the right thing to do - at exactly the right time, although not everything as run smoothly. So, despite having a great time on my UK trip, there were never any qualms about coming back to the antipodes. My money is on Wendy feeling exactly the same after her trip in September (although, with my gambling record...). And so, to end the re-cap Harold wasn’t really dead after all... he had in fact suffered amnesia and joined the Salvos (which is what the Salvation Army call themselves over here, as I told you everyone has to have a nickname – and it usually ends in o)
Now on with the blog. Wendy enjoyed her trip to Sydney to a tax conference, although whether it was the actual conference side of the proceedings or the ‘heavy night’ on Friday that she enjoyed is open to conjecture. Next year’s conference is scheduled to be in Brisbane.
I know what you are going to ask, what has Harriet been up to recently? Good question. Well, she is still dancing twice a week (jazz, tap and ballet – no zumba or pogo yet as far as I’m aware). Unfortunately, we only ever get to see her perform at the end of year show (which is, spookily, held at the end of the year) so it’s difficult to say how she’s progressing but she loves doing it, which is obviously all that really matters. I have a feeling (it’s only a feeling because I never actually bothered to read the letter she brought home with her about it) that she will be taking her Grade 3 ballet exams in October. This will involve extra rehearsals, a touch of nerves and lots of dancing around the house... and I think Harriet might be doing extra stuff as well. I think it’s fair to say that she gets her dancing genes off her mother, and the same could probably go for her ‘baking’ genes. Every weekend she can be relied upon to rustle up something, last week’s marble cake was scrumptious (truly). She basically flies solo on measuring, mixing, assembling and putting in the oven. The only thing she needs help with is remembering to take things out of the oven again before the smoke alarm goes off (and no she doesn’t get that from me. It’s like her messy gene... we just don’t know where it originates from). This weekend she has mainly been making cheese straws for a school project, she was supposed to have a friend come over to help make them but unfortunately she succumbed to illness so Harriet had to go it alone. The results looked very good but as she needs enough to feed the entire class (and teachers) we weren’t allowed to tuck in.
Me and the kids finally saw an Emu this weekend (or is that Emo? You know, it’s like an ostrich but with a more cheery outlook on life), we had previously seen most of the other uniquely Australian creatures but not an emu.
Anyway, that’s all for now, next time I will catch up on George’s news, there’s quite a lot of it... you might want to consider ordering out again.
H
*the same would also be true of sword swallowing and for that matter fire eating. In fact as a general rule of thumb, if it’s anything to do with putting things in your mouth then I’m probably not the best person in the world to be teaching you. I mean, I will give it a go but the outcome could be very messy indeed.
Some of the clever, technically gifted, and masochistic of you have the blog on RSS (repeat story signal) which tells you when a new (i.e. re-cycled blog is available to read/ignore). But if you are coming back after a long absence please do as I suggest and find the last story you read and start from there. If however the story was ‘I felt the earth move under my feet’ from February 2008, then you might want to order in a take away and a bottle of red because you’ve got some catching up to do. If, however, you are joining us for the first time (run away now whilst you still can) maybe I should just do a quick re-cap of the story so far.
It goes a bit like this... the decision is made, after considerable consideration and research, to move to the land where there are dangerous snakes, sea creatures, creepy crawlies and trees - hell; even the camp beds will try and maim you in oz. But this is also the place where the sun is often out, narrow pot-hole ridden roads are banned, and (so I’m told) attractive women grow on trees (actually, they are probably the dangerous trees I mentioned earlier). We duly packed up, said an emotional farewell to the old country, and flung ourselves into our new life with a confidence the belied the enormity of the move. And it has continued like that, we’ve never doubted that it was the right thing to do - at exactly the right time, although not everything as run smoothly. So, despite having a great time on my UK trip, there were never any qualms about coming back to the antipodes. My money is on Wendy feeling exactly the same after her trip in September (although, with my gambling record...). And so, to end the re-cap Harold wasn’t really dead after all... he had in fact suffered amnesia and joined the Salvos (which is what the Salvation Army call themselves over here, as I told you everyone has to have a nickname – and it usually ends in o)
Now on with the blog. Wendy enjoyed her trip to Sydney to a tax conference, although whether it was the actual conference side of the proceedings or the ‘heavy night’ on Friday that she enjoyed is open to conjecture. Next year’s conference is scheduled to be in Brisbane.
I know what you are going to ask, what has Harriet been up to recently? Good question. Well, she is still dancing twice a week (jazz, tap and ballet – no zumba or pogo yet as far as I’m aware). Unfortunately, we only ever get to see her perform at the end of year show (which is, spookily, held at the end of the year) so it’s difficult to say how she’s progressing but she loves doing it, which is obviously all that really matters. I have a feeling (it’s only a feeling because I never actually bothered to read the letter she brought home with her about it) that she will be taking her Grade 3 ballet exams in October. This will involve extra rehearsals, a touch of nerves and lots of dancing around the house... and I think Harriet might be doing extra stuff as well. I think it’s fair to say that she gets her dancing genes off her mother, and the same could probably go for her ‘baking’ genes. Every weekend she can be relied upon to rustle up something, last week’s marble cake was scrumptious (truly). She basically flies solo on measuring, mixing, assembling and putting in the oven. The only thing she needs help with is remembering to take things out of the oven again before the smoke alarm goes off (and no she doesn’t get that from me. It’s like her messy gene... we just don’t know where it originates from). This weekend she has mainly been making cheese straws for a school project, she was supposed to have a friend come over to help make them but unfortunately she succumbed to illness so Harriet had to go it alone. The results looked very good but as she needs enough to feed the entire class (and teachers) we weren’t allowed to tuck in.
Me and the kids finally saw an Emu this weekend (or is that Emo? You know, it’s like an ostrich but with a more cheery outlook on life), we had previously seen most of the other uniquely Australian creatures but not an emu.
Anyway, that’s all for now, next time I will catch up on George’s news, there’s quite a lot of it... you might want to consider ordering out again.
H
*the same would also be true of sword swallowing and for that matter fire eating. In fact as a general rule of thumb, if it’s anything to do with putting things in your mouth then I’m probably not the best person in the world to be teaching you. I mean, I will give it a go but the outcome could be very messy indeed.
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