A Wee Bit Owie

If I didn't know better, I would say that last night, I was set upon by a wild, rabid donkey. Now to be fair, I was very busy yesterday - the fact I had very little in the way of rest was, in hindsight, a Bad Thing.

When we got in last night, I popped some meds and sat on the sofa with the laptop, but could not get nor stay comfortable. I then had to force myself to stay awake so I could take some more meds later on. Last night, I didn't so much sleep, as was medicated out. My bed this morning was pretty much as it was when I went to sleep, which shows I stayed in the same place, in the same position all night.

Ruth had to ring to wake me up this morning too, twice, as I was A) Doped up still, and B) Owie and didn't want to move.

None the less, I've forced myself up, up and away, and have eaten some cereal in an effort to wake up some more. I was going to shower, but can't actually get my leg up into the bath - so that can wait till a little later. The Ruth has offered to take The Boy in to school (Hmmm, who is still in bed, I note with a huff), but I'm going to get dressed and get out.

On the bright side, after Kellie and her kids stayed over during the week last week, me and Jaysen are off to hers tonight after school, only to come back tomorrow morning in order to get The Boy to school Wednesday. It's not too hard really - just means getting up a little earlier and getting a bus for half seven/eight in the morning.

I get to see Kellie, so I don't care ;)

And on a final note - if this fricking cat keeps meowing over and over outside the window, I will skin him, dip him in vinegar, lightly salt him, and throw him to the Very Big Dog a few doors down.

On The Meds

OK I'm kidding... mostly. See, while I am off my Happy Fun Pills, I am NOT off my "For-The-Love-Of-All-Things-Holy-OWIE!" pain killers. Unlike sadness and depression, chronic pain and missing-bits-of-spine don't go away.

Which is a shame, but still.

See, in my garden, I have a plant I've mentioned before. I'm not going into the SATAN of all plants, but if you're bored, have a google for Japanese Knotweed. I have that. Lots and lots of that.

I had to contact DEFRA (Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs) about the plant after being bounced from council, environment agencies, departments for this, that and the other. DEFRA are a nice group - they are the ones that deal with the nice stuff, Foot & Mouth, Bluetongue, Avian Flu... All the good stuff.

Oh, and now, Knotweed.

I had to leave the garden while they investigated and looked into it as it's a bitch. Once you have it, you have it. Anyway, a nice lady called me this morning and said as long as I don't dump it, shred it, landfill it or anything else, I can rip that fecker up. Of course, to get to it, we had to get the tribe of pygmys to allow us to hack through the grass jungle. So me and the boy hacked, and mowed, and strimmed, and piled... Took us three hours, but we found various things, most importantly, the gravel and the lawn:


OK, to put this in perspective - the shed at the end of my garden was all but hidden. The metal washing-line-pole was missing. Of course, it's not tidy by a long shot yet. There's actually a PATH on my lawn but it's well grown over. And no, I still don't have a fence. And yes, the rear-neighbours do have a pool. And yes, the house on the right has a lovely garden. If you look carefully, that pile of GREEN next to my shed - that's the stack of knotweed that was covering the lower half of the garden.

And to give you an idea of this weed... See the fence panel on the left of my garden? See the green plant growing next to it? THAT, my friends, is knotweed. Mine wasn't quite that tall, but still - that is 5 weeks of growth. That's a seven-foot tall fence panel. Still not impressed? Go right, to the paved garden, and go to the end of their garden where it backs onto the people behind... See the green behind their shed and their neighbour? Yeah, that's it too. That's how far it's spread. It's two or three doors to the left and right, and one garden back.

Here is a detailed artist impression of what my garden looked like before we used MANLY skills on it.


Actually, I am quite impressed by the depth in that image. My art skills are clearly improving. But that pretty much summed up my garden. Sally could go out there and vanish in the grass. I had to wear my big clumpy boots incase I found a snake out there. *shudder*

But anyway, to the subject at hand. I am now sitting with fluffy-leg sensation, and am listening to very loud music and waiting for the Mother F'king pain to jump on the bus and get outta Dan Town. Head Meds - gone. Back Meds - My Friends.

Back Foul Beast

While me and Jaysen have been wandering this deep, dark tunnel that is know as "Poorly Boys" we've woken up this morning and can actually see what appears to be a light around the next corner of this germ-ridden tunnel. It has had a lot of twists, turns and pitfalls, but I do believe we're almost over it all.

Last week I felt like arse. On a stick. And Jaysen joined me. I decided to keep him with me over the weekend, save him sharing his yuck with grandparents or Tamsyn. Thursday, the school phoned me to let me know he was sick, and to come and get him from school. They let me know just as I was leaving to get him from school anyway, and allowed me to take him out a massive FIVE minutes early. After investigation, turns out they sent him, his germs, and his puke-bowl, back into a class full of 9 year olds.

With the way that school harps on about their targets, numbers and everything else, you would have thought they'd have NOT put the vomiting kid back at his desk. So no doubt everyone will get a turn of that little fun-ride.

Anyway, I got him home, dosed him up, and he flaked on the sofa while I dozed in my chair. He then started being sick which I put down to his temperature, swapped his duvet for my summer one and he's not popped since. We've been coughing in unison, taking meds at the same time and generally doing nothing.

Yesterday morning we got up and felt a bit better, but last night one of his ears went red and he was crying with an ear ache. Joy. More paracetamol, and off to bed - I woke up at eight this morning to find a perky little boy with a bunged up nose, feeding and watering the rats, dog and cats.

He even made me a cup of tea. Clearly the alien got through his eardrum and took over.

So, on the grand scheme of things, he'll be back at school tomorrow, and has only had one day off sick. Well, one day PLUS five minutes.

He's still got a blocked nose, and I've still got a cold, but finally, we're exorcising the ManFlu demons.

The power of vicks compels you. The power of vicks compels you.

Where Are The Bears?

After the stress of the last few days, I've not been sleeping, and last night was no difference at all. I played some WoW for a while, chatting on Ventrillo with Daisy and a couple of others, and generally unwinding. I had what most others consider rubbish music blaring on my headphones, was merrily killing things and generally screwing around.

At about half midnight, I was sitting, drinking my fizzy water (party animal that I am), sitting with just a lamp on when out of the corner of my eye I see movement. Jumping out my pants and filling my chair with excrement, I was confronted with a shape looming out of the darkness into my little nest of light.

Luckily before I ran screaming, I realised it was Jaysen, bleary-eyed and stumbling along and muttering to himself.

"Are you alright Jaysen? It's very late, you should be in bed."
"Mmm-hmmm"
"What's wrong little man?"
"Where are the bears?"
"Pardon?"
"I don't know where the bears have gone."
"Go back to bed little man. It's late and you're asleep."
"Mmm-hmmm"

And he stumbled back out the lounge, upstairs and, after checking on him a little while later, he was sound asleep still. This morning, he has no recollection what so ever! He's always been prone to sleep walking, and occasionally I will talk in my sleep (apparently). He's even sleep-pee'd at friends sitting in the living room, but that's a story for another time...

House

Today has been a long day. Despite thinking my head was screwed on straight, having no sleep made me a mess, and once again, I sent Jo texts, called her and cried on the phone to her. I don't know why. I guess it's because I still love her, but the feelings aren't reciprocated.

I have to live with that.

The hardest part of the moment is the house. So much for our happy little plans yesterday. Jo went to the council today, told them what was happening, and that she needed a home. They said something along the lines of "never mind, you walked, good luck!" Now, this house is rented, and both our names are on the tenancy. If one leaves, that's voluntary homelessness, and we don't qualify for any help.

The only option on that aspect is get legal aid, have a court declare which of us is rightfully owed the house, and then have the other legally "removed" which isn't as scary as it sounds. This other person is then officially homeless and can qualify for help - which means, well, anything. One of us could end up with a bedsit, a one - or if we're really lucky - a two bedroom house or flat.

The only other option is for one of us to get enough money in order to rent a place from a private landlord. As we'd both be on benefits - Jo as a single mum, me on my incapacity - then the council will pay the rent at both places. Assuming we can find a private landlord that accepts rent benefits from the council.

While this is the easier step, it comes with a price - namely, the deposit on the place. While the rent will be paid, the landlord will still likely demand first month rent and a security deposit. Which requires money. I need to call around the family this evening, see if they can help - we're still not sure who will get another place, Jo or myself, but this is home, and the other place will be the kids second home.

We're still agreed on joint custody and Jo has said she'd never take the kids from me. I know without a doubt that we are over, so the kids and myself are now priority. We've been talking about how we're going to work the kids, and I don't want to just be a weekend father. We might do four days/three days one week, then swap. We could do alternate days - whatever.

Quite how we're going to come up with money for deposit on a place I don't know. I know my mum is in no position to help, I'm going to try my dad and maybe even my sister. I just don't know what else to do. The legal route will take a long time, and the private route will take money. We're calling people and seeing what we can do.

At the moment, I have Jaysen. I got him from school today, and am having him till Saturday. Jo is coming over then to sit and discuss some stuff - bills, paper work and what not.

I'm at a loss really. Jo is gone. While sharing custody, the kids are going to be "hers", I'm probably going to lose the house... If anyone has a magic wand or something, now is the time to wave it.

The Sun Came Out...

I do believe that since Christmas I have not "been well" for one single day. I feel tired, drained - exhausted - and the headache/sore throat/snottiness is getting very very boring now. However, aside from a few days of just vegging out on the sofa and, shockingly, sleeping during the day, I've been pressing on as best I can.

However, today, the sun is out and while I slept in for a stupid length of time - something else I don't do - I am taking advantage of the nice looking weather. All the curtains are open and I am bathed in sunlight. Granted I am freezing my nuts off, but none the less, the sun is nice.

Last night, we decided that we all fancied some pancakes. Well, aside from Tam - she doesn't like them, the little freak. So, I did something I have not done in a long time. I made a large batch. Yesterday was a long day, and I've been stressy and pissy all week, and didn't care what I ate.

And so Dan cooked. And tossed flipped pancakes for an eternity. And the plate of pancakes became a little mound, a heap, a pile, a tower...


That, folks, is a pile of 38 pancakes. There would have been more, but I got bored with the dregs in the bowl and poured three-pancakes worth of batter into the pan to save time.

The result? Jo, Jaysen and myself scarfing the worlds supply of pancakes. BUT don't think we're lardy fatties. No no, we left three. Which I might eat now.

Anyways, I am making the best of today - and prolly the weekend - before next week lands and saps my will ;)

And for the record, my new computer is completely set up to my liking - just getting used to Vista from XP, but it's not too different really. But it makes a nice change to play games without having a gale-force wind blowing around to keep it cool. It's nice to use a computer that works without randomly nosediving because I asked it to do something ;) You can see it here if you want, but it came from - strangely - a supermarket. A German-chain no less, that tends to sell rubbish.

Granted, it's not a supercomputer, but at the end of the day, it does what I want it to do, and it does it well. Warcraft, Half Life 2, Hellgate - it's all good!

Bad Daddy!

It's a common misconception about me, that I am in fact a good father. People often say to me "Awww you're so good to your kids" and I smile and nod, and make threatening "Shut The Hell Up!" looks at the kids. The fact of the matter is, I am a bad bad person, and likely, will burn downstairs for the things I've done.

Those of you that have been on the end of my sarcasm or "humour" will be pleased to know, I am an Equal Opportunities Bastard. Just because I take the piss out of you, does not mean my kids are immune. In fact, you have to bear in mind, they are here 24/7. They probably get it more than those of you that get ridiculed every few days.

When Jaysen was born, I became a Daddy for the first time, and, as he grew, and became a little more sturdy, the fun increased. Take a child that is learning to sit, surround them with pillows, hold tight and take bets which direction he'll fall. When his neck is strong, take two grown men, one armed with a baby, one armed with a soft ball. Baby Baseball was a big hit, and even when he was a toddler, if there were people over, he'd bring the ball over and want up in order to play.

Even Bethy was subjected to my harassment. With her insides all screwy, it wasn't quite so viable to play the physical games with her, but I used to offer ice cream and nice things to "Everyone with a spleen can have some!". Of course, Bethy was born without her spleen! Even in hospital - and probably some sort of defense mechanism to stop us wallowing - we used to laugh at some of the things she had done... When she was very ickle, they could not, for love nor money, get a line into her arms or legs - so they used a big one on her head. To protect it from Wandering Baby Hands, they taped a galley pot over the top which, for all intents and purposes, looks like a yoghurt pot. And Voila! The Fruit Corner for Cannibals was created/

Obviously, even now with Tam, she gets it too. She's not a fan of bugs or creepy crawlies, so guess what Daddy chases her with. She likes to be "shocked" with a BOO! so I do that fairly often. Probably too often. She's also been a member of Baby Baseball and Which Way Will It Fall. Of course, thanks to our shopping centre (Mall, for you Yankies) being made with marble flooring, Baby Curling was also a big laugh. Put the hood up on her coat, grip her by the front, and see just how far you can slide her. She was a pro at 18 months of age.

And so it continues, physical humour, dead arm/dead leg tricks, shocks, surprises... And this morning, I added a new (and, I add, unintentional) feather to my cap. I slept through three alarm clocks, five phone calls, a half-dozen text messages - and made Jaysen miss half a day of school.

Oops. Still, it's only the second time he's ever been late for school.

I'm not going to count the number of times I've forgotten to collect him...

Know How I Know You're Gay?

You may be wondering about the title of this post. It comes from a movie - The 40 Year Old Virgin - and is a scene between two friends bantering about how each knows the other is gay. But that's irrelevant, frankly.

For some reason, there are in the family, two or three asshats that think it's highly amusing to tell us that the way Jaysen is going, he's going to "turn out gay". More's the point, they tell HIM. He might know a lot about a lot, but for f'ck sakes, he is nine years old. He understand that men and women can love each other, as can men love other men, and women love other women, but he doesn't understand the intricate details of it all.

The thing that pisses me off the most is the fact that despite being told, they carry on. It doesn't matter if we're just popping in for a little while, there for a day or even staying for a while, they carry on.

What they also fail to realise that if Jaysen announces to us one day that he has a boyfriend, then so be it; it'd be the same if Tam announced she had a girlfriend. It's up to them, and not something we're worried about. What "worries" us is the short-sightedness of certain family members being arseholes and telling Jaysen all sorts of things that he doesn't need to worry about for years to come.

For goodness sake, what is it about family. You can chose your friends, but you're stuck with your relatives...

*mutter*

Boys Night, Take Two

So, last night = wash out. Today, Jaysen has been playing on the computer quietly as he knows I was poorly. He keeps asking if I am ok and if I need anything. "I'm fine little man, you have fun" seems to be my mantra for today.

And I'm not totally sure where "today" went. I've eaten some porridge and some chocolate. I've had lots of tea and water. I've just prepared two more culinary delights - curry for the boy, southern fried chicken and chips for me. His just smells, mine smells lovely - I don't like premade curry. Has to be proper curry, and even then, I need to be in a mood for it.

Anyways, tonight I fully intend to crack out the booze and have mucho fun without the puking. I currently have music blaring, my food still smells good, and a glass of absinthe next to me.

Rock on, indeed.

And something about this comic just makes me laugh. I think it's me with someone Jo...


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Very amusing comic strip - if you've never read, go look. Some of it is shocking, some of it is mildly amusing, some of it is actual LOLworthy.

Bleeeergh...

It has to be said, Boys Weekend is off to a less-than-auspicious start. For dinner, I created the culinary masterpiece of "Microwave Sweet and Sour" for Jaysen, and "Microwave Duck in Ho Sin Sauce" for yours truly. While the little mans dinner was cooking, it smelt marvellous. I love chinese food at the best of times, and I love duck, but his Sweet and Sour smelled glorious.

While mine was cooking, I wondered for a moment if I was microwaving the cats toilet. OK, it probably didn't smell that bad, but none the less, it wasn't a "oooh I can't wait to eat that" smell.

So I cook it, serve it and think "doesn't look as good as Jaysens" but, none the less, I take my plate and my manly glass of milk upstairs and sit at my desk eating. Jaysen inhaled his dinner and said how nice it was.

Mine wasn't quite that good. The rice was almost powdery. The duck was full of bone, gristle and "bits" and tasted like microwaved ass. Whatever that tastes like, but I think it was a pretty good approximation. I managed to "eat" just under half of it before giving up. I complained to the management, but he didn't listen.

Sally enjoyed it, after I picked out the rest of the boney bits.

An hour or so later, from nowhere, a migraine arrived. If I didn't know better, I was being house-invaded and was smacked in the head with a lump of solid matter. It literally came on from nowhere. Ugh. So, shit dinner, and now I felt like hell. I flopped on the sofa, told Jaysen "bed in half an hour" and stayed there trying to remain Conscious and... well, actually, that was my only goal. I got myself some water and had a sip here and there.

Jaysen was great - he let Sally out for her bedtime pee, locked the back door, turned off the lights, and went to bed. I was minutes behind for bed. When Jo is away, he sleeps in our bed with me, and was reading. As I stumbled into the room, he apologised for the light being on (he was reading) and clicked it off for me, and I collapsed into bed, pillow on my head, brain feeling like it's trying to push its way out my eyeball.

An hour later, the crappy duck and rice put in a repeat performance, only in reverse as my migraine dragged me from bed, put my head in the toilet, and emptied out the rubbish dinner. Better out than in I suppose.

And it didn't smell much different either ;)

The headache subsided drastically after that, I had some more water, was able to check my mail, and finally flopped into bed and slept, finally falling out of bed just after half nine this morning. The head is fine this morning - fuzzy from meds, and a dull ache inside which is nothing in comparison, so I'm officially restarting Boys Weekend with a bowl of porridge.

And hurrah for Saturday Morning blogposts containing vomit! At least it wasn't booze-orientated vomit I suppose!

Boys Time!

With Christmas coming up faster than an alcoholics stomach contents, Jo has poodled off into the great wilds of England to beat the leaving hell out of people. Tam has been stolen by the mother in law, leaving me and Jaysen with the heating on, music up, jeans off.

Yes folks, it's boys weekend in once again.

Dinner will be a case of seven minutes of slaving at the microwave for each of us, fizzy drinks, booze and tea (for me) and whatever fluids are running around for the boy. Healthy snacks will include "Crisps" and "Chocolate" and maybe the dairy group representing with "Ice Cream". Jo left a large bar of Cadburys here which, I'm afraid, is being confiscated and closely examined for foreign bodies (in case she's been knocking off immigrants).

I might even manage a shower this week...

In other news, I found a site of "free stuff" which provided me with hours of pleasure. Samples of mundane stuff - soap, washing powder, make up, deodrant - to the interesting stuff - incontinence pads, colostomy bags, thermometers for elderly people... So I had great fun filling out the form with other peoples names and addresses.

Jo was rather pleased with her very own Paternity Testing Kit... At least she didn't try to stab me with it. Lucky for me, I was under the desk "untangling wires" so was safe from the worst of the fall out.

Anyways, Jo has gone, leaving me to it, while I brave the forces of the central heating, she's braving freezing fog, frost, ice, sleet, wind and rain... How DO I manage to get out of such "fun"...

Cake

Happy Birthday Little Man!

Time Flies. Apparently, and especially, when you're having fun. A little while ago, I sat as my first child, a son, was born. We had already decided to name him Jaysen. I remember the fun of the birth; Jo being induced, the monitors, the nurses, the constant won't be long now from the consultants. I remember them deciding baby needed to be delivered NOW in the middle of the night, thanks to them waiting and waiting and waiting.

The baby was getting distressed. Whip him out, get him out, before things go pearshaped. I remember Jo, high as a kite, singing along to imaginary songs on the imaginary radio. I remember them bursting her waters, and the torrent that hit the nurse square in the chest. I remember them making her walk to the theatres with me lugging the cannister of Gas & Air as we walked down three flights of stairs.

No porters, no insurance for the nurses to rush us down there, lift too far away. Makes sense, apparently...

I remember them getting Jo ready for the caesarian, the doctors, consultants, the sort that had gone from being called "Doctor" to "Mr". Monitors showing heart rates, pressures, resps... It was all very intimidating.

I remember the slopping sounds from the other side of the sheet as they cut into Jo, and vividly remember the pool of blood and goo forming around my scrub-shoes as I sat next to Jo, trying to ignore the small stream of ick flowing down onto the ground.

I remember his cry as he wanted to get back inside. It was chilly. Then nurses checking him, counting digits, checking weights and measures, then the little wrinkled thing handed to me. Mine, my son.

And then without warning, he turns nine years old.

Nine years of him growing, developing, learning. I hope we've done the right thing by him, teaching him right from wrong, manners, and will grow to be a good person.

Jaysen, I love you so much little man. I hope you continue to grow and impress everyone with how much you know, and that your capacity for knowledge grows with you.

Here are some random pictures, in a random order. Click any to embiggen.

The Little Man, this morning at 7am with his small stack of (mostly geeky) presents!

Jaysen the toddler, threatening to run up the stairs.

One of his attractive "faces", squished against a view-hole in a travel cot.

My Blue-Eyed Boy.

His "Evil Boy" Impression

Happy. What more could I ask.

Hells Angel ;)

My son posing in a Belgian Forest.

And again with Belgium, this time a Belgian Lake, while daddy feeds the Belgian Ducks.

This last image is a screenshot from WoW. We all play Warcraft in this house, and Jaysen is constantly surprising our guildmembers when they find out he is only eight years old. A few members don't even believe us when we tell him. This image is a message I received from our Guild Leader after he spent a couple of hours running around with Jaysen in Outlands...


Bear in mind, the guild is all adult members, some of which have kids themselves.

Happy Birthday Jaysen, my little man.

Whinefest (Part the First)

Sometimes you just want to kill people. And I don't mean that literally, Mr FBI/MI5 or which ever government agencies might flag me for that. I mean just pure GAH!

None of this is in any order of irritation/whine/bitch, it's just as they come to mind, as they flow off the grey matter and onto the great big cyber lump that is the blog.

Names may or may not be changed to protect the innocent.


The Wrong Number:
So this morning on the way to school, my mobile rings. Not only do I not recognise the number, but it's also international. So I ignore it. And ignore it. And ignore it every time it rings the following dozen times. Eventually, because I'm just feeling all GAH! already, I answer it. Someone jabbers at me.

"I only speak English"
More babble
"I'm sorry, you've probably got the wrong number" I say, rationalising, that this person is trying to contact someone that not only speaks Italian, but is expecting so many attempts at a call.
"I calla from da Italy" he says in 'English'. I say 'English' because his accent was so heavy I could hardly understand it.
"I think you have the wrong number" wondering for a minute if it's a certain crazy Italian I know having a laugh. L0tars, if that was you, I'll kill you. Anyway...
"Meester Terrrry? I calla from da Italy" he says again.
"No, I'm not Terry nor Mr Terry, you have the wrong number.
"Dis da numba I have for da Meester Terrrry. Do you have da numba for longa?"
"This is my number, and it's a new number (I know, I checked), so you're dialling wrong."
"Oh, itsa okay, I'm a sorreeee."
"No worries, thanks, bye"

Fifteen nano seconds later, the phone rings, Italian number. "You've still got the wrong number".
"Meester Terrrry?"

Rinse and repeat three times before I switch Mr Mobile to silent.

And no, I won't apologise for my Italian accent impression.


Damn Kids: The Boy
It's the weather, I swear to all that is good and pure, it must be the weather. My little cherub that is Jaysen has just been Mooder of the Year this last week. Everything you ask is "hang on" or "in a minute" or an outright "no". It's not just him; I've noticed a few kids in his class are talking the same way to their parents, so if it's not the weather, it's a nasty case of airborne Shitbagitus going around school.

Case in Point: This morning at 7am, I get up, and he's on Jo's computer, killing all that is evil in Unreal Tournament. He's in his boxers.
"Morning little man" I offer in way of greeting, as I do every morning.
"Make me breakfast" is the reply. I offer a "pfft" and give him The Daddy Look, but he doesn't see it, too engrossed in winning. I saunter off to have a whizz and a shower, come back in, and he's not moved. By now, it's 7.30am.

Yes, I had to wash my hair.

"Jaysen, get dressed and breakfast"
"I don't wanna go to school" he replies - still not looking at me.
"Tough -" I reply, leaning over to hit pause, which gets me a glare "- now go get your clothes on and get breakfast."
He stomps off, huffing and puffing, so I kill his game. Don't care if it's not saved or whatever, his loss.
"I can't find any boxers" he says.
"They're in your drawer" I reply, knowing the next question/statement will be,
"I've not got any socks" he calls upstairs.
"In the basket. The basket full of socks." I call back down, grinding my teeth. Bear in mind, the clothing hunt occurs every morning. Socks and Boxers are ALWAYS in the same place, trousers are ALWAYS where he left them (ie, somewhere at random between the front door and his bedroom), and shirts are ALWAYS hanging up. But I digress.
He comes back upstairs (stomping) and starts whining about how school is unfair, how Tam gets to stay home, how it's boring and blah blah blah. Till he sees Jo's computer is on her desktop and not a paused game of Unreal.
Cue more bitching and more whining, and he sits on the sofa watching cartoons in a huff.
I just fuel the fire, remind him to get breakfast and to get a move on.

The joy continues right up till the moment he says bye bye, and goes through the school gate.
Daily.


Doctors Are Evil
It's no great secret that my previous GP was a bit... Well, we'll call him "off his game", when a closer representation would be something along the lines of sandwiches missing from picnics , or being as mad as a box of frogs. While he had told me many times what "could" be wrong with me, I was never told, "Mr English, here is a diagnosis for your issues."

I should point out too, that Previous GP was also struck off the medical register for "Outdated Practices". Which I won't even go over because, you know, it's just more whining.

So, New GP; He's young, hip, knows his shizz and is a smart button. So when I tell him what could be wrong with me, he gets a form, scribbles on it, and says something that involves my least favorite words.

Blood Test.

I am not a needle person. Tattoo needles; no problem. Piercing needles; piece of piss. Bodily-fluid-removal/adding-needles; whoooole different kettle of fish. In a different ballgame. I'm the man that goes for a flu shot, and leaves with a concussion. I'm the man that goes to have stitches and a tetanus, and leaves with an accident report card.

So yesterday, while trying to fix Celestes computer (yet another story), Jo texts me. "Mum will be here in the morning to take you for your blood test".

Impending doom. That's all I feel.

Last night, I did NOT sleep. When I did manage to doze off, I had nightmares of needles, bloods being drawn and all sorts of generic nastiness. I felt like turds this morning, I've picked my fingers into oblivion. Jo's mum arrived bright and early, we pack off into the car, and head to the hospital. It might as well have been Barad-dûr for all I cared.

The Pathology department is always busy. The doctors of the area seem to send everyone up there at random, plus the preggers people waddling in for their tests. The average age, I should add, is about 826 years, thanks to the horde of old cronies (+partner) that live up there. The waiting system, akin to a butcher, is take a ticket, wait for your number.

Yes, "Your number is up" does spring to mind.

Screen Display upon arrival: 31
Ticket Number in sweaty hand: 61

Shit.

Like a deer trapped in headlights, I sit in the waiting room; Jo is being ever so supportive by counting down for me "Ooooh only 14 to go" BZZZ "Oooh 13" BZZZ" Just 12 - not too bad is it..." Tam is trying to entertain me by running around and acting cute, while Jo's mum is corralling Tam so she doesn't escape into the bowels of Basildon Hospital.

58, 59, 60.......................... 61.

So I go in, Jo follows, and I sit in front of one of the blood sucking vampires phlebotomists. I hand her my form, she pulls forth her sword and Jo interrupts. "Has he told you he's scared of needles" The woman smirks and answers no, giving me that awwww but you're a big boy. You want a lolly pop? Jo then adds "Did he tells you he sometimes passes out?" Vampire Queen stops and looks at me with that look only a woman can give. "No, he didn't, but you really should tell us that sort of thing."

Yes, I know I should tell, but it's really not manly is it.

So I get impaled on her spike and she asks if I am ok. I can't talk, my tongue is lost somewhere in Bermuda. My eyes are cold, and the room is very pretty and spinny. Plus, the dead giveaway is the Cold Eyes. My eyes get cold when I am going to drop. Jo is telling me to stay with her and the leech is working hard to JustGetTheDamnBloodAndGetTheFreakOut.

After she drains my gallon of blood, I sit, whoozy as hell, trying to relocate my tongue, and after a minute, she kicks me out. I survived in a manly fashion, but now feel sick and headachey.

Just for a doc to look at it and shrug.

Oh, and to rub salt in the wound - I had to starve for this test, no food after midnight (because I am gremlin thing) and nothing to drink after 3am. The Pathology lab is through the small cafe in the hospital.


Damn Kids: The Girl
Tam is well, truly and fully rooted into her Terrible Twos. Seriously, this child has done everything BUT murder, and even then, I wouldn't put it past her. She's good at hiding evidence.

For example. I get in last night, and where Jo is still The Hobble Queen, she had Tam and Jaysen go downstairs and get some cereal. I don't know why they wanted it after dinner, but hey, better than whatever else they wanted. Jaysen tells Jo that Tam spilt some cereal. Jo tells Jaysen to leave it for Sally.

Anyway, I get in, take two paces into the darkened hall and hear *crunch* from underfoot. Cereal. Through the hall, up three or four stairs, and covering the kitching and dining room. A virtually full box of cereal, scattered. Sally sits on the stairs looking down at me, and her expression says "Piss off, I ain't eating that"

Well what good are you then. So I crunch through to the kitchen, get the dustpan and brush, and crunch through to the hall, and sweep my way through the ground floor of the house. Golden Balls, how I hate thee.

Yes, Golden Balls, that is what they are. So the get caught by the brush and roll away.

Aside from cereal incidents, Tam also loves to play with toys. Yesterday after lunch, Jo went upstairs and tidied up Tams room. She had strewn stuff all over the shop, so Jo cleared it up. 7.30pm rolls around, and the kids go to bed. Both of them dick around at bedtime something chronic, but last night, Tam had bigger plans. She wanted to surpass herself...


That, dear reader, is Tamsyns room. But wait, there's more. Not content with covering 94% of her own bedroom in toys and junk, she moved up the food chain:


And that is Jaysens room. Full marks for being thorough. I can't get into either room without stomping on something.

And I'm not even going to detail her wanting to do everything by herself. I mean cooking, and carrying hot/sharp things and generally throwing an arsey strop fit if she's not allowed. Nor will I cover the highdive bombing run she performs on me in bed at random. Nor the stroppy kicking/pitching/scratching she performs occasionally.


And to make things even more interesting, this isn't actually everything. Not yet. I've not ranted about idiots online, idiots around me, nor the inlaws, nor the washing machine repossession, not even computers and technology or anything else that is just hacking me off. But I will... Oh yes...

Now if you will excuse me, I need to wash up in order to make myself a cup of tea and some toast.

Little Man

Because there is a distinct lack of photos of Jaysen on here, I decided to add a few ;) Click any to embiggen!

Pirate Day at School


Chicken Pox


Gemmas Wedding


Love Mummy


Eighth Birthday


Snuggled in Mummys Dressing Gown


Red Sweeties!

Here's to my Little Man, Jaysen. I hope he carries on smiling.

.

The Skies Opened...

So today was "wet", and when I say "wet" I mean "it was absolutely pissing it down from dawn till dusk". And yes, I got caught in it.

Twice.

This morning wasn't so bad - Jaysen got up late, rushed him out the door, got to Ruths who I also had to rush out the door, got to school, ditched the kids, got home, job done. Not too wet.

This afternoon, however, was a completely different story. Got Ruth, went to school, and were soaked before we even got there. Her youngest was out a few minutes late, so we got soaked waiting for her. Sorry, further soaked. Then the junior school - Jaysen and Ashley - was a nightmare. We get letters constantly reminding us the kids need to be in school promptly by 8.40am or there will be hell to pay. School kicks out at 3.05pm. Me, Ruth and her little one were standing in the pissing rain till just after 3.15pm.

We were completely and utterly soaked through. My coat leaked, my jeans were soaked, my hair holds water like a sponge. Jaysen was soaked before he even got to the school gate, and Ashley was having a "Who Can Keep Their Hood Down" competition with a friend, so she was soaked too.

Now, aside from the fact they built a "shelter" last year that holds just a dozen mums with their over-sized rain-cover-fitted buggies, everyone was getting wet and pissed off. No, our biggest gripe is the fact that if the kids get sick from getting drenched with their coats open/off, we the parents get bitched and moaned at for not ensuring our kids are in school every day.

Like everything else in this bloody country, it's become about The Mighty Stats And Figures and nothing else. They aren't bothered if the kids are sick, they moan and send shitty letters. If they suffer from puking or the craps (I know, but I'm in a mood), they have to stay off a further 24 hours since their last "episode". So Jaysen, poorly last Monday, was right as rain Tuesday - but because he'd been sick Monday morning, he had to stay off Tuesday too.

Part of me is considering informing the school that Jaysen will be having 15 minutes detention in the morning because he was 15 minutes late out. See how they bloody like it.

And maybe I'll pour a bucket of water over them and make them stand in the rain while they wait for him, just like the rest of us soaked-to-the-skin parents did this afternoon...

Edit: Hope getting soaked in your teeny tiny hood doesn't get your germs back Laney ;)

The Germs Keep A-Comin'

I am fairly sure that the germs that enter our house are some sort of super, bionic, genetically-engineered uber-germ that just cannot be killed... See, I am still poorly, but more "I Have A Cold" than anything else. Jo is also poorly, but she's suffering in the same way all girlies do each month.

No, the joyous stomach bug has shifted from me onto the little man. Jaysen spent all night (and I do mean all night) awake, upset and generally a sad little chap. Before this, he sat on the stairs telling me how much he didn't need school and didn't want to go in today. Miraculously, he starts "getting ill" not long after this, so me and Jo consider the fact he's pulling a fast one. 10pm he's still awake and feeling ill, same for 11pm. Just after midnight, he's crying, tired, wants to sleep and feels ill. I get him onto the sofa, put on some music and sit with him, and the inkling of "he might be telling the truth" springs into my sleep-deprived mind.

2am he's still awake and crying, 3am, 4am, 5am... 6am I give up on any chance of sleep and get up, shower and sit with the poor little lad, who by now is burning, burping and looks like crap.

And then the vomit-stream begins.

Thankfully, it only lasted for about six hours (only...) and has since stopped, and needless to say, he's off school today. We tried him on Dirolyte but he despises the stuff. And I do mean despises. He's been napping on and off today, completely not hungry and generally unhappy.

Fingers crossed he (and, especially, *I*) manage to sleep tonight. He'll be off school tomorrow as well as they don't let kids in till they are 24-hour puke free, so hopefully tomorrow it'll be more a case of him wanting everything instead of just sitting and being an unhappy chappy.

And as a side note, Jo had her hair done again today. Very sexy, very nice - will get pictures tomorrow no doubt ;)

Back To School... er...

Ahhh September, back in my own house, only a couple of weeks from the big Three-One, not to mention Talk Like A Pirate Day! But, more importantly, the return of school!

Yep, Jaysen is up another year to Year Four, new uniform, new knowledge, new teacher...

Except.

After getting up at the crack of dawn (after an awful evil night), after kicking the boy awake, ironing uniform, showering, shaving, dressing, feeding the boy, getting out the house and getting to Ruths, we happened upon an interesting discovery.

School restarts tomorrow.

So, suffice to say, when Jo clambers out of her pit in the next three hours, there WILL BE BLOOD!

One, Two, Three, Four...

I declare a ketchup war.

At least, I did. See, dinner time in our house is usually full of chuckles and smiles - we sit down, Tam ignores her dinner, me and Jo chat over the kids making a noise, and Jaysen invariably gets in a mess. First day back to school, so he was starved bless him, so we had the good old favourite of chicken burgers and chips. Easy dinner, Tam actually eats it, Jaysen will eat most things, and I'm not fussy.

Our dinner table often has other shenanigans going on, usually of the Me vs. Jaysen variety. Name calling, face pulling, dead-arms and dead-legs, stealing food from each other - real Dad/Son stuff ;) As he finished tonight, I burped which made him laugh, and caused the little banana to drop food - doused in ketchup - down his front. With a baby wipe he cleaned it off, and then threw it at me. He caught me in the eye and legged it and right there, I decided what had to happen. It was fated, written in stone, and his destiny. An eye for an eye.

Jo called him back in to apologise, and I attacked with everything I had. Namely, the bottle of Heinz.






And yes, that last picture DOES show him with a large amount of sauce down his boxers. Straight down his butt crack. He says he'll get me back, but I'm not worried - I am bigger than he is.

Tam got hit in a *ahem* friendly fire incident, but Mummy cleaned her off. Mummy cowered for her life, screaming "Mind the clean laundry" she has strategically positioned herself beside. Other victims were the net curtains, the actual curtains, the floor, table, walls, ceiling... And I have one solitary Jaysen-sized ketchupy handprint on my shirt.

He fought the Pa, and the Pa won.

Random Musings

Wow, is it seriously Christmas is just four days? You know what, I am actually sort of looking forward to it this year. Generally, I've never been much of an Xmas person, especially since being an adult, but fingers crossed this is going to be a good one.

All is cold and frosty here in Sunny Basildon. At least, I assume it is, as the fog is preventing me seeing much. Needless to say I got out of bed to go to the loo and shot downstairs to my friend the thermostat. Less Brrrr, More Ahhh. I was up at six this morning, wandering the web, checking mails, doing my usual daily rituals. However, I didn't need to perform said-rituals, as Jaysens last day at school was yesterday. That, and his grandparents kidnapped him last night so he could stay at theirs. They were over last night, and upon leaving at 1130pm, Jaysen went with them.

Buh-bye now, cya later!

So, with no school, I could have slept in till ten, eleven this morning. But that's the realm of women-sorts. Us long-haired manly men are up with the, er, rooster (guess which word I almost used there!) playing on our computers, drinking tea. And building barns. And stuff.

Checking the StatCounter this morning showed someone searching for "badger minge song video", not to mention "Yaar Har Fiddle-de-Dee!" seems popular again. Not sure what I am dribbling on about? Well my friend, educate yourself.

StatCounter has also been showing me something interesting over the last few weeks. The site that is referring me more than any other is... Other Emmas Cbox? Sometimes Joansy gets close, and occasionally Mark or the old blog URL, but it is ALWAYS that particular Cbox at the top. Very 0dd.

Also in the World a la Dan, this bloody great desk is doing my head in, so we're shifting it off to a friend over the weekend and getting me a new, smaller one. I want to see out the window, mainly, but this desk block a third of that and it's set too-far back. Fussy eh? hehe

Now I just need to shift this absolute bitch of a headache sometime soon. Bloody thing won't leave me alone.

Oh, forgot to add. For you American-sorts: Boxing Day. Usually the day after Xmas Day, but as for it's origins, it seems we don't know ourselves... I found a Wikipedia entry for you to read over, but some of you English/Convict sorts might want to check it too, to see why we get an extra day of Christmas!