I have just had an absolute dog's arsehole of a day.

The situation with boy 2 and school has escalated to a totally unacceptable level ,and A and I are angry and upset. Boy 2 is confused, and unusually unsure. I may blog more when I have collected my thoughts, I might post the letter I've written to the head.

Then my car car broke down, and the hire company have given me a hideously shite and uncomfortable Mundano which I might have to drive to Wigan, Newbury and Stoke.

My fucking Blackberry has just dinged three times on the email bleep, and I really can't be arsed to look.

I've just finished story time with the boys, and am sat here on my jack, as A has gone to the cinema with chums.

To cheer myself up, I'm going to do something spiffy with scallops and chorizo and swill it down with a Chilean Sauvignon.

To get some perspective back, one of my closest pals mum has finally succeeded in drinking herself to death at the age of 57.

Happy days.

Yay, we've finally got a date sorted out for a holiday. Back to Portugal this year, the wallet won't take another trip to Thailand.

We're going to try the Silver Coast, just above Lisbon for a change. Found a tidy looking villa with a big pool in a small town about ten minutes from the coast. Should be off mid August. hopefully we'll be able to manage a few days in Italy as well. I love the lakes, stunning scenery, and swimming in Lake Como is bliss.

Two more days in Peterborough and then it's finished. Final fit out tomorrow, and then meet the client on Monday for the handover. No more up and down the A14. Delivered bang on time, and sort of on budget . Will now be swapping A14 for M5, as we started a six week project in Cornwall.

Fucking Cornwall, in July and August. I may get stuck in the odd jam. Much as I am fortunate to have such a fantastic client, I wish they'd buy a company closer to home, just once. It's Wigan next. Now that is some kind of shit hole. Sorry if anyone's from Wigan, but Paris in the spring it ain't

School report day.

I am not happy.

Boy 1. Proud as a Dad could be. He tries hard and gets his just rewards. But, he has to put in the e effort, it doesn't really come naturally, apart from his imagination, which is wonderful. Well done C.

Boy 2.

A class of 13, with a teacher and an assistant. We told them. Devil, idle hands etc.

We don't tolerate it when he misbehaves, but they do. It's pathetic, when she speaks, the kids can't hear, but dogs go mental.

I am sick of telling him off, of depriving the things he likes, not getting his £1.50 a week pocket money because he's not got enough ticks for the week.

HE'S FIVE YEARS FUCKING OLD, AND HE HAS A BRAIN THE SIZE OF SATURN.

I know this, because I'm his father, and also I'm not stupid, and I can see the pros and cons in my boys without being introspective.

I am fucking pissed off.

We're good people.

We've got good kids.

We recognise their failings, and address them.

Sorry.

Angry.

My boys are not perfect, but they are damn fine individuals, because that is the way they were raised, and I am proud to be their Father.

Not sure this gets across what I feel, but, my word I love them.

Knife crime

The stats for knife crime in London this year are astonishing.

Back in more simple times, I carried a knife, as did most of my friends. It was a beauty. A four inch sheath knife with a smooth wooden handle. I bought it from the tackle shop in the small seaside town I grew up in. I saved up my pocket money for ages, and would regularly check the shop window to make sure that it remained unsold. When I finally had the money, I strolled contentedly out of the shop, with the sheath attached to my belt. It's uses ? Gutting fish I'd caught whilst mucking around in boats on the estuary, random whittling, and a rather daft game called the splits.

I was ten years old when I bought it, and it's still knocking around the bottom of my tool kit.

I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I am glad that we're not bringing up our kids in a large city. Some of the acts of violence seem quite random, and that I find frightening. On the other hand, the boys are growing up leading an existence that is so far removed from city life, and that too has its dangers. We live in a prosperous village, all the kids at school are 'nice' kids from 'nice' families. It's an idyllic childhood, but a sheltered one, and one that I am not sure prepares them for what can be out there in the wider world. We try to make them aware that life generally is not as easy as the one they currently have, but I'm not that sure that it gets through, they're only eight and five. I suppose it's about finding the right balance.

How on earth do you cope with a police officer knocking on the door to tell you that the child you have adored from the moment they were born has been stabbed to death ? I cannot imagine how the parents of these children have dealt with the meaningless end to their child's life.

Listening to London teenagers on 5 Live's phone in on knife crime this morning was depressing. It left me with the feeling that I'm living on a different planet to them, not merely a two hour drive away.