Boy No1 was tucking into his cornflakes this morning as the news was on the radio. He normally wolfs everything in front of him like a hungry labrador, but this morning was a little slower as I could see he was listening to the bulletin.

'Dad'

'Yep'

'What are lashes ?'

'Eh?'

'What are lashes ? They just said something about a lady and a teddy and she might have got lashes'

Just how you go about explaining the weirdness of Sharia law to a seven year old over breakfast at 7.45 I don't really know, but I think I made a reasonable fist of things.

I am not remotely religious and have no 'faith' whatsoever, my wife is a Roman Catholic, and both of the boys have been baptised as such. It was important to her, and they can make up their own minds when they're old enough. I had to go to chapel three times a week for seven years and that just about did it for me, but it's important to A, so I ran with it.

I think the boy and I decided that if your God is a loving thing, then that can't be all bad, but if your god and worship of that god is based on fear and retribution, then perhaps that is not so good. I'm not sure if that's right or not, but some times being a father throws you a bit of a curve ball, which you can't duck, you just have to play it the best way you can, and whilst I didn't hit it out of the field, I at least connected.

Bogged down in the mindless boredom that is doing your vat return I decided to bugger off home for a few hours. A, being a lady of leisure walks a friends dog whilst they're at work, so we grabbed the pooch and set off on a yomp down to the river. It's the first bit of exercise that I've managed since buggering my leg and very pleasant it was too. No kids, and as it was a vile blustery grey day, we didn't come across another soul. We just strolled and chatted, alone, something that don't have that much time to do.
I see that bunch of loons the Muslims are doing their best to endear themselves to the planet as a whole, and listening to various radio shows you have the usual 'moderates' saying that of course it's not right, but that we have to see why. Sorry, I don't see a problem naming a teddy bear, its not as though it was called 'spank arse hanging out of the back of the prophet whilst munching on a bacon sandwich'. And she didn't name the sodding thing, the kids did. Is there such a thing as a moderate muslim ? They are so fucking precious about their religion it makes me shit jaffa cakes, get out more for fucks sake.
Aaaanyway, vats done and in on time, lets just hope the government can fuck up my vat as well as they fuck up everything alse at the moment.

Fool prices

Over in blah, Vi has had a dig a fuel prices.

With all that dominates the media at the moment, fuel seems to have taken a back seat. Back in 2000, when protesters blockaded terminals, diesel was around the mid eighties per litre. Today, my nearest garage is selling diesel at £1.08 per litre, and that ultimate diesel shite at £1.16. This is becoming lunacy. Yes, our roads are a clogged up mess, but until public transport can deliver, for most, the car is the only option. I think that as a family we are fairly sensible with the use of our cars. We've got two, one big diesel estate, and a zippy little hatchback. Could we make do with one? Probably not. Mine is mainly a work tool, and A's is the family runaround. We walk the boys to school every day, and although A doesn't work, she needs her car for her independence. We live right on the edge of the Glos/Worcs border, and public transport only runs towards Worcester, which means A couldn't get to her mother's which is the other way.

There is no way I could use public transport for work, not unless they invent a bus or train that picks me up at my house and drops me off at my clients' premises. Plus, I can make allowances for the shiteness of the roads, if stuck I can find an alternative route, but if public transport fucks up, I too am fucked. Plus, I am none to keen on sharing buses or carriages with the constant background sound of MP3 players and mobile phone conversations. A minor point perhaps, but it would irritate the tits off me.

But, driving is now a chore. My last three cars have been autos, I just don't see the point of a manual car any more. The current one, whilst hugely practical is sooooo dull to drive. I got it because my previous car, which was great fun to drive only did 23-27 to the gallon. So now I've got a diesel tank doing 45ish to the gallon, but diesel continues to go through the roof, and I an bored rigid driving the sodding thing.

The government is in such a constant spiral of gargantuan fuck ups that I guess that stupid fuel prices are less important than having millions of items of personal data falling into the wrong hands, or of the steady stream of body bags arriving at Brize Norton.

Christ, I've depressed myself with this.

Boy 1 did indeed do the business on Sunday whilst I froze my nads off on the touchline with the other Dads. It was pissing down and bloody freezing, and at the same time A was sat in a nice warm theatre with boy 2.

I see our useless leaders have committed a further act of total embuggerance by losing data containing 15 million individuals bank details. Fucking clowns. And as they're happily dishing out squillions of quids to bail out ailing banks I wonder if I could trouble them for twenty grand or so as my cashflow is a bit tight this month. I've got my mortgage with Northern Cock, if they go tits up will I become mortgage free I wonder ?

I can't be arsed to carp on about Gordon and his bunch of tools for much longer. It's all too easy and really doesn't present much of a challenge. Part of Ruth Kelly's portfolio encompasses Equality, you couldn't make it up.

Happier than a Frenchman who's just invented self removing trousers. Almost

Today I am perkier.

Today is the kind of winter day I like. There was a heavy frost this morning but the sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky. The boys and I bounced up the lane to school, all snuggled up in hats, gloves and scarves. Simple pleasures, following each others footsteps in the grass.

My beautiful boy two is five on monday. He's having a party with all of his class on Saturday and then on Sunday, A is taking him and a chum to see the stage show of The Gruffalo's Child, which they'll love.

I will be watching boy one in gladitorial combat on the rugby pitch. Still makes my heart burst with pride when I watch him charging along, ball in hand, floppy hair billowing out as he goes.

I'm going soft.

Ho hum

I have just thrown a tantrum of vast proportions.

I was just about to email two drawings, which have taken three days to design, and the wanky programme has decided that today is cock day and refuses to open them. Great. They had to be there by today, so it looks like I'm in for a late night. It won't recognise the back up copy either.
I hate computers.

On top of that, my sodding leg still hurts like hell, and as my GP is as much use as a fanny in a gay bar I'm having private physio at thirty quid a pop twice a week.

Fun time Frankie I am not

We will.....

Been catching up on some You Tube.

There is only one Rock God.

His name is Robert Plant.

Earth calling Gumpher

I am distinctly lacking inspiration this afternoon.

I am trying ever so hard to design something wonderful for a client (as wonderful as a very posh office can be) but I'm not quite there.

I blame my wife. She dropped in and we went to lunch. She looked damn fine, we had a groovy lunch and she's left me thinking of things other than commercial interiors.

I must crack on, it's getting close to beer o'clock, it is Friday after all.

Ow

I am a dog's cock, and I am in rather a lot of pain.

When I played squash last week, I pulled what I thought was my groin. Having tweaked it the week before, apologised to my opponent ( Bokke from the French trip, any excuse to get in the bar early) and showered off. Two days later I was due to play golf. Feck this, sez I, there's no way I can walk it, so, booked an old man's buggy. All going fine until the 9th. Unusually, I cracked one down the middle, whilst another member of our group pulled his drive horribly. We all went to have a look, and after deciding it was a goner, rather than walk twenty yards to the bridge to get back to the buggy, I decided to jump the stream. I over extended an already pulled muscle and it bloody hurt. I played the rest of the round with a nine iron and a putter as I couldn't swing anything longer. Hindsight says, 'walk off the course twatto', but foolish pride took over and I still got 28 points, which has got to be acceptable with two cubs for 9 holes.

Saturday. Mum had the boys, we went to a party, got splundered, boogied until 5, and came home. Sunday morning, fuck me backwards with a llama, I could hardly move. On Monday I called my osteopath, who could see me on Wednesday. Everything hurt. I had lost feeling in my left shin, my thigh was grossly swollen and I had fluid on the knee. When I eventually got there, she turned my into the mirror and said with some disbelief, 'I can't believe you haven't seen this. A massive haematoma running from my arse down to my knee. I hadn't noticed, nor had A, bloody odd. The upshot, torn front quad, groin side with the ensuing haematoma at the rear as the blood pissed out with nowhere to go. Nerve damage causing the loss of feeling below the knee, and worse of all, a possible ruptured tendon on the kneecap, which they can't diagnose until the fluid's subsided.

Great, minimum four, possibly six months with no exercise other than walking in a swimming pool. I'll be a right fucking porker, and porky does not suit someone as damn fine looking as me. Its enough to make you want a fag