Just the two of us...

E is back to work again,  so for two days a week Dizzy and I are now hanging out. Two weeks in and it's going fine,  I take D for her singing and nursery rhymes down at the local Sure Start Tuesday, then bundle her up into the pushchair and take her out into the world. I'll admit it, I stick the telly on for her too - and it's not always edifying viewing. The channel of choice as for all under fives is Ceebeebies, a mix of the worthy (like Let's Play), the rewarding (like Rastamouse) and the downright sinister (Pennywise.. I mean Mr Tumble). I've found myself keying into the vibe of conversations on Mumsnet: for instance, should the presenter girl with half an arm cover it up instead of leaving it for impressionable young minds to view? Does Andy look like the long lost son of Fatima Whitbread? 

      Mostly however, my idle imagination settles on certain shows or personalities, and gives them a little tweak for my amusement. For instance Dr Ranj gives diagnoses to puppets who are under the weather after listening to their symptoms. It's pretty innocuous stuff, food poisoning, urinary infections and the like. How about something more exotic? 'Buboes and a fever of over 102 degrees? That'll be bubonic plague, Penny!' Would Dr Ranj be so genial dispensing out that kind of diagnosis do you think? 

      Ceebeebies is a godsend. Diz cannot take her eyes of it at times, so it serves a purpose when needed. Still, there are certain moments when aspects of the unsettling do come up... or maybe I'm just reading too much into things? I'll leave you with a pic of Mr Maker about to ambush someone parked on a quiet country road and let the decision be yours.

Two tales from the sharp end of nappy changing.

And you thought a three year old sneezing on you was bad enough...

So I'm changing this girl's nappy. I open it up and lo and behold! There's a whole lot of poo there - thick and almost camo green in colour. Trouble is, the wipes I have don't seem to be enough. I scrabble round for a fresh pack and am unable to open it due to the thick blue plastic gloves I'm wearing. 'I've got to get these off', I muse, 'as most fingers have probably been exposed to toddler poo I'll take a gamble with my pinky finger'. I carefully put my gloved right hand finger between my teeth and gently remove my glove.  A split second later it hits me, a yeasty tang and the realisation that maybe that glove wasn't as clean as I'd hoped...

The thing with nappies is, you never know what you're getting. Take for instance the other day, I grabbed a girl to change her nappy, she was in good spirits but was a little pongy so I didnt expect much drama. Pulling off her tights I was in for a real shock, it was watery diarrhoea of the most noxious order. On her tights, jeans, up her back, on her feet. Everywhere. As I worked to clear up the mess a fuggy cloud enveloped me, but all I could do was start breathing through my mouth and carry on. I'll never forget finding a fragment of carrot on the nappy mat as I was clearing up afterwards. 

When it comes to the adventures of pre-schooler digestion I think I've seen it all now...

A.

....ONE!!!!

And little D reaches her first birthday!

We had a family get-together after work on the 28th where I watched Diz consume a slice of chocolate cake the size of her own face. Lovely to watch the transition from spotless, calm baby to writhing, choc speckled feral creature. When we put her in the bath to wash it all of she smelt of chocolate and had saucer sized eyes like a bushbaby. I think she enjoyed it!

Sunday was the party at Nana's. Where there was Auntie Astrid, cousin Ella and (more importantly) more cake and a birthday balloon. D has already twigged that the singing of 'Happy Birthday' to someone is a Very Good Thing. She grinned broadly as we presented her with cake number 2, complete with candle. Meanwhile the balloon is the gift which keeps on giving, even now she sometimes glances up at it and smiles to herself. I had this dim and distant memory that balloons=fun and watching Diz's happiness and fascination as she plays with it, has unlocked that memory again.

Once you try the hard stuff...

 

... you never go back...

It's funny how one's tastes in TV evolve. I used to believe the likes of Ronnie Barker, Antiques Roadshow and food shows were simply the preference of the old. Today I'm an aficionado of them all!

However the one show that I cannot get enough of features the guy above. Adam Richman travels the length and breadth of America and devours the most mouthwatering local dishes. Imagine a part travelogue, part competitive eating series hosted by a chunky Fred Savage lookalike.  In front of a crowd of cheering people, he tries to polish off these regional delicacies with a phony 'press conference' to follow.  The thing is, these meals are either absolutely HUGE, or intolerably spicy. And there's the rub, the cheese steak sandwiches, the pulled pork burgers, the prawn roll platters look so delicious they make me want to start licking the telly. However the servings have to be seen to be believed! You just want to gag as the guy shovels the food down his throat whilst sweating profusely as his body tries to process all the meat, cheese and chili. 

 'Man Vs Food' is food porn in its' extreme form. The show format is a weekly challenge where if Richman fails to complete his meal 'Food' is victorious, and if he is successful it's one for 'Man'. Victory for our hero is presented like a scene out of 'Gladiator' - the noble Maximus prevailing over a ferocious enemy. But this time in sandwich form. Come to think of it, maybe Ridley Scott should direct an episode to give the show some real gravitas. There's a thought...

I can't decide whether I adore this show or whether the premise is seriously f**king obscene. Should acts of gluttony be praised whilst so many in the world go without?? I'm conflicted as the food Richman comes across looks so delicious, yet he the portions he eats make me feel ill.

Here's a burger with a difference. After watching I don't know whether to drool or gag though.

All I can say is other food shows have lost their edge. If it's not covered in fried onions or cheese I'm not as excited as I used to be!

Meet 'the Major'

My effort at a snowman for 2013. Don't really know what I was aiming for, but ended up with some corpulent walrus/human mutant straight out of the Yellow Submarine movie..

A.

Boris Johnson on a dirt-bike (?!)

I had one of those random dreams which stick with you for days afterwards. Any analysts out there please let me know what my brain is trying to tell me!

I'm playing a video game. It features a wild haired blond man on a dirtbike driving through woodland. It's Mayor of London Boris Johnson. My POV is from fixed points in the woodland as BJ speeds by, his rapid downhill progress is partly blocked from view by poorly pixelated shrubbery. He has a problem as a large Jaguar starts pursuing him. I watch with interest as the gap between Mayor and big cat closes before the former is knocked off his bike by the the latter. The two of them proceed to duke it out Western bar room style. To his credit, Boris is handling the 250lb wild cat pretty well, he knocks it out with a forward roll before woodland reinforcements arrive. My POV changes as a field mouse leaps through the air, hellbent on kicking his arse. The Mayor connects with a satisfying flying kick a la Street Fighter 2 and little squeaky is knocked out cold. 

Wonder what it means.

That feeling of ice cold water between your toes...

So birthday time comes round again. I enjoyed this one alot more than usual.

At work yesterday I asked the kids how old they thought I was. 'OLD!' seemed to be the consensus response and I couldn't fully disagree. 'Thirty-six' I told them, rolling the number over in my mind. Thirty. Six. When you're ploughing through your late teens and into your twenties, numbers like 'thirty-six' seem clunky and baggage laden. You don't actively volunteer your age to someone if not asked when you're thirty-six, it seems unseemly. So I guess I'd just pushed my birthday to the back of my mind this time around. 

This time round I think X was more excited than I was. We spent a couple of days in the New Forest and stayed at one of those plush corporate hotels which host weddings and upscale Tom Jones impersonators at £35 a head. The breakfast was something to behold though - they served up feathery scrambled eggs with that melt in the mouth quality which I would've eaten a bucket of. We filled our boots (and sneaked out a little extra for luncheon) before hitting the road early Sunday afternoon.

We arrived at Deadman's Hill in the New Forest for our afternoon stroll (and to walk off our morning breakfast indulgences) about 2pm and set off to conquer a nearby woody hillock. It was sunny but cold and  the ground uneven. I had the inconvenience of having a baby strapped to my chest - visibility was.. challenging, lets say. The journey uphill was alright, we dodged a few boggy patches and clumps of pony poo and reached our peak to drink in the view. The way down was a different story, it all started going pear shaped when we left the path to take a direct route back to the car. The muddy patches became boggy and soon we couldn't navigate around the wet stuff but had to plough through the middle of it, hoping for the best. Now this is good fun when you're travelling solo, but disconcerting when there's a baby attached for company. D was her usual stoic self, she drank in the views and letting out little coos of interest every few minutes or so. I won't forget her little chuckle when my right foot went into the swamp almost shin deep and some animal instinct told me I better start running for safety. 

The crowning moment was leaping a stream running between us and the footpath upto the car park. E and X cleared it like the doughty mountain goats they are, Diz and I weren't so lucky and stumbled before clearing the bank. I rolled onto my side in a Colt Seavers stylee to spare D a winter soaking and got further drenched for my trouble. Her non-plussed look of "what's all the fuss about?" following our sodden adventure was particularly entertaining.

Anyway, we lived to tell the tale, X thought it would've made a good TV show. I won't forget that feeling of my feet marinating in a sock full of ice cold water and taking one for Team Dizzy. 

Hopefully next year will be just as satisfying,

A.