I have had a weekend based entirely around the hooligans.
Amanda cleared off to a spa with a bunch of chums, leaving us to our own devices.
On Saturday we went to a hill climb. Never been before. Bloody hell those cars shift up the narrow track, mental the lot of them. It was an American themed day, so other than the racing there was a fair bit to do and see. Rather strangely, they had six full sized working daleks there. Strange, as in daleks aren't exactly what springs to mind with an American themed motor sport event. They even had their own race up the straight, much to my Doctor Who obbsessed offsprings' delight.
They both had their first rugby matches of the season on Sunday. Nothing much to be learnt from Charlie's game as they spanked the opposition 59-0. He was very gracious about it afterwards. Some of the guys from the other club are in his year at school, but he was at pains to point out that he wouldn't be gloating as he would be distraught to be on the end of a hiding like that. Didn't stop him dishing out some bone crunching tackles on said mates during the game, he really does love a bit of bosh. Joshie's mob not so good. They won one and lost one. He still plays tag as he's only seven. He sauntered over afterwards an casually announced to Charlie that he'd 'only' bagged three tries. He knows it winds him up, Charlie gets three in a good season, but he is a hooker, not exactly known for prolific scoring.
Monday was a bit fraught for Josh, his first day at the short stay school. He and I had been to meet the staff the previous Friday and had his induction. I was very impressed with the staff and the head, and he professed to be looking forward to Monday. It was a bit of an eye opener. We all went together, as Amanda missed the induction. As we were buzzed into the corridor, it was fairly obvious that there was a child on the other side of the door going properly mental, he even smashed a window. Josh looked terrified. Eventually the child was calmed down and taken home. When we left, the little boy sat at his new desk was subdued to say the least. He ended his day in the green zone (good all day) and was allowed his choice of activity. He chose computer time. I asked why he didn't choose playground time, he said he was scared of the boys who had tantrums.
It's a shite situation for him, but, it's the only schooling solution we have. He's there for six weeks and they have a 91% success rate in successfully reintroducing the short stay kids back into mainstream education. There's only five kids in has class, with two teachers. Worryingly, he is the only child in the school who is not on some form of medication. We're back at the pediatrician again tomorrow. It goes on.........
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Political nobbers
The set is complete, chock full of total dweebs.
Never before has a Blackadder quote been more appropriate.
'I say, Blackadder, are you sure this is the PM? Seems more like an oily tick to me. When I was at school, we used to line up four or five of his sort, make 'em bend over, and use 'em as a toast rack'
Oily little ticks indeed.
All in their early forties and and all have done virtually fuck all other than be politicians. Apart from Ed of course, silly me, he was 'briefly' a television journalist. Ed and Dave have PPE degrees, normally the realm of those who go to Oxbridge with the sole intention of getting a Blue, rather than furthering their education. Nick has a degree in Social Anthropology whatever that is, and yet they all claim to be in touch with us.
Ed looks like an extra from 'Inbetweeners', Nick appears to be scurrying around Westminster like a newly appointed school prefect, dishing out lines to all and sundry as he relishes in his newly found power. I'm not really sure what the new head boy Dave does, I'm not sure he knows either.
Never before have we had such a collective bunch of dorks in Westminster. Can't wait to see Ed get his buns toasted by those naughty rough boys from the Unions. 'Oi Milliband, give us your lunch money, you know you said you would'
Never before has a Blackadder quote been more appropriate.
'I say, Blackadder, are you sure this is the PM? Seems more like an oily tick to me. When I was at school, we used to line up four or five of his sort, make 'em bend over, and use 'em as a toast rack'
Oily little ticks indeed.
All in their early forties and and all have done virtually fuck all other than be politicians. Apart from Ed of course, silly me, he was 'briefly' a television journalist. Ed and Dave have PPE degrees, normally the realm of those who go to Oxbridge with the sole intention of getting a Blue, rather than furthering their education. Nick has a degree in Social Anthropology whatever that is, and yet they all claim to be in touch with us.
Ed looks like an extra from 'Inbetweeners', Nick appears to be scurrying around Westminster like a newly appointed school prefect, dishing out lines to all and sundry as he relishes in his newly found power. I'm not really sure what the new head boy Dave does, I'm not sure he knows either.
Never before have we had such a collective bunch of dorks in Westminster. Can't wait to see Ed get his buns toasted by those naughty rough boys from the Unions. 'Oi Milliband, give us your lunch money, you know you said you would'
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Progress
Another post about Boy 2, but it is a very dominant factor in our lives at the moment.
After a very long time when we thought we were banging our heads against a brick wall, it is truly remarkable how quickly things spring into action once the diagnosis of ADHD was made.
It's all rather daunting, (for us as parents) so goodness knows how he's going to feel about it. It's very difficult to know exactly what is right, and what is wrong, all we are doing is taking on board professional advice and trying to make the best decisions for him.
We've decided not to medicate him, against the advice of the pediatrician, only time will tell if we've done the right thing. We have done as much research as we can, and ultimately have come to the decision that we are not prepared to accept the potential risks of the side effects. He is our seven year old child, and we must do what we feel is the best for him.
We have instead, opted for behavioural therapy, and he has been referred to see a clinical psychologist. They will help him try to understand his behaviour, and help us with coping strategies.
He is going to be removed from the village school for a six week period and placed in a Pupil Referral Unit, where they will work with him to develop his classroom control to allow him to remain in mainstream education, which he is entitled to do. We are going to visit the school shortly, but their latest Ofsted report has given us a lot of hope.
I know that everything I've written seems very matter of fact, but that's the only way I can deal with it. A lot of the time, I have no idea of how his mind is working, and I cannot imagine how difficult this process is going to be for him, but constantly try to reassure myself that we are making the right choices for him.
I just want him to be happy.
After a very long time when we thought we were banging our heads against a brick wall, it is truly remarkable how quickly things spring into action once the diagnosis of ADHD was made.
It's all rather daunting, (for us as parents) so goodness knows how he's going to feel about it. It's very difficult to know exactly what is right, and what is wrong, all we are doing is taking on board professional advice and trying to make the best decisions for him.
We've decided not to medicate him, against the advice of the pediatrician, only time will tell if we've done the right thing. We have done as much research as we can, and ultimately have come to the decision that we are not prepared to accept the potential risks of the side effects. He is our seven year old child, and we must do what we feel is the best for him.
We have instead, opted for behavioural therapy, and he has been referred to see a clinical psychologist. They will help him try to understand his behaviour, and help us with coping strategies.
He is going to be removed from the village school for a six week period and placed in a Pupil Referral Unit, where they will work with him to develop his classroom control to allow him to remain in mainstream education, which he is entitled to do. We are going to visit the school shortly, but their latest Ofsted report has given us a lot of hope.
I know that everything I've written seems very matter of fact, but that's the only way I can deal with it. A lot of the time, I have no idea of how his mind is working, and I cannot imagine how difficult this process is going to be for him, but constantly try to reassure myself that we are making the right choices for him.
I just want him to be happy.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Autumn blues
I don't like this time of year. Summer has gone, and the gloom of dark evenings looms.
I haven't posted about the end of our summer (more about why later) but we had three great camping weekends despite the weather. Good times with wonderful friends. Particularly memorable was seeing The Flaming Lips at The Green man Festival. Fabulously bonkers and the best live act I've seen.
My legal battle with the fuckwit company who decided not to pay my management fees rumbles on, and continues to cost a crazy amount in fees. I'm hoping to progress to mediation, but my usual cynical nature kicks in when yet another bill arrives. It's very much brought me down. It's made me anxious, I've lost weight, and I'm finding hard to concentrate on all the other aspects of my work. Thankfully, I've not hit the booze (having been down that route before) but it's been, and continues to be a thoroughly unpleasant episode in my life.
The general mood is not improved with the ongoing situation with Boy 2, although there has been progress. He's been diagnosed with ADHD, but I'm not convinced, and feel that they need to explore the possibility of Asperger's in greater detail. He's struggling at school, and continues to pretty much hate it. The immediate suggestion has been medication, but I am not convinced by both the long and short term effects of the drugs commonly used.
He can be a very difficult child, but he is also a very loving and talented little chap, who is having a very hard time. He's only seven, and it's sometimes very difficult to be a father and see the son you adore struggling with life at such a tender age.
On a more positive note, Boy 1 has started middle school and is on cloud nine. He loves it. He's been placed in the top set for all subjects, which he has worked hard to achieve. We're very proud of him, and very relieved that he's made the transition to 'big school' so smoothly and with such obvious enjoyment.
I haven't posted about the end of our summer (more about why later) but we had three great camping weekends despite the weather. Good times with wonderful friends. Particularly memorable was seeing The Flaming Lips at The Green man Festival. Fabulously bonkers and the best live act I've seen.
My legal battle with the fuckwit company who decided not to pay my management fees rumbles on, and continues to cost a crazy amount in fees. I'm hoping to progress to mediation, but my usual cynical nature kicks in when yet another bill arrives. It's very much brought me down. It's made me anxious, I've lost weight, and I'm finding hard to concentrate on all the other aspects of my work. Thankfully, I've not hit the booze (having been down that route before) but it's been, and continues to be a thoroughly unpleasant episode in my life.
The general mood is not improved with the ongoing situation with Boy 2, although there has been progress. He's been diagnosed with ADHD, but I'm not convinced, and feel that they need to explore the possibility of Asperger's in greater detail. He's struggling at school, and continues to pretty much hate it. The immediate suggestion has been medication, but I am not convinced by both the long and short term effects of the drugs commonly used.
He can be a very difficult child, but he is also a very loving and talented little chap, who is having a very hard time. He's only seven, and it's sometimes very difficult to be a father and see the son you adore struggling with life at such a tender age.
On a more positive note, Boy 1 has started middle school and is on cloud nine. He loves it. He's been placed in the top set for all subjects, which he has worked hard to achieve. We're very proud of him, and very relieved that he's made the transition to 'big school' so smoothly and with such obvious enjoyment.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Thrills, spills, and camping
Yesterday, the hooligans and I pootled down to Monmouth with our bikes and cycled along the Peregrine Path which follows the River Wye from Monmouth to Symonds Yat.
The weather was good, and it was a great ride, with wonderful scenery. We picnicked on the way, grabbed an ice cream in Symonds Yat, and turned around for the return journey.
Boy 2 insisted on weaving at speed on the gravel track, despite my repeated warnings that at some point he was going to come a cropper, and it would hurt. As with much of Boy 2's life, he learnt the hard way, and over the handlebars he went in spectacular fashion. He was bloody lucky, not that he thought it at the time. I whipped out the first aid kit (pretty much goes everywhere with us with our deathwish offspring) and started cleaning him up. Gashed chin, cut hands, not too bad.
He proceeded to howl the Wye Valley down, screaming for his Mum, hospital, and bizarrely, a lifeboat. My efforts to calm him down were largely unsuccessful, leading to Boy 1 to declare. 'I'm off, I'll meet you at the next corner, you two look mental, and I don't want people, to think we're related.' Off he went shaking his head and I'm sure I heard him mutter 'Lifeboat? Nutter'
Cheers.
The next two weekends will be tent based and we have finally upgraded our faithful four man job, too a rather natty new one with three sleeping compartments. Oh, the luxury, and it was end of line and cost very little.
This weekend with friends for a chums birthday party in mid Wales, and next weekend with another group of friends at the Green Man Festival. I'm very much looking forward to both. Let's hope for some decent weather.
The weather was good, and it was a great ride, with wonderful scenery. We picnicked on the way, grabbed an ice cream in Symonds Yat, and turned around for the return journey.
Boy 2 insisted on weaving at speed on the gravel track, despite my repeated warnings that at some point he was going to come a cropper, and it would hurt. As with much of Boy 2's life, he learnt the hard way, and over the handlebars he went in spectacular fashion. He was bloody lucky, not that he thought it at the time. I whipped out the first aid kit (pretty much goes everywhere with us with our deathwish offspring) and started cleaning him up. Gashed chin, cut hands, not too bad.
He proceeded to howl the Wye Valley down, screaming for his Mum, hospital, and bizarrely, a lifeboat. My efforts to calm him down were largely unsuccessful, leading to Boy 1 to declare. 'I'm off, I'll meet you at the next corner, you two look mental, and I don't want people, to think we're related.' Off he went shaking his head and I'm sure I heard him mutter 'Lifeboat? Nutter'
Cheers.
The next two weekends will be tent based and we have finally upgraded our faithful four man job, too a rather natty new one with three sleeping compartments. Oh, the luxury, and it was end of line and cost very little.
This weekend with friends for a chums birthday party in mid Wales, and next weekend with another group of friends at the Green Man Festival. I'm very much looking forward to both. Let's hope for some decent weather.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Yay! Talktalk, finally sorted
After six months of phone calls, the email sent below finally solicited a response which resolved the situation.
But they told me off for swearing.
But they told me off for swearing.
An incident was created in RightNow:
Subject: Billing
Contact Data:
First name: Gumpher
Last name
Email: @hotmail.co.uk
Mobile Phone:
Home Phone:
Office Phone:
Incident Data:
Question:
Customer: Gumpher at 2010-08-01 22:58:26
I cannot access my account, as despite phoning you every month for the past
six months, you have consistently been unable to recognise that my email
address is @hotmail.co.uk, not 1@hotmail.co.uk.
Each time I have phoned, the person on the end of the call has assured me
that the problem has been rectified, yet each time it has not.
I cannot access my bills. Until I see a bank statement, I do not know how
much you are charging me.
This situation has now gone beyond annoying, and descended into customer
service of such shite proportions that it is simply farcical.
Are you capable of getting this right? What do I have to do to make you
get it right? Why did some fool at your end change my email address? It's
been the same for years. @hotmail.co.uk, NOT fucking
1@hotmail.co.uk.
I await your reply, but suspect that there are chimps in zoos who could
help me more.
Go on, give it a whirl, otherwise I'm going to BT,and you can stick your
contract up your arse, as a contract is a two way thing.
Incident ID: 5824267
Incident reference: 100801-001615
Incident Subject: Billing
Monday, August 02, 2010
Back again
We swam in the surf on near empty beaches.
We caught lots of crabs.
We ate grilled sardines and fried eels.
We had ice cream every day.
We drank near frozen Sagres and cheap cold red wine.
We all read.
We did an awful lot of not a lot at all.
We all rather enjoyed it.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
I'm out of here
We're off to take life at a slower pace.Sadly, just for a week.
This is about as busy as it gets.
Joy.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Why bother?
So a few terror suspects get slapped about whilst British intelligence services are present.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/politics/10521326.stm
Big fucking deal.
They're not trying to learn how to walk again with no legs, or trying to put their lives back together simply because they happened to be on a random London bus or tube carriage.
Do fuck off.
Really.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/politics/10521326.stm
Big fucking deal.
They're not trying to learn how to walk again with no legs, or trying to put their lives back together simply because they happened to be on a random London bus or tube carriage.
Do fuck off.
Really.
Monday, July 05, 2010
The wisdom of HMR &C part 2
So, I paid the fine, as by only allowing me twenty fours hours from receipt of notification, I had little choice.
Opened the post this morning, another HMR&C envelope, oh joy.
Enclosed was a cheque. A refund on the fine. For £3.18. If the Nick and Dave show want a few pointers on how to make departmental savings I'd be only too happy to assist.
Opened the post this morning, another HMR&C envelope, oh joy.
Enclosed was a cheque. A refund on the fine. For £3.18. If the Nick and Dave show want a few pointers on how to make departmental savings I'd be only too happy to assist.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
The fuckwit spaniel
Is feeling very sorry for herself.
She was charging around a friend's garden (Nicki Nipples, so called due to her perfect, expensive fake breasts) with her spaniel chum Wilburt ( what you call a dog when you have expensive, fake breasts) when she ripped a claw out.
Blood everywhere, and a swift trip to the vets to remove the rest of it. Boy one was at NN's playing with her lad after school ,and she sent him back with an envelope with the claw, which she'd found, a dog treat, and one pound for the claw fairy !
Lead only walks for ten days, oh joy.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Round the Island Race
Velsheda appearing at dawn
The fleetWhat a fantastic weekend.
Headed off to Port Solent on Thursday to pick up our boat, a Jenneau 37. By the time we'd shopped, sorted out and sat down to eat surrounded by the other seventy Sunsail charters it was around ten. I knew six of the eight crew, as it was a 'village' boat, a tradition which goes back a while and we were racing against another crew from the village who had hired the same type of boat. Of the eight crew I knew six, and of the other two, one was very good company, and the other a bit of a cock.
Suitably hungover, the next day we sailed to Cowes and had a bit of a practice. Not much wind and bloody hot, shorts and tee shirt stuff. My chum who had organized the trip had pulled a blinder, and our berth was bang outside the Cowes Yacht Haven, with easy access to the showers and shitters. ( Taking a dump on an eight berth boat after a chilli the night before is not thought to be socially acceptable).
In the evening, some went to watch the footie on the big screen in the marina, whilst not being English or particularly enjoying football, I was happy to chew the fat and cook my mean Thai yellow (chilli, Thai curry, not nice to shit onboard, see our mistake?)
We then had to get up at half past fucking three in the morning to make our start time of 0520. The starts are staggered at ten minute intervals according to class, and I was not that fussed as we would be able to see the Maxiyachts going off first from our holding area. We were bumbling around, supping a last coffee before thinking about our start when the most beautiful sight appeared through the soft orange of the dawn. The J class Velsheda at full tilt. What a vision. Apologies for geekiness, but this alone made my weekend, and my piss poor photography doesn't do her justice.
In all we took around nine and a half hours to complete the race and finished a shameful fifth from bottom in our class, losing to the other village boat by fourteen minutes in the process. But what a sail, gusting up to twenty three knots, full wets on all day, but with glorious sunshine. Everywhere you looked were sails.
We berthed up and seriously beered, and then met our victorious chums in a very good prebooked ( imagine the crowds, Phil's organization was superb) Italian restaurant, followed by a great little pub, and then a bad trip down a bottle of gin back at the boat.
The trip back to Port Solent after a dodgy full English was a quiet one.
A cracking long weekend, and I'm signed up for next year.
Quickie
Must get a post with pics up about the island race, had a wonderful time but bloody knackered after getting up at 0330 to get to the start line.
Taking another skive tomorrow, a mate has just offered me a corporate freebie to the one day international in Cardiff. Corporate tickets in sport are a bad thing...........................................
Until you get offered them!.
Note to self, stop doing fun stuff and get on with some work you bloody slacker.
Taking another skive tomorrow, a mate has just offered me a corporate freebie to the one day international in Cardiff. Corporate tickets in sport are a bad thing...........................................
Until you get offered them!.
Note to self, stop doing fun stuff and get on with some work you bloody slacker.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Bits and pieces
We went to a Help for Heroes event on Sunday and all had an excellent time.
There was an airshow with Tornadoes, a Sea King, a Spifire, brilliant.
The Army had loads of tanks and assorted vehicles which they were quite happy for us to clamber in and out of, and even showed the boys how to operate some of electronic gizmos.
The police had a great display of vehicles and put on a cracking fake armed robbery with the dog team and firearms officers.
It was a great day out, and hopefully raised a lot of money. Everyone gave their time for free with one glaring exception who charged the organisers for the use of the disused airfield where it was held.
The Ministry of Defence. Simply staggering.
As the oil leak rumbles on we see American politicians fight to be a the front of the queue to hammer BP. If, as it would appear, that BP are culpable, then they must be held to account and pay. The same politicians would be mindful to remember a company called Union Carbide and what happened, and continues to happen in Bhopal twenty six years after the event. I hope BP do not follow Union Carbide's example in dealing with coorporate disaster.
Right, I'm off to pack my bestest sailing gear in preparation to race around the Isle of Wight. Nearly 1800 entries, should be quite a spectacle. I'm very much looking forward to seeing the J class yacht 'Velsheda'' racing, which is quite possibly the most beautiful object ever designed and built by man.
There was an airshow with Tornadoes, a Sea King, a Spifire, brilliant.
The Army had loads of tanks and assorted vehicles which they were quite happy for us to clamber in and out of, and even showed the boys how to operate some of electronic gizmos.
The police had a great display of vehicles and put on a cracking fake armed robbery with the dog team and firearms officers.
It was a great day out, and hopefully raised a lot of money. Everyone gave their time for free with one glaring exception who charged the organisers for the use of the disused airfield where it was held.
The Ministry of Defence. Simply staggering.
As the oil leak rumbles on we see American politicians fight to be a the front of the queue to hammer BP. If, as it would appear, that BP are culpable, then they must be held to account and pay. The same politicians would be mindful to remember a company called Union Carbide and what happened, and continues to happen in Bhopal twenty six years after the event. I hope BP do not follow Union Carbide's example in dealing with coorporate disaster.
Right, I'm off to pack my bestest sailing gear in preparation to race around the Isle of Wight. Nearly 1800 entries, should be quite a spectacle. I'm very much looking forward to seeing the J class yacht 'Velsheda'' racing, which is quite possibly the most beautiful object ever designed and built by man.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
The wisdom of HMR & C
Today I received a letter from HMR &C stating that my corporation tax return for, wait for it 2006, yes 2006, had been filed late and that there was a penalty 0f £204.26 to pay.
I was fairly sure that this was bollocks, as I am anal regarding my tax affairs, so I rang them to chew the fat.
Despite my protests, they insisted it was payable and guess how long they gave me to pay before taking legal action?
Twenty four hours.
After waiting four years to notify me, they want to be paid within twenty four hours of receiving notification. I can't even clarify it with my accountant in that timeframe.
There is no point in even attempting to convince the droid at the other end of the phone line that in the real world (the one outside of the civil fucking service) this would not be considered in any way reasonable.
Cocksucking fuckwombles the lot of them.
I was fairly sure that this was bollocks, as I am anal regarding my tax affairs, so I rang them to chew the fat.
Despite my protests, they insisted it was payable and guess how long they gave me to pay before taking legal action?
Twenty four hours.
After waiting four years to notify me, they want to be paid within twenty four hours of receiving notification. I can't even clarify it with my accountant in that timeframe.
There is no point in even attempting to convince the droid at the other end of the phone line that in the real world (the one outside of the civil fucking service) this would not be considered in any way reasonable.
Cocksucking fuckwombles the lot of them.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The life and times of Boy 2
Those who have been following my turgid output over the last few years may recall the occasional mention of the behavior of Boy 2, sometimes written in a jocular fashion, sometimes not.
This may go on for some time, so give up now if you like, I'm sort of using it as a bit of a release.
Boy 2 has always been a bit different. His development as an infant was very quick. He crawled, walked, spoke and read at very early stages, and we always had to have eyes in the back of our head, as he was constantly on the go.
He went to a private nursery for one day a week, mainly to give A a breather, and to the village toddler group. From there he went to the village playgroup, and to prepare him for the structure of school, a Montessori school. The two years he had there were excellent, but the principal made us fully aware that we could have problems when he entered mainstream school, and prepared an extensive report for the school.
Without being consciously aware of what we were doing, we had coping strategies in place at home for his behavior. We never thought of them as such, just parents putting in controls to cope with a boy with extraordinarily high energy levels.
When he started school, he was a year ahead of the expected levels, now he is coming to the end of year two, he is now average or below.
It was at the end of the first year that the school first made us aware of their concerns. we had every confidence in the headteacher and have always from day one worked closely with the school. She is no longer there, and we are increasingly losing faith in the abilities of the new head.
He was being hugely disruptive in class, and had a problem in controlling his movement, and also rejected authority. He also had little concern for being disciplined in any way.
I can feel the 'he's a naughty little shit' thoughts coming here. 'Why don't you get your child to behave?' He has an elder brother who has been brought up within the same family environment. Boy 1 is a house captain and a school prefect, and is hugely respected by both the teaching staff and his peer group.
The only response seemed to be to remove him from the class. We understood why they had to do this. There was often no classroom assistant, and there was after all, a whole class of children to be taught, and the teacher's attention could not be solely taken by Boy2. He would often be sent to Boy1's class, who would be mortified by yet another appearance from his 'naughty' brother. We have asked time and time again for him not to be sent Boy1's class if he is removed, but two years on, they did it again on Monday.
At the end of the first year, we agreed for the school to ask for assistance from the behaviour support team (BST), and for him to be assessed by an educational psychologist. The head teacher is the school SEN coordinator, and despite sixteen years teaching experience, did not know what to do next.
The initial reports shocked us. They spoke of 'stress related behavioural patterns', a 'lack of self esteem', 'unable to regulate his feelings or emotions', 'difficulty in engaging'. I have to admit that as we read and re read them we both become very emotional, was this really what was going on inside our little boys head?
These sessions have been ongoing since last year, and there have been mixed results. The BST and ed psyc have put forward a number of strategies, some which have been implemented, some not, and indeed the validity of some questioned by the head teacher. He has developed a good relationship with one particular teacher from the BST who regularly observes him, and her reports make interesting reading, as she his built a relationship of trust with him.
Early in last term, one unpleasant incident ended up having the best results. We had a telephone call from the head, she had the chair of the governors with her. They were going to act on complaints they had received from seven parents regarding our son's behaviour in class. He would be removed from the classroom for most of the morning and taught on a one to one basis, He would be back in the classroom for the remainder of the day.
We were very unhappy with this course of action being taken without our consultation. Bear in mind for the past eighteen months I have effectively taken Friday afternoons off for the past eighteen months to have weekly review meetings with the head and his teacher. We had always been very supportive as we were all working to the same end, and thought we should have been consulted. The other unsavoury thought was that we would know these people, it's only a small village school. This whole episode has taken us through a whole gamut of emotions, and rightly or wrongly, anger was the one present at this time.
So, in consultation with BST, an individual timetable was prepared.More paperwork, by this stage he had already been within a CAF, and moved onto a PSP. It all worked like a dream. At this time we were fortunate to have a fully qualified teacher as a classroom assistant, and she took him for the one to one. He had frequent 'brain breaks' both inside and out, and had various 'fiddle objects'. He was also allowed to work standing up, which seems to agree with him. The improvement in his behaviour was amazing, and he was much happier at school.
At the same time we were on a waiting list to see a clinical psychologist, at the recommendation of the educational psychologist . The education department do not communicate with the health department in these circumstances, and the onus is on you as a parent to drive it forward.
So, the start of this term. The school has lost funding for the full time classroom assistant, and to our frustration (but much as we feared) he has regressed. His class had SATs two weeks ago. Could someone please explain to me why on earth we need to test seven year old children, as I really have no fucking clue. He had got himself into a bit of a state about the tests and was removed from the class on the first morning. So, a seven year old child, who in their words, not mine, has a problem with anxiety and self esteem is left on his own in a corridor to complete an examination.
I was livid. Why had they not requested support from the BST when they had always made it clear it was available? My wife offered to monitor him in school during the SATS, but luckily the BST came up trumps and he completed the week.
We finally saw a clinical psychologist this week. Fortunately we had taken all of the correspondence and reports from the past few years, as no one had had the foresight to send them to her. She could offer us little advice on coping at home as she told us that we had already implemented the coping strategies for the home that they would suggest. We just thought it was a common sense approach to dealing with a very energetic child, structure. Basically, what is going to happen is that the education professionals and health professionals are going to start to speak to other, and we are going to see some progress with knowing more about what goes on in his mind and how best to help him.
Which is a relief. All too frequently we have seen our loving, tactile and generous little boy reduced to a bundle of frustrated misery.
He is a wonderful athlete, with fantastic hand/eye/ball coordination, but has been excluded from after school rugby, football and tennis clubs, despite excelling in the out of school clubs he attends.
It's been very hard for us to watch him go through this, and of course there have been frequent occasions when we have questioned ourselves.
I love him more than words can describe, and I'm also very proud of him.
This may go on for some time, so give up now if you like, I'm sort of using it as a bit of a release.
Boy 2 has always been a bit different. His development as an infant was very quick. He crawled, walked, spoke and read at very early stages, and we always had to have eyes in the back of our head, as he was constantly on the go.
He went to a private nursery for one day a week, mainly to give A a breather, and to the village toddler group. From there he went to the village playgroup, and to prepare him for the structure of school, a Montessori school. The two years he had there were excellent, but the principal made us fully aware that we could have problems when he entered mainstream school, and prepared an extensive report for the school.
Without being consciously aware of what we were doing, we had coping strategies in place at home for his behavior. We never thought of them as such, just parents putting in controls to cope with a boy with extraordinarily high energy levels.
When he started school, he was a year ahead of the expected levels, now he is coming to the end of year two, he is now average or below.
It was at the end of the first year that the school first made us aware of their concerns. we had every confidence in the headteacher and have always from day one worked closely with the school. She is no longer there, and we are increasingly losing faith in the abilities of the new head.
He was being hugely disruptive in class, and had a problem in controlling his movement, and also rejected authority. He also had little concern for being disciplined in any way.
I can feel the 'he's a naughty little shit' thoughts coming here. 'Why don't you get your child to behave?' He has an elder brother who has been brought up within the same family environment. Boy 1 is a house captain and a school prefect, and is hugely respected by both the teaching staff and his peer group.
The only response seemed to be to remove him from the class. We understood why they had to do this. There was often no classroom assistant, and there was after all, a whole class of children to be taught, and the teacher's attention could not be solely taken by Boy2. He would often be sent to Boy1's class, who would be mortified by yet another appearance from his 'naughty' brother. We have asked time and time again for him not to be sent Boy1's class if he is removed, but two years on, they did it again on Monday.
At the end of the first year, we agreed for the school to ask for assistance from the behaviour support team (BST), and for him to be assessed by an educational psychologist. The head teacher is the school SEN coordinator, and despite sixteen years teaching experience, did not know what to do next.
The initial reports shocked us. They spoke of 'stress related behavioural patterns', a 'lack of self esteem', 'unable to regulate his feelings or emotions', 'difficulty in engaging'. I have to admit that as we read and re read them we both become very emotional, was this really what was going on inside our little boys head?
These sessions have been ongoing since last year, and there have been mixed results. The BST and ed psyc have put forward a number of strategies, some which have been implemented, some not, and indeed the validity of some questioned by the head teacher. He has developed a good relationship with one particular teacher from the BST who regularly observes him, and her reports make interesting reading, as she his built a relationship of trust with him.
Early in last term, one unpleasant incident ended up having the best results. We had a telephone call from the head, she had the chair of the governors with her. They were going to act on complaints they had received from seven parents regarding our son's behaviour in class. He would be removed from the classroom for most of the morning and taught on a one to one basis, He would be back in the classroom for the remainder of the day.
We were very unhappy with this course of action being taken without our consultation. Bear in mind for the past eighteen months I have effectively taken Friday afternoons off for the past eighteen months to have weekly review meetings with the head and his teacher. We had always been very supportive as we were all working to the same end, and thought we should have been consulted. The other unsavoury thought was that we would know these people, it's only a small village school. This whole episode has taken us through a whole gamut of emotions, and rightly or wrongly, anger was the one present at this time.
So, in consultation with BST, an individual timetable was prepared.More paperwork, by this stage he had already been within a CAF, and moved onto a PSP. It all worked like a dream. At this time we were fortunate to have a fully qualified teacher as a classroom assistant, and she took him for the one to one. He had frequent 'brain breaks' both inside and out, and had various 'fiddle objects'. He was also allowed to work standing up, which seems to agree with him. The improvement in his behaviour was amazing, and he was much happier at school.
At the same time we were on a waiting list to see a clinical psychologist, at the recommendation of the educational psychologist . The education department do not communicate with the health department in these circumstances, and the onus is on you as a parent to drive it forward.
So, the start of this term. The school has lost funding for the full time classroom assistant, and to our frustration (but much as we feared) he has regressed. His class had SATs two weeks ago. Could someone please explain to me why on earth we need to test seven year old children, as I really have no fucking clue. He had got himself into a bit of a state about the tests and was removed from the class on the first morning. So, a seven year old child, who in their words, not mine, has a problem with anxiety and self esteem is left on his own in a corridor to complete an examination.
I was livid. Why had they not requested support from the BST when they had always made it clear it was available? My wife offered to monitor him in school during the SATS, but luckily the BST came up trumps and he completed the week.
We finally saw a clinical psychologist this week. Fortunately we had taken all of the correspondence and reports from the past few years, as no one had had the foresight to send them to her. She could offer us little advice on coping at home as she told us that we had already implemented the coping strategies for the home that they would suggest. We just thought it was a common sense approach to dealing with a very energetic child, structure. Basically, what is going to happen is that the education professionals and health professionals are going to start to speak to other, and we are going to see some progress with knowing more about what goes on in his mind and how best to help him.
Which is a relief. All too frequently we have seen our loving, tactile and generous little boy reduced to a bundle of frustrated misery.
He is a wonderful athlete, with fantastic hand/eye/ball coordination, but has been excluded from after school rugby, football and tennis clubs, despite excelling in the out of school clubs he attends.
It's been very hard for us to watch him go through this, and of course there have been frequent occasions when we have questioned ourselves.
I love him more than words can describe, and I'm also very proud of him.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Ranty stuff
Boy oh boy oh boy.
Arseholes who use spray deodorant in the tiny squash club changing rooms.
There is no such thing as 'The Lynx factor', get some roll on.
When I come into the changing rooms gagging for oxygen, and then I get a deep bite of cfc in the lungs and the nose I simply want to kill you.
Talk talk, it's been said before, but once again, you are so cunty.
Triton showers. Don't sell products that don't work, and then quote a nine day response time to a guarantee issue.
But most of all, my wife's cousin's husband. A bit of a long trail, I know, but you cunt. You are a fat sweaty twat, and your wife is wonderful, as are your kids.
But still, you've fucked some young little slapper from your office.
Sometimes, I lose my faith in human nature.
I am really angry about this, and quite frankly, I just want to twat him, which is not my general outlook.
Seriously, this guy is fat, sweaty and has a face like a pushed in bag of shit.
His wife is not only a little cutie, but is also a wonderful person.
Apparently, it was an internet thing.
Arseholes who use spray deodorant in the tiny squash club changing rooms.
There is no such thing as 'The Lynx factor', get some roll on.
When I come into the changing rooms gagging for oxygen, and then I get a deep bite of cfc in the lungs and the nose I simply want to kill you.
Talk talk, it's been said before, but once again, you are so cunty.
Triton showers. Don't sell products that don't work, and then quote a nine day response time to a guarantee issue.
But most of all, my wife's cousin's husband. A bit of a long trail, I know, but you cunt. You are a fat sweaty twat, and your wife is wonderful, as are your kids.
But still, you've fucked some young little slapper from your office.
Sometimes, I lose my faith in human nature.
I am really angry about this, and quite frankly, I just want to twat him, which is not my general outlook.
Seriously, this guy is fat, sweaty and has a face like a pushed in bag of shit.
His wife is not only a little cutie, but is also a wonderful person.
Apparently, it was an internet thing.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Bits of blurb
I must get around to putting up the Cornwall pictures, we all had a wonderful time.
I'm going to indulge in some shameless proud Dad stuff. The boys had their annual rugby presentation award dinner the other week. It's a great night, there's over two hundred kids from the under 7's to the under 17's all spruced up in their club ties, and we always have a couple of top players to present the awards, this year Nicky Robinson, Gloucester and Wales and Adam Eustace,Gloucester.
Both boys won 'Most promising player' in their respective age categories, and had their picture taken with Nicky and Adam. Proud doesn't even come close to describing how I felt.
Not quite sure what I make of the Dave and Nick double act, but I'm prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt, and hope that they can make a go of it. I'm not keen on Osbourne's appointment as Chancellor, oily little tick. Liam Fox at defence doesn't inspire confidence. Apparently he once porked Natalie Imbruglia, so not is he only a twat, but a particularly jammy twat. If I'd known her standards were so low, I would have had a go myself!
I'm going to indulge in some shameless proud Dad stuff. The boys had their annual rugby presentation award dinner the other week. It's a great night, there's over two hundred kids from the under 7's to the under 17's all spruced up in their club ties, and we always have a couple of top players to present the awards, this year Nicky Robinson, Gloucester and Wales and Adam Eustace,Gloucester.
Both boys won 'Most promising player' in their respective age categories, and had their picture taken with Nicky and Adam. Proud doesn't even come close to describing how I felt.
Not quite sure what I make of the Dave and Nick double act, but I'm prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt, and hope that they can make a go of it. I'm not keen on Osbourne's appointment as Chancellor, oily little tick. Liam Fox at defence doesn't inspire confidence. Apparently he once porked Natalie Imbruglia, so not is he only a twat, but a particularly jammy twat. If I'd known her standards were so low, I would have had a go myself!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sanity break
We're off again, this time to Cornwall, to the little town that was always my family's home base, despite all of our travelling.My Mum sold the house about eight years ago, and this will be our first trip since. I'm very much looking forward to going back there with my boys. C can't remember it, and J's never been. We've got a little two up two down cottage in the town centre. Plenty of walking, plenty of rock pooling, and plenty of crabbing.
The boys' school is closed on Friday due to a teacher training day, so we'll clear off early in the morning.
I'm glad to be buggering off again. Work is difficult. I'm involved in a legal dispute with a contractor over unpaid fees, a lot of unpaid fees, and I'm finding it hard to focus on anything else.
A bit of sea air will help clear the mind.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Profile changes
Necessary as I am no longer 41.
42 today.
Oh well, at least it's a beautiful day.
My Mum's coming up tonight for a few days, and we'll all have dinner together, which I shall be cooking. I trust an Italian fish stew to no-one but me.
It will be great to see Mum, although she doesn't live far away, a lot of her time recently has been taken up looking after my Grandfather, who is now very elderly, and has had a spell of bad health.
She's going to look after the hooligans tomorrow night, and we're going out to dinner with a few friends.
It's very quiet at Gumpher Towers as boy 1 is at an outward bound centre with school for a few days. As we were packing his stuff the other night, he told me not to worry about shampoo and shower gel, as he didn't bother showering when they went last year. Stinky little sod.
So the plan for the day is to fire through a bit of work and get home. It's too bloody nice to be stuck inside an office, birthday or not
42 today.
Oh well, at least it's a beautiful day.
My Mum's coming up tonight for a few days, and we'll all have dinner together, which I shall be cooking. I trust an Italian fish stew to no-one but me.
It will be great to see Mum, although she doesn't live far away, a lot of her time recently has been taken up looking after my Grandfather, who is now very elderly, and has had a spell of bad health.
She's going to look after the hooligans tomorrow night, and we're going out to dinner with a few friends.
It's very quiet at Gumpher Towers as boy 1 is at an outward bound centre with school for a few days. As we were packing his stuff the other night, he told me not to worry about shampoo and shower gel, as he didn't bother showering when they went last year. Stinky little sod.
So the plan for the day is to fire through a bit of work and get home. It's too bloody nice to be stuck inside an office, birthday or not
Monday, April 19, 2010
Tagged
I have been tagged by http://www.blogger.com/profile/08481107164497582398 DJ Aspey to complete the following, and I think it is a tad tricky, to tell six truths and one lie about yourself.
I'll give it a whirl.
1. I have travelled to thirty one countries,and have lived on three different continents. Only eight of these countries are in Europe.
2. At the age of sixteen, I was the Welsh trampolining champion, and came third in the national championships.
3. I can kick a ball with both feet. When playing cricket, I bat right handed and bowl left handed. I can play racquet sports with both hands, but if you ask me to throw a ball right handed, I will throw like a girl. I write left handed, and cannot even grasp a pen in my right hand.
4. I have a 2:1 in Economics and Political Studies.
5. I learned to windsurf at an early age. It's like riding a bike. Whenever we go on holiday and I hire one, my boys are amazed that Dad can actually do that.
6. My second toe is longer than my big toe, on both feet. It looks very odd in flip flops.
7. My father died when I was fourteen months old.
I'll give it a whirl.
1. I have travelled to thirty one countries,and have lived on three different continents. Only eight of these countries are in Europe.
2. At the age of sixteen, I was the Welsh trampolining champion, and came third in the national championships.
3. I can kick a ball with both feet. When playing cricket, I bat right handed and bowl left handed. I can play racquet sports with both hands, but if you ask me to throw a ball right handed, I will throw like a girl. I write left handed, and cannot even grasp a pen in my right hand.
4. I have a 2:1 in Economics and Political Studies.
5. I learned to windsurf at an early age. It's like riding a bike. Whenever we go on holiday and I hire one, my boys are amazed that Dad can actually do that.
6. My second toe is longer than my big toe, on both feet. It looks very odd in flip flops.
7. My father died when I was fourteen months old.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Sodding dog
My wife is out with the boys as it's the last day of the school jollydays, so the mutt below is in the office with me.
I'm having a mellow day, struggling through the boredom of doing some accounting with a bit of Mozart on in the background ( I can be civilised, it's not all rugby and beer).
I popped out for a crafty fag, and came back to three piles of dog sick - on my light grey carpets.
One swift trip to Tesco for some cleaning products and ten minutes of halting the gag reflex and my work is done.
Fluffy shit for brains is curled up fast asleep on her bed, oblivious to my suffering.
I'm having a mellow day, struggling through the boredom of doing some accounting with a bit of Mozart on in the background ( I can be civilised, it's not all rugby and beer).
I popped out for a crafty fag, and came back to three piles of dog sick - on my light grey carpets.
One swift trip to Tesco for some cleaning products and ten minutes of halting the gag reflex and my work is done.
Fluffy shit for brains is curled up fast asleep on her bed, oblivious to my suffering.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Easter hols
We've just had two cracking weekends in different parts of Wales.
The first was with friends who have a smallholding halfway up a mountain just outside of Builth. We had the full Easter experience complete with new bunnies and chicks (which they breed) and bottle feeding their two pet lambs which are going to be used as lawnmowers in their woodland.
It's always a real novelty going for a weekend, helping with all of the animals and the oddjobs which this time were reinforcing one of the road bridges over the stream, and lugging a hen house from the woods down to the yard. I can't imagine doing all of that every day, I'm sure the novelty would wear off.
The weekend just gone, I took Friday and yesterday off and we went to stay in the Pembrokeshire coastal national park with friends and their two boys who are the same age as our two hooligans. I love Pembroke, it's like Cornwall, but without the crowds of braying hoorays. We lucked in with the weather, and spent Saturday on Whitesands bay. The kids all togged up in their wetsuits, surfing and rock-pooling, it was a wonderful day. The naughty spaniel also experienced the delights of a big beach and the sea for the first time and had a rollicking doggy time.
On Sunday, we had a big hike around Dinas Head, and then headed off for lunch at a pub called The Sloop in a little cove at Porthgain. After meandering back, we went crabbing and had a barbie at the little beach at the foot of the valley where we were staying. A perfect day for A's 39th birthday.
Sometimes, the simple things in life are the best. Good company, plenty of fresh air and sunshine, and the boys charging about in the open air. Happy days.
The first was with friends who have a smallholding halfway up a mountain just outside of Builth. We had the full Easter experience complete with new bunnies and chicks (which they breed) and bottle feeding their two pet lambs which are going to be used as lawnmowers in their woodland.
It's always a real novelty going for a weekend, helping with all of the animals and the oddjobs which this time were reinforcing one of the road bridges over the stream, and lugging a hen house from the woods down to the yard. I can't imagine doing all of that every day, I'm sure the novelty would wear off.
The weekend just gone, I took Friday and yesterday off and we went to stay in the Pembrokeshire coastal national park with friends and their two boys who are the same age as our two hooligans. I love Pembroke, it's like Cornwall, but without the crowds of braying hoorays. We lucked in with the weather, and spent Saturday on Whitesands bay. The kids all togged up in their wetsuits, surfing and rock-pooling, it was a wonderful day. The naughty spaniel also experienced the delights of a big beach and the sea for the first time and had a rollicking doggy time.
On Sunday, we had a big hike around Dinas Head, and then headed off for lunch at a pub called The Sloop in a little cove at Porthgain. After meandering back, we went crabbing and had a barbie at the little beach at the foot of the valley where we were staying. A perfect day for A's 39th birthday.
Sometimes, the simple things in life are the best. Good company, plenty of fresh air and sunshine, and the boys charging about in the open air. Happy days.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Morons on the road
I had a fun experience today. It also blew a few urban myths away. When you think that you might die, your life does not flash before your eyes, nor do you shit yourself.
I was on a straight two lane road in my van, pootling along at fifty when the two cars ahead of me hit the brakes, as the car in front of them had just indicated for a right turning about thirty feet in front of them. I also hit the brakes and the van slammed sideways across the road and just carried on at that angle for about sixty feet ( I checked the skid marks) . Going sideways at fifty ish in a high top three and a half ton long wheelbased van is not an experience I want to repeat in a hurry especially as I was convinced it was going to flip over.
Eventually, I hit the rather high kerb, the van jumped into the air and rather luckily buried itself into the soft verge, rather than carrying on into the ditch. So, there I was, at forty five degrees with the van across the lane, unable to reverse out as I was buried so deep, with traffic whizzing past. Thankfully, another van stopped, he had a tow rope, and dragged me out.
It fair rattled me.
Later, I saw Rick Wakeman in a petrol station on the A14. He drives a Porsche, looks rather vague and is freakishly tall.
I was on a straight two lane road in my van, pootling along at fifty when the two cars ahead of me hit the brakes, as the car in front of them had just indicated for a right turning about thirty feet in front of them. I also hit the brakes and the van slammed sideways across the road and just carried on at that angle for about sixty feet ( I checked the skid marks) . Going sideways at fifty ish in a high top three and a half ton long wheelbased van is not an experience I want to repeat in a hurry especially as I was convinced it was going to flip over.
Eventually, I hit the rather high kerb, the van jumped into the air and rather luckily buried itself into the soft verge, rather than carrying on into the ditch. So, there I was, at forty five degrees with the van across the lane, unable to reverse out as I was buried so deep, with traffic whizzing past. Thankfully, another van stopped, he had a tow rope, and dragged me out.
It fair rattled me.
Later, I saw Rick Wakeman in a petrol station on the A14. He drives a Porsche, looks rather vague and is freakishly tall.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Lurgified
We are now officially lurgified at Gumpher towers. A is still on antibiotics, and C has a gland problem which has knocked him for six. He's a pretty solid chap on usual form, but he's zonked out. Pale, not eating, and in a fair bit of discomfort.
He fell asleep as I was reading to him last night, and I didn't want to disturb him, so he and I shared our bed last night, with A in his. Not sure it was a good choice on my part, he was very restless all night, up and down for water and medicine.
On Sunday, he spewed his on body weight- inside my car. I spent an hour cleaning it, and had another go this morning, but the stench is unbearable. We're away for the bank holiday, and I'm going to have to get it valeted beforehand, otherwise we'll be driving everywhere with the windows open.
I am really not in the mood for work today, hence the blogging. Generally I enjoy what I do, but like everyone I suppose, you have periods of lacking motivation and interest. Today is one of those days, it's going to be an effort.
He fell asleep as I was reading to him last night, and I didn't want to disturb him, so he and I shared our bed last night, with A in his. Not sure it was a good choice on my part, he was very restless all night, up and down for water and medicine.
On Sunday, he spewed his on body weight- inside my car. I spent an hour cleaning it, and had another go this morning, but the stench is unbearable. We're away for the bank holiday, and I'm going to have to get it valeted beforehand, otherwise we'll be driving everywhere with the windows open.
I am really not in the mood for work today, hence the blogging. Generally I enjoy what I do, but like everyone I suppose, you have periods of lacking motivation and interest. Today is one of those days, it's going to be an effort.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The written word
I read a lot, always have. As well as my enjoyment of the content of a book, I like books themselves, and I am always a tad suspicious when I go into a house and there's not a book in sight.
I read a great deal from an early age. We didn't have a television, not because my parents couldn't afford it, they simply believed that there were better ways to occupy your time. I think we first got a small portable when I was seventeen, and that was only because it was won in a raffle.
I've always thought that so much more can be gained from a book than any other form of stimulation. Sometimes, if I subsequently see a television adaptation or a film of something I have previously read I find myself disappointed with the representation of character, as it inevitably differs from the picture that I have drawn for myself from the book.
I don't have any one particular genre that I'm drawn to, my taste is much like my taste in music, very eclectic.
My boys struggle to understand how 'simple' my childhood was without hundreds of television channels, the internet and the Wii, but fortunately, they both have my passion for books. C is like me, he reads a huge range of subjects, and reads very quickly. Although they both read to themselves, I still read to them most evenings before bedtime. C is ten, and our reading over the past couple of years has changed. Rather than individual stories, we have chosen together various books which take us weeks to complete together. Or months, in the case of The Chronicles of Narnia. Tom Sawyer provoked the most discussion, simply because of the language, and because he picked up on the differences between being white and black during the period it depicts. I doubt we would have had that discussion had we not been reading that particular book together. We're reading The Hobbit at the moment, and I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed it.
Reading with J is still very much short booked based as he's seven. His current favorites are Greek myths, although I fear we will soon have exhausted the library's supply.
We go to our local library most weeks. Although we've got one wall which is entirely bookshelves, and I occasionally dip into an old favorite, most of my new reads come from the library, although I do have the odd foray into second hand shops. J loves the library. Because he goes through phases of what he wants to read, he sees it as a challenge to search out something the same that he hasn't already had. I think he's resigned himself to the fact that he'll never stumble across an unread Dr.Seuss, he still looks for their distinctive spines.
Our local library in a small town is very quiet. We went to the large library in Worcester a few weeks ago and it was fucking bedlam. They'd introduced these new scanning devices in place of actual librarians, and the poor librarians left were constantly helping at the scanners as the damn things didn't actually do what they were designed for, and that was to scan books.
I don't think I would be so deep as to say that there are books that have changed my life, but all books have hugely enriched it.
I read a great deal from an early age. We didn't have a television, not because my parents couldn't afford it, they simply believed that there were better ways to occupy your time. I think we first got a small portable when I was seventeen, and that was only because it was won in a raffle.
I've always thought that so much more can be gained from a book than any other form of stimulation. Sometimes, if I subsequently see a television adaptation or a film of something I have previously read I find myself disappointed with the representation of character, as it inevitably differs from the picture that I have drawn for myself from the book.
I don't have any one particular genre that I'm drawn to, my taste is much like my taste in music, very eclectic.
My boys struggle to understand how 'simple' my childhood was without hundreds of television channels, the internet and the Wii, but fortunately, they both have my passion for books. C is like me, he reads a huge range of subjects, and reads very quickly. Although they both read to themselves, I still read to them most evenings before bedtime. C is ten, and our reading over the past couple of years has changed. Rather than individual stories, we have chosen together various books which take us weeks to complete together. Or months, in the case of The Chronicles of Narnia. Tom Sawyer provoked the most discussion, simply because of the language, and because he picked up on the differences between being white and black during the period it depicts. I doubt we would have had that discussion had we not been reading that particular book together. We're reading The Hobbit at the moment, and I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed it.
Reading with J is still very much short booked based as he's seven. His current favorites are Greek myths, although I fear we will soon have exhausted the library's supply.
We go to our local library most weeks. Although we've got one wall which is entirely bookshelves, and I occasionally dip into an old favorite, most of my new reads come from the library, although I do have the odd foray into second hand shops. J loves the library. Because he goes through phases of what he wants to read, he sees it as a challenge to search out something the same that he hasn't already had. I think he's resigned himself to the fact that he'll never stumble across an unread Dr.Seuss, he still looks for their distinctive spines.
Our local library in a small town is very quiet. We went to the large library in Worcester a few weeks ago and it was fucking bedlam. They'd introduced these new scanning devices in place of actual librarians, and the poor librarians left were constantly helping at the scanners as the damn things didn't actually do what they were designed for, and that was to scan books.
I don't think I would be so deep as to say that there are books that have changed my life, but all books have hugely enriched it.
Friday, March 19, 2010
A relaxing weekend...............................
A has the most shocking ear infection. She managed to get to the quacks this morning and has a course of antibiotics, but the effects won't kick in for twenty four hours. She was sobbing through the night, I really didn't know what to do, other than to give her a hug.
I'm going to clear off early and pick up the kids from school and take them up to the park, out of her way. We'll get some free entertainment later courtesy of a rather wealthy chap who lives just up the road. He invites clients to the Cheltenham festival and hires two helicopters to ferry them back and forth. They land in his back garden and the kids love sitting on the gate watching them come in and out.
If A's still grotty, I'll forgo my Friday night hour in the pub. I think I'll stay off the pop altogether, as C has moved up a swimming class and his lessons have moved from Wednesday afternoons to 8am on a Saturday morning. Fucking great, ten weeks to look forward to. Then J has football at nine, and on Sunday they both have rugby matches away at different clubs. J is playing in a tournament in Droitwich, and C is at Stow. Oh, and C has more swimming on Saturday evening, courtesy of the Church youth group.
And I've got to collect two of their noisy mates from school as their Mum is working late.
I don't get bloody paid for this..............
I'm going to clear off early and pick up the kids from school and take them up to the park, out of her way. We'll get some free entertainment later courtesy of a rather wealthy chap who lives just up the road. He invites clients to the Cheltenham festival and hires two helicopters to ferry them back and forth. They land in his back garden and the kids love sitting on the gate watching them come in and out.
If A's still grotty, I'll forgo my Friday night hour in the pub. I think I'll stay off the pop altogether, as C has moved up a swimming class and his lessons have moved from Wednesday afternoons to 8am on a Saturday morning. Fucking great, ten weeks to look forward to. Then J has football at nine, and on Sunday they both have rugby matches away at different clubs. J is playing in a tournament in Droitwich, and C is at Stow. Oh, and C has more swimming on Saturday evening, courtesy of the Church youth group.
And I've got to collect two of their noisy mates from school as their Mum is working late.
I don't get bloody paid for this..............
Friday, March 12, 2010
Talk Talk
What a bunch of chimps.
I'm not asking to be flown to the moon. I would like a telephone line and broadband. I have a direct debit in place, all they have to do is email my invoice, and take the money.
I have the most simple e mail address on the planet, but for some unknown reason, every other month, some fucktard from TalkTalk decides to add a '1' to it, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't get through.
Then they write to me to say I'm being charged for a paper bill as I don't have a valid e mail address, despite them using the correct address the previous month.
The online account has never worked. It either won't recognise the log in or password, and won't allow them to be reset.
So. The phone call. I'd rather rub my nuts on a cheesegrater than ring the TalkTalk call centre. I have nothing against Indians, nor indeed any nationality ( apart from the odd Irishman at six nations time) but if you're going to use foreign call centres, at least use staff who have a basic grasp of the language of the country they are servicing..
Twenty seven minutes and three separate staff in order to ensure that a '1' is not added to an email address, and each time they pass me onto a colleague, that mong wants me to repeat my name,address, date of birth, phone number and account number.
It's not good for my ever greying thatch.
I'm not asking to be flown to the moon. I would like a telephone line and broadband. I have a direct debit in place, all they have to do is email my invoice, and take the money.
I have the most simple e mail address on the planet, but for some unknown reason, every other month, some fucktard from TalkTalk decides to add a '1' to it, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't get through.
Then they write to me to say I'm being charged for a paper bill as I don't have a valid e mail address, despite them using the correct address the previous month.
The online account has never worked. It either won't recognise the log in or password, and won't allow them to be reset.
So. The phone call. I'd rather rub my nuts on a cheesegrater than ring the TalkTalk call centre. I have nothing against Indians, nor indeed any nationality ( apart from the odd Irishman at six nations time) but if you're going to use foreign call centres, at least use staff who have a basic grasp of the language of the country they are servicing..
Twenty seven minutes and three separate staff in order to ensure that a '1' is not added to an email address, and each time they pass me onto a colleague, that mong wants me to repeat my name,address, date of birth, phone number and account number.
It's not good for my ever greying thatch.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Feel the burn
I am in pain, deep pain.
I've been back playing squash for two weeks now, and I had planned to ease myself gently back into it, but the childishly competitive nature of me and my playing partners has not exactly made that possible.
Last night was daft. I was two one down and came back to two all. Somehow I managed to get 7-4 up in the deciding fifth when the lights went out. It was bugger all down to the way I was playing. My opponent was missing easy shots, and giving me clear winners, but I was totally fucked. I could hardly move, I was sweating like a sumo in a sauna, and although deep down I wanted to win, my immediate thoughts were that I couldn't give two shits about the score, I just wanted to get off that court.
Needless to say, the extra quid went in, the lights came on and I lost 10-8. Unusually, I really didn't care, everything hurt so much. It's a long time since I pushed myself so hard, and although I lost, and it hurts, it's also quite satisfying.
The squash ball size mark on my left arse cheek and the racquet weal on my shoulder are less satisfying.
I've been back playing squash for two weeks now, and I had planned to ease myself gently back into it, but the childishly competitive nature of me and my playing partners has not exactly made that possible.
Last night was daft. I was two one down and came back to two all. Somehow I managed to get 7-4 up in the deciding fifth when the lights went out. It was bugger all down to the way I was playing. My opponent was missing easy shots, and giving me clear winners, but I was totally fucked. I could hardly move, I was sweating like a sumo in a sauna, and although deep down I wanted to win, my immediate thoughts were that I couldn't give two shits about the score, I just wanted to get off that court.
Needless to say, the extra quid went in, the lights came on and I lost 10-8. Unusually, I really didn't care, everything hurt so much. It's a long time since I pushed myself so hard, and although I lost, and it hurts, it's also quite satisfying.
The squash ball size mark on my left arse cheek and the racquet weal on my shoulder are less satisfying.
Friday, March 05, 2010
Yo ho ho
I haven't been sailing for years.
Growing up next to sea I spent my youth cocking about in boats, and great fun it was too. Dinghy sailing with dad until we both came to the conclusion that father and son in a small boat is like the same mixture with driving lessons. I then started crewing on offshore yachts for a bit. I'd always windsurfed, and fortunately that is like riding a bike, so I always hire one if they're around when we're on holiday.
As we live slap bang in the middle, there's not much opportunity to sail. Having said that we live on the Avon, and there is a sailing club nearby, but tacking every twenty seconds is not my idea of fun.
Anyway, I had an email earlier reminding me that my deposit for the 'Round the Island Race' was due. It wasn't spam, as it was from a chum in the village, but I didn't have a clue what it was about. To cut a long story short, I was collared whilst under the influence at a party a few weeks ago, the boat has been chartered, and along with a motley crew of assorted village pissheads will be racing around the Isle of Wight in the summer !
Growing up next to sea I spent my youth cocking about in boats, and great fun it was too. Dinghy sailing with dad until we both came to the conclusion that father and son in a small boat is like the same mixture with driving lessons. I then started crewing on offshore yachts for a bit. I'd always windsurfed, and fortunately that is like riding a bike, so I always hire one if they're around when we're on holiday.
As we live slap bang in the middle, there's not much opportunity to sail. Having said that we live on the Avon, and there is a sailing club nearby, but tacking every twenty seconds is not my idea of fun.
Anyway, I had an email earlier reminding me that my deposit for the 'Round the Island Race' was due. It wasn't spam, as it was from a chum in the village, but I didn't have a clue what it was about. To cut a long story short, I was collared whilst under the influence at a party a few weeks ago, the boat has been chartered, and along with a motley crew of assorted village pissheads will be racing around the Isle of Wight in the summer !
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
As expected, Cardiff was great fun, despite the rugby.
Also as expected, we got roaringly drunk and ended up in a curry house. Nothing if not predictable. Cardiff was chock full of very happy Frenchies, and the more I drank, the better my French became. Ahem.
Great walk along the Wye valley on the way back, although it was a round of soft drinks in our target pub, and none of us could face lunch. Turn forty and turn lightweight.
Bokke, (see previous rugby trips) had a quick look at the OS map of some proper walkers, and decided we would take a different route back to the car. Needless to say we got horrendously lost and the one hour trip turned into two and a half. It also involved a jaunt through a farmyard which was ankle deep in liquid cowshit. I'm glad we weren't in my car.
Two games of squash coming up this week. It's rather satisfying to be back doing some exercise, although it's going to take a while to get a reasonable level of fitness back.
Also as expected, we got roaringly drunk and ended up in a curry house. Nothing if not predictable. Cardiff was chock full of very happy Frenchies, and the more I drank, the better my French became. Ahem.
Great walk along the Wye valley on the way back, although it was a round of soft drinks in our target pub, and none of us could face lunch. Turn forty and turn lightweight.
Bokke, (see previous rugby trips) had a quick look at the OS map of some proper walkers, and decided we would take a different route back to the car. Needless to say we got horrendously lost and the one hour trip turned into two and a half. It also involved a jaunt through a farmyard which was ankle deep in liquid cowshit. I'm glad we weren't in my car.
Two games of squash coming up this week. It's rather satisfying to be back doing some exercise, although it's going to take a while to get a reasonable level of fitness back.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Rugby and beer
Lifes little pleasures.
Drive to Newport tomorrow, ditch the car at the 5* B &B and get the train to Cardiff. I love it when the French come to Cardiff, a wonderful atmosphere, although you don't get cockerels being released in the city centre these days.
We're probably going to get a thorough spanking, but it should be a cracking evening. A few beers before, try and grab a curry afterwards and hopefully get the late train back to Newport . Sophisticated it won't be.
Planning to blow away the cobwebs the following morning with a stroll along the Wye Valley stopping for lunch at a pub that has seventeen, yep seventeen, different ciders.
Sleep it all off on Saturday, and then the boys have an away match in Solihull on Sunday.
So, the weekend revolves around...........Rugby, damn shame !
Drive to Newport tomorrow, ditch the car at the 5* B &B and get the train to Cardiff. I love it when the French come to Cardiff, a wonderful atmosphere, although you don't get cockerels being released in the city centre these days.
We're probably going to get a thorough spanking, but it should be a cracking evening. A few beers before, try and grab a curry afterwards and hopefully get the late train back to Newport . Sophisticated it won't be.
Planning to blow away the cobwebs the following morning with a stroll along the Wye Valley stopping for lunch at a pub that has seventeen, yep seventeen, different ciders.
Sleep it all off on Saturday, and then the boys have an away match in Solihull on Sunday.
So, the weekend revolves around...........Rugby, damn shame !
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Snow
I was sick of snow a long time ago. The first few days of sledging last month were fun, although I was relegated to the role of spectator. It all looked very pretty, but now it's just dull and turgid.
The boys have had one rugby match and one training session this year, due to the pitches either being covered, or waterlogged after the thaw. It's got to the stage when even they want to yomp across the hill with the dog after lunch on a Sunday.
We had a quick whizz to the smoke at half term. Science Museum and the V & A . We went to the Science Museum to complete the bit we didn't have time for on our last London trip, and sod's law, the entire wing was closed until June. I was surprised at how much the hooligans enjoyed the V & A, it's a stunning building. We also treated ourselves to sandwiches and yummy snacky bits from Harold's as J insisted on calling Harrods
A few more days until Wales v France and a party of four for a boys weekend out. First one in ages, I'm getting pisspoor at being on the ball with this. In the past couple of months A has had girlie weekends in Spain and Centreparcs. I've got the luxury of some dodgy B & B in Newport.
The boys have had one rugby match and one training session this year, due to the pitches either being covered, or waterlogged after the thaw. It's got to the stage when even they want to yomp across the hill with the dog after lunch on a Sunday.
We had a quick whizz to the smoke at half term. Science Museum and the V & A . We went to the Science Museum to complete the bit we didn't have time for on our last London trip, and sod's law, the entire wing was closed until June. I was surprised at how much the hooligans enjoyed the V & A, it's a stunning building. We also treated ourselves to sandwiches and yummy snacky bits from Harold's as J insisted on calling Harrods
A few more days until Wales v France and a party of four for a boys weekend out. First one in ages, I'm getting pisspoor at being on the ball with this. In the past couple of months A has had girlie weekends in Spain and Centreparcs. I've got the luxury of some dodgy B & B in Newport.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Enforced hiatus
After saying I would get back to posting regularly, once again, a long break, but it's not my fault, I've been a guest of the NHS.
My appendix went, bloody painful it was too. I was lucky enough to have a private room for my stay, and through all the horror stories of the NHS, I have nothing but praise for the level of care I received. The only downside was that the food was minging, but as I was on nil by mouth for a fair while, it was no great hardship.
I've never had a general anasaetic before, and I'll be in no great hurry for another, that and the morphine afterwards made me feel like shit. I couldn't have keyhole surgery as the appendix was behind my bowel, so I've ended up with a whacking great scar, but fair do's to the surgeon, it's very neat.
So, now I'm recovering at home, can't drive, can't do sodding anything, and I am bored shitless.
My appendix went, bloody painful it was too. I was lucky enough to have a private room for my stay, and through all the horror stories of the NHS, I have nothing but praise for the level of care I received. The only downside was that the food was minging, but as I was on nil by mouth for a fair while, it was no great hardship.
I've never had a general anasaetic before, and I'll be in no great hurry for another, that and the morphine afterwards made me feel like shit. I couldn't have keyhole surgery as the appendix was behind my bowel, so I've ended up with a whacking great scar, but fair do's to the surgeon, it's very neat.
So, now I'm recovering at home, can't drive, can't do sodding anything, and I am bored shitless.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Checking in
I'm alive.
Very much so.
Made mental note to self, must start blogging again.
The puppy in the photo is now just gone one, and stark raving bonkers, but adorable. Her energy levels are remarkable, so she gets loads of walks and also goes running with A a few times a week. Seems to do the trick as she spends most of the evening passed out in front of the fire. The ginger boy remains hugely uninpressed as does his partner in purrs.
Had a pretty good summer. We had a good week in a very rural and untouristy part of northern Portugal. Big quiet beaches and great swimming. Due to the rest of the summer weather being shite, apart from our weekend at The Big Chill, we decided we needed more sun, so spent the half term just gone in a quaint farmhouse on the island of Gozo. A bit pricey, but great to get some sun and sea swimming when it's constantly pissing down here.
My work life couldn't be better. Just had my best year since starting, and hopefully moving to new premises.
We're still going through the arse achingly wanky business of trying to sell our house. It does somewhat bring you to the conclusion that there's a fair few people who are in general, rather cunty. We've now lost two houses that we wanted to buy through not having sold ours. It's difficult because our criteria limits us, we want to stay in the village we live in, in a bigger house. Lots of reasons, the main one being we're all happy there which I think is a biggy.
Boy number 1 continues to shine. House captain and school prefect. Don't know where those genes came from. Neither his mother nor I were ever considered remotely responsible enough for such lofty positions. Boy 2 is still gorgeous, and still doing his best to give the local teaching profession collective nervous breakdowns. More of that at another time.
I might even see if I can get back to a few posts a week.
Blimey.
Very much so.
Made mental note to self, must start blogging again.
The puppy in the photo is now just gone one, and stark raving bonkers, but adorable. Her energy levels are remarkable, so she gets loads of walks and also goes running with A a few times a week. Seems to do the trick as she spends most of the evening passed out in front of the fire. The ginger boy remains hugely uninpressed as does his partner in purrs.
Had a pretty good summer. We had a good week in a very rural and untouristy part of northern Portugal. Big quiet beaches and great swimming. Due to the rest of the summer weather being shite, apart from our weekend at The Big Chill, we decided we needed more sun, so spent the half term just gone in a quaint farmhouse on the island of Gozo. A bit pricey, but great to get some sun and sea swimming when it's constantly pissing down here.
My work life couldn't be better. Just had my best year since starting, and hopefully moving to new premises.
We're still going through the arse achingly wanky business of trying to sell our house. It does somewhat bring you to the conclusion that there's a fair few people who are in general, rather cunty. We've now lost two houses that we wanted to buy through not having sold ours. It's difficult because our criteria limits us, we want to stay in the village we live in, in a bigger house. Lots of reasons, the main one being we're all happy there which I think is a biggy.
Boy number 1 continues to shine. House captain and school prefect. Don't know where those genes came from. Neither his mother nor I were ever considered remotely responsible enough for such lofty positions. Boy 2 is still gorgeous, and still doing his best to give the local teaching profession collective nervous breakdowns. More of that at another time.
I might even see if I can get back to a few posts a week.
Blimey.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
This gorgeous woofa is the latest addition to the Gumpher household. She's been here since November. Officially she's a Sprocker, although I prefer Cockspring.The ginger chap, as you may tell from his expression, remains mightily unimpressed.
And as the six nations starts this weekend, Wales, by feckin loads, hear me now .
Friday, August 22, 2008
My youngest son takes on an almost zen like state when he's flying a kite, and being a five year old, can say things that make life seem so much better.
'Y,know Dad, this is the life, just you and me, flying a kite on Bredon hill'.
I'll be away from here for a bit. I've been dipping in and out, which is not how I want to blog.
Lots on the mind.When I start blogging again, I'll be clear.
'Y,know Dad, this is the life, just you and me, flying a kite on Bredon hill'.
I'll be away from here for a bit. I've been dipping in and out, which is not how I want to blog.
Lots on the mind.When I start blogging again, I'll be clear.
Monday, August 04, 2008
'Sup, as the kids said. Years ago.
What to blog and when to blog it. I have lots to express ( none of it breast milk) but at the moment this is not the place to let it out, for my own foolishness.
Ahem.
Life is odd, and I'm not in the best place. I've cocked my frontal quad again, which means no sport, and that gets me arsey, a kind of locked up feeling.
I have a work problem. A few years ago ( look at the archives, if you truly can be arsed) I sold a business which I'd had in partnership with another chap for a few years. I made a few key mistakes.
We sold the premises. Pure twatishness. New business park, designed by me ,next to the M5. Oh, the joys of hindsight. But , we both felt the need for the clean break, and taking the money.
Then, I took a long time off. Mortgage, family, a few expensive holidays, as our colonial cousins say, you do the math. Chuck a couple of nice cars in, and some work to the house, and, adios. You forgot the tax bill, you fucking retard.
New business, one fantastic client. One, I hear you cry, nope, they rely on me as much as I do on them. But a few years in, it's all odd. They're an oil company, the place to be in these times.
I wanted to be at home more, with A and the boys, pulling reasonable money. But now I'm pulling more than reasonable money, but struggling. Working too hard, getting as stressed as I was before.
What a fucking whinge.
But so ?
I can make choices, and I'm not sure that I make the right ones sometimes.
I'm not that happy, although I should be, and I don't know the reason for this.
I'm usually very positive, and very in control, but my mind is partial to distractions that probably are not that good for me at this time
What to blog and when to blog it. I have lots to express ( none of it breast milk) but at the moment this is not the place to let it out, for my own foolishness.
Ahem.
Life is odd, and I'm not in the best place. I've cocked my frontal quad again, which means no sport, and that gets me arsey, a kind of locked up feeling.
I have a work problem. A few years ago ( look at the archives, if you truly can be arsed) I sold a business which I'd had in partnership with another chap for a few years. I made a few key mistakes.
We sold the premises. Pure twatishness. New business park, designed by me ,next to the M5. Oh, the joys of hindsight. But , we both felt the need for the clean break, and taking the money.
Then, I took a long time off. Mortgage, family, a few expensive holidays, as our colonial cousins say, you do the math. Chuck a couple of nice cars in, and some work to the house, and, adios. You forgot the tax bill, you fucking retard.
New business, one fantastic client. One, I hear you cry, nope, they rely on me as much as I do on them. But a few years in, it's all odd. They're an oil company, the place to be in these times.
I wanted to be at home more, with A and the boys, pulling reasonable money. But now I'm pulling more than reasonable money, but struggling. Working too hard, getting as stressed as I was before.
What a fucking whinge.
But so ?
I can make choices, and I'm not sure that I make the right ones sometimes.
I'm not that happy, although I should be, and I don't know the reason for this.
I'm usually very positive, and very in control, but my mind is partial to distractions that probably are not that good for me at this time
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
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
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
Friday, July 04, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, June 30, 2008
RIP Harry
We're all a bit sad in the Gumpher house this morning.
Our eldest cat Harry, the tabby in the picture died yesterday.
He was seventeen, and had a good life, full of love. He was also a bit thick, which made him all the more endearing.
Monday, June 16, 2008
I've been poo at blogging. Brennig popped in to give me a gee up, and when I checked his blog he has turned into a sex blogger ! Naughty chap. Please, fight the urge to post pictures !
I've been doing 'stuff'.
Had a great back to the wilds camping trip with the boys. Dads and kids only. No chicks. One field, one big wood, one tap, two holes in the ground, one firepit. Excellent. The kids found out that life was quite easy to cope with without computers and television, the dad's drank plenty zider and cooked red meat on an open fire. Hear me roar. We were all thrown into the bathroom as soon as we walked through the front door being told that 'You all fucking stink' (out of earshot of the hooligans) Boy 2 was carrying an extra stone as he had refused to crap down the hole for fear of falling in, and sat on the pan making vile noises for some time.
I am still trawling the English countryside spending ever more on fuel. Latest addition to current projects, Wigan. Don't go, or rather, do go, as it will make you feel better about where you live. And as far those tanker drivers holding out for 13% in the current climate, fuck off back to work you work shy slackers. I 'm not that big a fan of generalising comparisons, but I can break the rules if I choose. I don't see that many nurses earning in excess of 30k and turning down 7 %.
My communications are up shit creek. I have a new Blackberry which works as well as a Zimbabwean polling station. Orange have been very helpful, and a replacement is being sent out tomorrow. Thank you for the excellent service. The same cannot be said of talktalk. The broadband has been down at home for six days, and they have overtaken n power as the most useless bunch of cunts I have ever dealt with. If you're going to outsource to a foreign country, at least make sure that your staff have a basic understanding of the language they will be required to operate with. Current situation, in excess of two hours spent on phone calls, no broadband. Fucking chimps.
Although the mighty Welsh got done good and proper by the Saffas, watching Ickle Shane run with ball in hand is a thing of beauty.
Still cycling, playing squash twice a week, but all good work very much negated by too much wine an too many 'occaisional' fags. Jeez, this smoking thing is a bag of old arse
I've been doing 'stuff'.
Had a great back to the wilds camping trip with the boys. Dads and kids only. No chicks. One field, one big wood, one tap, two holes in the ground, one firepit. Excellent. The kids found out that life was quite easy to cope with without computers and television, the dad's drank plenty zider and cooked red meat on an open fire. Hear me roar. We were all thrown into the bathroom as soon as we walked through the front door being told that 'You all fucking stink' (out of earshot of the hooligans) Boy 2 was carrying an extra stone as he had refused to crap down the hole for fear of falling in, and sat on the pan making vile noises for some time.
I am still trawling the English countryside spending ever more on fuel. Latest addition to current projects, Wigan. Don't go, or rather, do go, as it will make you feel better about where you live. And as far those tanker drivers holding out for 13% in the current climate, fuck off back to work you work shy slackers. I 'm not that big a fan of generalising comparisons, but I can break the rules if I choose. I don't see that many nurses earning in excess of 30k and turning down 7 %.
My communications are up shit creek. I have a new Blackberry which works as well as a Zimbabwean polling station. Orange have been very helpful, and a replacement is being sent out tomorrow. Thank you for the excellent service. The same cannot be said of talktalk. The broadband has been down at home for six days, and they have overtaken n power as the most useless bunch of cunts I have ever dealt with. If you're going to outsource to a foreign country, at least make sure that your staff have a basic understanding of the language they will be required to operate with. Current situation, in excess of two hours spent on phone calls, no broadband. Fucking chimps.
Although the mighty Welsh got done good and proper by the Saffas, watching Ickle Shane run with ball in hand is a thing of beauty.
Still cycling, playing squash twice a week, but all good work very much negated by too much wine an too many 'occaisional' fags. Jeez, this smoking thing is a bag of old arse
Monday, May 12, 2008
I'm still here, honest
It has been a busy time at Gumpher Towers of late.
I've been checking my regular reads, and leaving the odd comment, but have had little time to get something down myself.
I'm currently running projects in Peterborough, Totnes, and Launceston, and unsurprisingly, my arse has spent an awfully long time stuck to the seat of my car as I traverse the wonders of our nations motorway network. I've still managed squash twice a week, and at least one big big ride in the longer evenings, and this combined with a few weeks on the wagon has me looking fairly trim, verging on the buff even (lets not get carried away here).
The boys have had a good few weeks. Boy 2 continues to both stretch the boundaries beyond their limits on an almost daily basis whilst looking like butter wouldn't melt. He's been a star at rugby, and starts cricket this week.
Boy 1 has been a bit of a grump of late, he's struggling to get off to sleep with the light evenings,
(they both go to bed fairly early on school nights, 7 for 2, 7.30 for 1), and this morning I had to virtually boot him downstairs for breakfast at 8. He had a great rugby club dinner on Friday. 240 kids from 6 to 17 crammed in, spruced up in collar and tie, noisy doesn't do it justice. Fantastic surprise for everyone when it came to the prizes. The Volcano, Lesley Vainikolo (Gloucester and England for the non rugby types) turned out to present them. The kids all went ballistic when he came out onto the stage. Fair goes to the bloke, he stayed until late, and considering he had a massive game against the Unmentionables the following day, it was bloody decent of him.
My 40th passed with no major trauma. We had a groovy time with friends in Cardiff Bay. The St.Davids was impressive, but not really our kind of place. Visually very cool, but A and I prefer our hotels more intimate, and a little less flash. Still, drank vast amounts of the fizzy stuff, ate well and enjoyed it.
A managed to complete the Tewkesbury half marathon yesterday, but was very disappointed with her time. When we saw the weather forecast I told her to forget about the time, just get round it. She was hoping to crack two hours, but sods law, it was the hottest day of the year, and all the runners struggled. She managed 2.10, which is a hell of an achievement for someone who only started running eight months ago, and I' m very proud of her. Afterwards, we grabbed some lunch and spent the afternoon with the boys and a group of friends, sinking a few cold ones on the bank of the river at the sailing club. Bliss.
All is well as long as I don't look at the news. Same old.
I've been checking my regular reads, and leaving the odd comment, but have had little time to get something down myself.
I'm currently running projects in Peterborough, Totnes, and Launceston, and unsurprisingly, my arse has spent an awfully long time stuck to the seat of my car as I traverse the wonders of our nations motorway network. I've still managed squash twice a week, and at least one big big ride in the longer evenings, and this combined with a few weeks on the wagon has me looking fairly trim, verging on the buff even (lets not get carried away here).
The boys have had a good few weeks. Boy 2 continues to both stretch the boundaries beyond their limits on an almost daily basis whilst looking like butter wouldn't melt. He's been a star at rugby, and starts cricket this week.
Boy 1 has been a bit of a grump of late, he's struggling to get off to sleep with the light evenings,
(they both go to bed fairly early on school nights, 7 for 2, 7.30 for 1), and this morning I had to virtually boot him downstairs for breakfast at 8. He had a great rugby club dinner on Friday. 240 kids from 6 to 17 crammed in, spruced up in collar and tie, noisy doesn't do it justice. Fantastic surprise for everyone when it came to the prizes. The Volcano, Lesley Vainikolo (Gloucester and England for the non rugby types) turned out to present them. The kids all went ballistic when he came out onto the stage. Fair goes to the bloke, he stayed until late, and considering he had a massive game against the Unmentionables the following day, it was bloody decent of him.
My 40th passed with no major trauma. We had a groovy time with friends in Cardiff Bay. The St.Davids was impressive, but not really our kind of place. Visually very cool, but A and I prefer our hotels more intimate, and a little less flash. Still, drank vast amounts of the fizzy stuff, ate well and enjoyed it.
A managed to complete the Tewkesbury half marathon yesterday, but was very disappointed with her time. When we saw the weather forecast I told her to forget about the time, just get round it. She was hoping to crack two hours, but sods law, it was the hottest day of the year, and all the runners struggled. She managed 2.10, which is a hell of an achievement for someone who only started running eight months ago, and I' m very proud of her. Afterwards, we grabbed some lunch and spent the afternoon with the boys and a group of friends, sinking a few cold ones on the bank of the river at the sailing club. Bliss.
All is well as long as I don't look at the news. Same old.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Cash
Am I being tight ? We rarely use public transport, but today my wife took a bus from the nearest town back to the village. She'd been to a pilates class and her friend who had driven, had forgotton about a dental appointment and had to shoot off, hence the bus.
Now, am I totally removed from reality ? The journey is a shade over three miles.
£1.75, fuck me, she could have got a cab out here in the sticks for that. Now I look at it, I appear a bit daft, bitching about a couple of quid., I mean £1.75 is nothing, but it seems a bit much to me for a three mile bus journey.
More money whinge. I've just paid sixty quid to fill my car with diesel.
I've had to add Yvette Cooper to my list of 'What the flying fuck made you think that you were cut out for a career as a politician ?' after her hilariously inept performance on Newsnight last night.
The other two weren't much better. George Osbourne is an oily little tick, and Vince Cable looks like the uncle that starts the conga at a wedding after two halves of mild. Bless him. All treasury spokepersons for their parties. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Now, am I totally removed from reality ? The journey is a shade over three miles.
£1.75, fuck me, she could have got a cab out here in the sticks for that. Now I look at it, I appear a bit daft, bitching about a couple of quid., I mean £1.75 is nothing, but it seems a bit much to me for a three mile bus journey.
More money whinge. I've just paid sixty quid to fill my car with diesel.
I've had to add Yvette Cooper to my list of 'What the flying fuck made you think that you were cut out for a career as a politician ?' after her hilariously inept performance on Newsnight last night.
The other two weren't much better. George Osbourne is an oily little tick, and Vince Cable looks like the uncle that starts the conga at a wedding after two halves of mild. Bless him. All treasury spokepersons for their parties. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
And
Sitting here, quaffing a wonderful glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I am looking forward to a weekend with my wonderful wife at The St.David's in Cardiff Bay, dropping the boys off at my Mums in Abergavenny on the way down.
It's not so bad.
I could be English and forty.
It's not so bad.
I could be English and forty.
So
Forty.
Still the same, or as my Father's wonderful card said, 'You're not forty, you're twenty one with nineteen years of experience'.
The funeral, as ever was grim. The point when the curtains came around the coffin was particularly sad. My nephews, who are the same age as my boys, had been stoic in their approach to the event, but collapsed, crying, into their parents arms as they said goodbye to their Grandfather. My brother in law , their father, was remarkably strong through the whole service, but you could see he was struggling, but held it together for his boys.
Thankfully, the other parts of today were more jolly. I lucked in on some good pressies. A voucher for The Harbourmaster in Aberaeron from my Mum and Sis, which is a wonderful little hotel in West Wales, some rather natty shirts from Boy 1, a deliciously whiffy leather pocket wallet from Boy 2, and the manbag to end all man bags from A. I usually carry a laptop bag and a briefcase for files to meetings, but this baby takes the lot. And it's in a rather fetching duck egg blue and light brown leather. I am now a fully fledged, paid up, great big gayer.
Listening to Colin Hay singing 'Overkill' acoustically, which always makes me joyful.Toooooooooooooooooooo deep.
My life, I have decided, is a bit of a good one, and I'm rather thankful for that.
Okey doke.
Still the same, or as my Father's wonderful card said, 'You're not forty, you're twenty one with nineteen years of experience'.
The funeral, as ever was grim. The point when the curtains came around the coffin was particularly sad. My nephews, who are the same age as my boys, had been stoic in their approach to the event, but collapsed, crying, into their parents arms as they said goodbye to their Grandfather. My brother in law , their father, was remarkably strong through the whole service, but you could see he was struggling, but held it together for his boys.
Thankfully, the other parts of today were more jolly. I lucked in on some good pressies. A voucher for The Harbourmaster in Aberaeron from my Mum and Sis, which is a wonderful little hotel in West Wales, some rather natty shirts from Boy 1, a deliciously whiffy leather pocket wallet from Boy 2, and the manbag to end all man bags from A. I usually carry a laptop bag and a briefcase for files to meetings, but this baby takes the lot. And it's in a rather fetching duck egg blue and light brown leather. I am now a fully fledged, paid up, great big gayer.
Listening to Colin Hay singing 'Overkill' acoustically, which always makes me joyful.Toooooooooooooooooooo deep.
My life, I have decided, is a bit of a good one, and I'm rather thankful for that.
Okey doke.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Up to my neck in it
Quite literally.
Decided to go for a ride with the boys after lunch, and as I was getting the bikes out of the shed, noticed a fairly unpleasant smell and a strange ooze seeping from underneath the patio.
I lifted the inspection cover to be greeted by the sight and smell of rather a lot of shit.
Blocked drains. Cosmic.
Im fairness to dyno whoever, they were round in an hour, but at 80 quid per half hour, so they should be. Our drainage is odd. it goes across our back garden, under the wall, another inspection cover in our neighbours back garden, and then an interceptor in her front garden. All three blocked.
I explained the problem to our neighbour, and asked if we could have access to jet it all out. She was fine, but a bit concerned that the drain man would damage her plants. Now, given the choice of a few squished petunias or a garden overrunning with eight years worth of the family Gumphers waste matter, I know which I'd opt for.
He set too, and the sights and smells were fairly grim. I went back into our garden to check if everthing was flowing . As I leant over the open sewer, the nozzle of the jetter appeared, and before I could leap out of the way, the fucking thing was turned on, and I was covered head to toe in piss and shit.
The boys were playing in the conservatory, and had a ringside view of the afternoons entertainment. They both agreed that it was their comedy highlight of the year, but even today I am yet to be amused.
A group of friends went camping in the Forest of Dean at the weekend. A had politely declined an invitation to join the happy throng ('Are they fucking mental, have you seen the forecast?'). And thoroughly soaked they all got, but bravely stuck it out for the whole weekend.
Iwas discussing said trip with my chum bokkie after squash on Thursday. His wife had lumbered him with the trip, and he was moaning like hell. Not that he doesn't like camping, he just likes his camping to be rustic, as befits a man of the veldt. 'Its got a fucking pool man, and a bar'. His disgust new no boundaries.
We're planning a dads and kids camping weekend at the end of May, and Bokkie is doing his level best to find the most basic site in the British Isles. I had a email from him on Friday with a link attached and a rather excited message. 'Check this out, there's no caravans, you can have open fires, no showers, and you have to shit in a hole in the ground!' There's a great marketing line for prospective campsite owners, guaranteed to have weirdo Boers flocking in .
I'd sent him details of a site I'd found, but as it has two rather basic showers, I'm sure it'll be rejected out of hand as having showers is only one step away from Brokeback Mountain in his mind.
40 tomorrow. Supersonic. I'll be spending the morning at a funeral. That'll cheer me up.
Decided to go for a ride with the boys after lunch, and as I was getting the bikes out of the shed, noticed a fairly unpleasant smell and a strange ooze seeping from underneath the patio.
I lifted the inspection cover to be greeted by the sight and smell of rather a lot of shit.
Blocked drains. Cosmic.
Im fairness to dyno whoever, they were round in an hour, but at 80 quid per half hour, so they should be. Our drainage is odd. it goes across our back garden, under the wall, another inspection cover in our neighbours back garden, and then an interceptor in her front garden. All three blocked.
I explained the problem to our neighbour, and asked if we could have access to jet it all out. She was fine, but a bit concerned that the drain man would damage her plants. Now, given the choice of a few squished petunias or a garden overrunning with eight years worth of the family Gumphers waste matter, I know which I'd opt for.
He set too, and the sights and smells were fairly grim. I went back into our garden to check if everthing was flowing . As I leant over the open sewer, the nozzle of the jetter appeared, and before I could leap out of the way, the fucking thing was turned on, and I was covered head to toe in piss and shit.
The boys were playing in the conservatory, and had a ringside view of the afternoons entertainment. They both agreed that it was their comedy highlight of the year, but even today I am yet to be amused.
A group of friends went camping in the Forest of Dean at the weekend. A had politely declined an invitation to join the happy throng ('Are they fucking mental, have you seen the forecast?'). And thoroughly soaked they all got, but bravely stuck it out for the whole weekend.
Iwas discussing said trip with my chum bokkie after squash on Thursday. His wife had lumbered him with the trip, and he was moaning like hell. Not that he doesn't like camping, he just likes his camping to be rustic, as befits a man of the veldt. 'Its got a fucking pool man, and a bar'. His disgust new no boundaries.
We're planning a dads and kids camping weekend at the end of May, and Bokkie is doing his level best to find the most basic site in the British Isles. I had a email from him on Friday with a link attached and a rather excited message. 'Check this out, there's no caravans, you can have open fires, no showers, and you have to shit in a hole in the ground!' There's a great marketing line for prospective campsite owners, guaranteed to have weirdo Boers flocking in .
I'd sent him details of a site I'd found, but as it has two rather basic showers, I'm sure it'll be rejected out of hand as having showers is only one step away from Brokeback Mountain in his mind.
40 tomorrow. Supersonic. I'll be spending the morning at a funeral. That'll cheer me up.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
I am less grumpy of late. I am sitting here, slightly warm of tongue, having just consumed a rather yummy Thai fish salad ( I think I overdid the chilli, which should make for a stinky night for Mrs. Gumph) The lateness of consumption is down to a game of squash in which I, lost rather badly to a chap I mullered last week. I only lost my temper with myself twice, shows my laidbackedness. (New word, quite like it).
Owing to my reluctance to celebrate my forthcoming of oldness, we had a spanking party for A's 37th on Friday. We had sixteen friends for a party and after an evening of stonking hilarity and drunkeness finally hit the sack at 4 ish. As the boys were at Grandma's for the evening, I had the luxury of stumbling out of my pit in the early afternoon. Glorious.
This Friday should be interesting. Boy 1's school have decided to enter years 3 & 4 into a tag rugby tournament . They suddenly realised that of the 28 children, only 4 boys actually play rugby, and whilst the class teacher, although a nice lady, clocks in at around 20 stone, and would be about as much use on a rugby pitch as tits on a bull. Cue a phone call seeing if I could possibly take the day off on Friday. I'm looking forward to it. I suspect it may be slightly different from coaching C and his ruffian chums at the rugby club.
Owing to my reluctance to celebrate my forthcoming of oldness, we had a spanking party for A's 37th on Friday. We had sixteen friends for a party and after an evening of stonking hilarity and drunkeness finally hit the sack at 4 ish. As the boys were at Grandma's for the evening, I had the luxury of stumbling out of my pit in the early afternoon. Glorious.
This Friday should be interesting. Boy 1's school have decided to enter years 3 & 4 into a tag rugby tournament . They suddenly realised that of the 28 children, only 4 boys actually play rugby, and whilst the class teacher, although a nice lady, clocks in at around 20 stone, and would be about as much use on a rugby pitch as tits on a bull. Cue a phone call seeing if I could possibly take the day off on Friday. I'm looking forward to it. I suspect it may be slightly different from coaching C and his ruffian chums at the rugby club.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Ho hum
I am bereft of blogging inspiration at the moment, but then I am generally uninspired.
I'm in a slump.
I need to jump on a plane, with A and the boys, and head off to somewhere with clear blue skies and gently lapping shores.
I need to not see the pointlessness of the Olympics, the loss of what was the Corinthian Spirit, the inevitable involvement of politics in sport ( but accepting that it's ok really because coca cola and mastercard get to show their logos to the world).
I need to stop thinking of the futile existence of those involved in the whole sad Shannon Matthews affair, and thank goodness that it's not me in that stinking estate, shagging near members of my family, but then wondering , ' Am I where I am through choice, or
circumstance ?
I need to stop loathing the bloated excess of football in this country ( a tough one)
I need to stop hating the pseudo socialist labour party as much as I do.
I need to stop despising the international community for ignoring Zimbabwe whilst they dither pathetically across the middle east.
I need to chill out.
A lot.
I'm in a slump.
I need to jump on a plane, with A and the boys, and head off to somewhere with clear blue skies and gently lapping shores.
I need to not see the pointlessness of the Olympics, the loss of what was the Corinthian Spirit, the inevitable involvement of politics in sport ( but accepting that it's ok really because coca cola and mastercard get to show their logos to the world).
I need to stop thinking of the futile existence of those involved in the whole sad Shannon Matthews affair, and thank goodness that it's not me in that stinking estate, shagging near members of my family, but then wondering , ' Am I where I am through choice, or
circumstance ?
I need to stop loathing the bloated excess of football in this country ( a tough one)
I need to stop hating the pseudo socialist labour party as much as I do.
I need to stop despising the international community for ignoring Zimbabwe whilst they dither pathetically across the middle east.
I need to chill out.
A lot.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The age of doom
I'm forty in a few weeks time, and I'm really not looking forward to it. I've banned parties, as I don't feel the need to 'celebrate', plus I've had a gutsful of other people's fortieth parties over the last few months.
Is forty old ? It's older than thirty nine for sure, but is it really old ? Odds are that I'm over halfway to pushing up daisies, which is a tad fatalistic, but probably right. I just don't feel forty, whatever feeling forty is, but I'm fairly sure I don't want to feel it anyway.
What have I achieved in forty years ? I've managed to be fortunate enough to have a happy relationship with a woman I love very much, and have two children from our marriage that I am proud of and adore, but that's not really an achievement as such is it ? I am fairly successful if life achievement can be judged in monetary terms, which more importantly means I more than provide for my family. I have managed to have career happiness, but that sure took its fucking time, and I sure as hell made some gargantuan fuck ups on the way. I have travelled extensively and was fortunate to spend quite a bit of my childhood living in different countries. But again, are this things I've achieved, or simply things that have happened to me ?
This is not a post I've enjoyed reading back, it's whiny, and I'm not generally whiny, but I'm just not looking forward to being in my forties. A is sensible enough, and knows me well enough ( I hope) not to bollocks around with surprise parties. In the event that she is foolish enough to do so, I will invite the assembled throng to politely fuck off, and go and drown myself in a vat of red wine.
Is forty old ? It's older than thirty nine for sure, but is it really old ? Odds are that I'm over halfway to pushing up daisies, which is a tad fatalistic, but probably right. I just don't feel forty, whatever feeling forty is, but I'm fairly sure I don't want to feel it anyway.
What have I achieved in forty years ? I've managed to be fortunate enough to have a happy relationship with a woman I love very much, and have two children from our marriage that I am proud of and adore, but that's not really an achievement as such is it ? I am fairly successful if life achievement can be judged in monetary terms, which more importantly means I more than provide for my family. I have managed to have career happiness, but that sure took its fucking time, and I sure as hell made some gargantuan fuck ups on the way. I have travelled extensively and was fortunate to spend quite a bit of my childhood living in different countries. But again, are this things I've achieved, or simply things that have happened to me ?
This is not a post I've enjoyed reading back, it's whiny, and I'm not generally whiny, but I'm just not looking forward to being in my forties. A is sensible enough, and knows me well enough ( I hope) not to bollocks around with surprise parties. In the event that she is foolish enough to do so, I will invite the assembled throng to politely fuck off, and go and drown myself in a vat of red wine.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Typical
As the clock winds down to the start of the bank holiday, the inevitable happens.
It starts to sodding rain.
Four days off work, and it's going to piss down. 'Triffic.
It starts to sodding rain.
Four days off work, and it's going to piss down. 'Triffic.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I seem to have left something out..........
We are Welsh and we are mighty !It was a bit good and a few beers went down the hatch on Saturday. (Polite speak for being deliriously banjaxed)
Yesterday I went up to the big smoke to see the specialist at the London Migraine Clinic. It all went swimmingly well, and she will be writing to my Gp to tell him how and when to treat me, and what medication is required. It's a bloody huge relief, I'm finally going to get some pain management, which should make coping a bit easier. Also, studies have shown that for cluster headaches to persist in adult males in their forties is rare, so there is an upside to the dreaded soon to be birthday.
I went on the train. For the first time in years, I had a trip which could actually work on public transport. Going up was fine. I read the paper and spent a lot of time mooching out of the window at the vast expanses of water that currently make up the English countryside. There are those that love London, and big cities in general, and I am fully appreciative for their reasons for doing so, but, every time I visit London or any city, I am truly thankful that I live tucked away in the sticks. I find it noisy and smelly, and struggle with the sheer volume of people. I spent around fifty minutes in total on the tube. If I had to do that every day I would scream long slow agonising howls. It's bloody horrible.
Anyway, after the fruitful consultation with the head doctor, I set off to met an old friend for a drink. An old girlfriend in fact. We were bf/gf in our early teens at school, and I've only seen her once since we went our separate ways. It really was great to catch up. Funny how you change. I'm married with children, and she's still single, which is probably the opposite of how we would have viewed ourselves twenty odd years ago.
The train was late on the way back, and I didn't get into the station until 10.40, but I had a good book, and a rather yummy selection of sushi I'd grabbed from a Japanese food stall in Piccadilly.
London does have its uses, you try getting decent sushi in rural Worcestershire !
I went on the train. For the first time in years, I had a trip which could actually work on public transport. Going up was fine. I read the paper and spent a lot of time mooching out of the window at the vast expanses of water that currently make up the English countryside. There are those that love London, and big cities in general, and I am fully appreciative for their reasons for doing so, but, every time I visit London or any city, I am truly thankful that I live tucked away in the sticks. I find it noisy and smelly, and struggle with the sheer volume of people. I spent around fifty minutes in total on the tube. If I had to do that every day I would scream long slow agonising howls. It's bloody horrible.
Anyway, after the fruitful consultation with the head doctor, I set off to met an old friend for a drink. An old girlfriend in fact. We were bf/gf in our early teens at school, and I've only seen her once since we went our separate ways. It really was great to catch up. Funny how you change. I'm married with children, and she's still single, which is probably the opposite of how we would have viewed ourselves twenty odd years ago.
The train was late on the way back, and I didn't get into the station until 10.40, but I had a good book, and a rather yummy selection of sushi I'd grabbed from a Japanese food stall in Piccadilly.
London does have its uses, you try getting decent sushi in rural Worcestershire !
Friday, March 14, 2008
Filthy,dirty,robbing bastards
The three petrol station closest to me are now selling diesel for £1.17 per litre.
It's getting beyond silly
It's getting beyond silly
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Touch me Darling
He really is one of the least charismatic politicians, and out of the current bunch of wooden lookalikes, that takes the biscuit, and I must say I'm a bit baffled by his budget. Essentially, it is a tax raising budget, but all done with the finesse of Kelvin MacKenzie. Where was the financial nous ? Sadly lacking. It was a tabloid budget. £950 on a gas guzzler, and make us think it's a green tax ? nonsense, it's a showroom tax, simple as, another way of generating revenue, but why dress it up? Call it a spade, we need a bit more cash, and this is one way we're going to do it.
Everyone in this country is an addled alky, so we'll bang on a few pence there as well, oh, and we'll do it year on year, and carrier bags, greatest problem facing the nation so we'll damn well sort that out to.
Carrier bags ? For fucks sake, bandwagon politics at its worst. perhaps I'm a simpleton, but I'd rather they concentrated on the mess that is our foreign policy, the the insanity of violent crime, and the scandal of all fuel prices. But I suppose that as long as there are less plastic bags on the street I should be content.
Politics generally is starting to drive me potty. I take more than a passing interest, we'll all should, but increasingly, all the parties are merging into one uniform mess, with very little separating them apart from an egotistical urge for power. As individuals, some actually make me cough up a little bit of sick when I see them. Some in this category (but by no means all) are;
Lembit Opik - As useless a tosser as you are likely to meet, and horribly oily with it
Ruth Kelly - There is no excuse for Ruth Kelly
Anne Widdecombe - She actually considered herself leadership material, crassly delusional
David Miliband - Horribly scary 'perfect' labour droid, vastly out of his depth.
The list could go on and on. Oh, and David Cameron just comes across as a bit of a twat. Nothing that offensive, you could be having a conversation with a friend, describing a mutual acquaintance who your friend is struggling to remember, and you may say' You know, wassisface, lawyer, lives a couple of doors down from the pub, okay bloke, bit of a twat though'
'Ohhhh yeah, I know who you mean'
Bit of a twat in that way.
On an entirely more agreeable subject, my wife has had her long hair cut short, very short, and she looks stunning. She's had long hair for as long as we've known each other, and for some time before that. I couldn't picture her with short hair, and nor could she herself. It was very spur of the moment. We were shopping and I told her I needed to zip to the office to pick up a file and was told, 'Okay I'll meet you in the library I'm going to have my hair chopped off' , simple.
Now, even on a bad day with a hangover Mrs Gumpher is a fine specimen, but with this new look, I tell thee, she is smokin', I'm a lucky chap.
Everyone in this country is an addled alky, so we'll bang on a few pence there as well, oh, and we'll do it year on year, and carrier bags, greatest problem facing the nation so we'll damn well sort that out to.
Carrier bags ? For fucks sake, bandwagon politics at its worst. perhaps I'm a simpleton, but I'd rather they concentrated on the mess that is our foreign policy, the the insanity of violent crime, and the scandal of all fuel prices. But I suppose that as long as there are less plastic bags on the street I should be content.
Politics generally is starting to drive me potty. I take more than a passing interest, we'll all should, but increasingly, all the parties are merging into one uniform mess, with very little separating them apart from an egotistical urge for power. As individuals, some actually make me cough up a little bit of sick when I see them. Some in this category (but by no means all) are;
Lembit Opik - As useless a tosser as you are likely to meet, and horribly oily with it
Ruth Kelly - There is no excuse for Ruth Kelly
Anne Widdecombe - She actually considered herself leadership material, crassly delusional
David Miliband - Horribly scary 'perfect' labour droid, vastly out of his depth.
The list could go on and on. Oh, and David Cameron just comes across as a bit of a twat. Nothing that offensive, you could be having a conversation with a friend, describing a mutual acquaintance who your friend is struggling to remember, and you may say' You know, wassisface, lawyer, lives a couple of doors down from the pub, okay bloke, bit of a twat though'
'Ohhhh yeah, I know who you mean'
Bit of a twat in that way.
On an entirely more agreeable subject, my wife has had her long hair cut short, very short, and she looks stunning. She's had long hair for as long as we've known each other, and for some time before that. I couldn't picture her with short hair, and nor could she herself. It was very spur of the moment. We were shopping and I told her I needed to zip to the office to pick up a file and was told, 'Okay I'll meet you in the library I'm going to have my hair chopped off' , simple.
Now, even on a bad day with a hangover Mrs Gumpher is a fine specimen, but with this new look, I tell thee, she is smokin', I'm a lucky chap.
Monday, March 03, 2008
More frolics in the Wye Valley, but a lot further down this weekend. Boy 2 was off to a birthday party on Saturday, so I suggested to Boy 1 that we load up the bikes and head out. I'd found a recently opened trail called The Peregrine Way, which is the old railway track between Ross on Wye and Monmouth. The cycle trail has been done so that you can ride next to the river from Monmouth to Symonds Yat and back.
Picnic made, we set off. It was glorious , we were passed by a few other serious cyclists (all dayglo lycra and go faster helmets) and passed the occasional jogger, but most of the time it felt as though everyone had vanished and we were the only people on the planet. It was wonderfully quiet. The river was deeper than at Builth, and faster flowing. We stopped to watch canoeists larking about in the rapids, looked like great fun.
We reached Symonds Yat and the sense of being alone vanished, it was very busy with tourists, but then it is very pretty. Last year, we put an offer in on a cottage overlooking the Wye at Symonds Yat. At the time it seemed to make sense. The village we live in has become crazily expensive for property, and although we love our house, the garden is quite small, and with two growing hooligans we felt the need for more space, so we looked further afield, where we get get get a lot more for our money, and settled on Symonds Yat. In hindsight, I'm glad we didn't get the house. Yes it was in a beautiful spot, but being there on a sunny spring day, made me realise just how busy it would have been. Also, we are very happy where we are, we have lots of good friends, as do the boys, and they go to a great school in the village.
We turned back and found this spot for lunch. (at top, cocked up positioning)
We cycled back stopping at the Biblins foot bridge. I'm not good with heights, and also the bloody thing wobbles like an excited jelly, but over we went. (cocked up again !)
It was a great day out, and I really enjoy spending one to one time with either of the boys.
Earlier in the week, we'd had parents evening. It went as expected, Boy 1 , a joy to teach, well mannered, doing well. Boy 2, hmmm. J is a problem, he has always been exceptionally bright. His elder brother is no fool, but he works very hard as well. J has set himself a mission, and that mission is to be the class clown, and he's succeeding, but succeeding at make himself a royal pain in the arse, disrupting the class and not going forwards himself. It was coming, his behaviour at home is fairly dire. The difficulty is, there's never any malice in what he does, he's a hugely affectionate and tactile little chap, but also a nutter. The thing is, we are strict. I cannot abide badly behaved kids, but J is turning that way. We have defined boundaries, and punishments for overstepping those boundaries, but it seems not to bother him. It causes problems with A and I, as we argue as to the best way forward, so the atmosphere in Gumpher Towers is generally rather frosty at the moment. The whole parent thing is a constant learning curve, and nothing I had done prior to being a father had prepared me for it.
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