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.

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.

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..............

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.

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.

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 !

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.

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 !

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.

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.

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.

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 .

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.

'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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy days.

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

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

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

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

School report day.

I am not happy.

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

Boy 2.

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

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

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

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

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

I am fucking pissed off.

We're good people.

We've got good kids.

We recognise their failings, and address them.

Sorry.

Angry.

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

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

Knife crime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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