Tim Atkinson's Blog, page 70

It’s time to believe your eyes – The real truth about fatherhood

Most ads aimed at young dads seem only to emphasise the joy and awe you experience at becoming a father. It’s all cute, giggling toddlers and poignant looks of complete contentment. They never show the little one bringing his dinner back up on daddy’s shoulder do they? And the conclusion? Essentially, it’s never to trust the adverts. That is, until now.



A new viral video from Fiat - a response to their huge hit ‘The Motherhood’- finally sets the record straight. It’s both a stark warning and a hilariously honest look at what it’s really like being a dad. In it, our exhausted, emotionally scarred and nervous wreck of a hero is a man living on the edge of reason, desperate for a good night’s sleep. Or at the very least a power nap.



In a state of delirium he’s been sent out to drive the kids around in the family Fiat 500L, hoping the smooth ride will send the screaming terrors off to sleep. Whilst on the road, he begins to daydream (or perhaps hallucinate!) about lost youth. Cue music (think Human League) and we get a glimpse at what life was like BK (that’s Before Kids, in case you’re wondering).



A loving pastiche of the 80s (and New Romanticism in particular) the video is full of the awful clothes and poorly conceived fantasy sequences (can anyone explain why there’s a unicorn?) that made videos from that decade both hilarious and endearing. The lyrics lament the loss of youth and the sorrow of clothes covered in baby urine.



This is the real truth about fatherhood. Any man who has been there himself will tell you just how accurate it is. If you’re thinking about being a dad, and have been brainwashed by advertising into thinking it’s all bubbles and bathtimes. Think again. ‘The Fatherhood’ is the real truth. Amen to that.

Cooking For The Kids: A Sad Old Story

Today's post is a guest offering from Ryan Baxter. When he emailed offering a post on a subject close to my own heart - namely, cooking; specifically, cooking that doesn't always go to plan and cooking for the family - I couldn't resist. And, as I'm in no fit state either to cook or compose a post myself today, his offering is timely to say the least. He writes...



Cooking for the kids is something that sends me into a cold sweat. I can’t even cook for myself without burning it – and that’s just toast. No joke. This said, it’s fair to surmise that I’m no culinary whizz. Further still, I’d go as far to say that the word ‘culinary’ should never be associated with me.



However, from time to time I’m called into action. The kids hate it, I hate it, my partner hates it and each and every one of us in this household fears the worst. As far as I’m aware, I’m yet to actually cause the kids food poisoning. I’ve given myself food poisoning on many occasions, but never the kids. Yet.



Only last month I was off work for two days after reheating a slice of pizza that had sat on the bedroom windowsill for how long I couldn’t remember. I’m genuinely scared of cooking for anybody, including myself – I’m absolutely convinced that I’m going to make people ill.



Alas, I’m here today to face my fears. I’m going to share with you what I consider to be the turning point in my embryonic cooking career. What I hope to achieve by this is to ultimately humiliate myself so severely that I have no choice but to better myself in the kitchen.



Here’s what happened. Please try not to judge.



A Few Weeks Ago



This was my most recent cooking disaster and doubles as the inspiration behind this piece.



I followed the instructions, of that I’m convinced. But something went wrong. Something that caused our eldest to lose her first tooth. It was my inaugural attempt at this dish. I had voiced concerns but they were thoroughly laughed off. I believe the sentence went something like “any idiot can cook a pasta bake.”



Unfortunately though, I’m no normal idiot.



My suspicions were raised at around about the 20 minute mark, at which point the jar had instructed me to sprinkle cheese ‘generously’ over the pasta. The cheese wasn’t the issue. I’m a seasoned cheese sprinkler and felt comfortable in my ability to complete this task.



The issue was, before embarking on cheese sprinkling, I had noticed that 20 minutes of baking had turned the pasta a colour that I’d never seen pasta go before. It had changed from the yellowy-white substance that we know and love to an almost dark brown. I believe Dulux call it ‘Tan 4’.



Never having cooked pasta bake before, I brushed my trepidation to one side and continued with cheese sprinkling duties, believing that (and this is genuine) the sauce’s colouring had somehow fused into the genetics of the pasta.



As I’m writing this I’m acutely aware of how ridiculous I must sound. However,sharing is all part of the healing process, so please bear with me… I then placed the dish back in the oven for the final 10 minutes of its journey. 10 minutes passed and I returned to the pasta bake. It looked majestic and, I’ll be honest, I felt proud in some strange way that it actually appeared edible.



The first signs of distress came only seconds later. The girls were sat ready at the table and were presented with what was surely the best meal their daddy had ever cooked them. They love it when mummy cooks pasta bake and their eyes lit up at the feast that lay before them.



Eager to begin, I left them to tuck in while I returned to the kitchen to pick up my plate and join the girls at the table. However, before even reaching the kitchen I heard an almighty crunch, followed shortly by a burst of tears.



Turns out that it’s quite difficult to change the genetics of pasta. In fact, you can’t. What had actually happened was that I hadn’t read the instructions as diligently as my children’s health required. I had used the correct measure of pasta but, by omitting water from the sauce mix, the pasta to sauce ratio was simply untenable. Unprotected by the safety of the sauce and exposed to the full heat of the oven, the pasta had burnt so horrifically that it was essentially concrete.



Unfortunately the kids tucked in first. It wasn’t a royal situation where the kids ate it first to test for intoxicants – I was just so convinced that the food was edible that I didn’t see the need to sample it before serving it up. There was a fair bit of blood as the tooth wasn’t ready to come out yet, which also made our youngest cry.



What a juxtaposition of emotions. Pure elation at having created what I thought was a great-looking dish followed by that distinct sinking feeling. I had caused all of this. Two young girls crying their eyes out at the dinner table – one now prematurely sporting the Nobby Stiles look.



The only thing I could console them with was chocolate, but only on the proviso that mummy knew nothing of the events that had unfolded in her absence.  I know it’s not ideal and probably a little cowardly, but my partner was already wary of asking me to cook for the kids and this was my chance to prove that I’m not a menace.



Well, mummy walked in just before the kids went to bed. I was hoping that she might be running late so I could forget about the whole sordid affair for the night. But no. Upon arrival through the front door, our little one ran straight up to mummy and gave her a big smile to show off her new look.



“When did that happen?!” asked my shocked wife.



My little one’s response? “Daddy did it!”



She continued: “And he gave us chocolate for dinner!”



Thanks, Charlie. I suppose I deserved nothing less.



I’m now banned from cooking for the kids until I’ve “learnt to cook for myself properly.” That seems fair enough in my opinion – I don’t like cooking anyway. However, it’s a principle thing. No father should be banned from cooking for the kids. I realised that I need cookery courses and have already signed up for one that I found online through a vouchers website.



It’s a start but it’s probably going to be quite some time before I’m allowed or, more pertinently, want to cook for the kids again. I’ll get there eventually I’m sure.



In the mean time, wish me luck and hopefully I’ll be back with a success story somewhere down the line.

It's a gas!

Of all the hi-tech gadgetry I've been asked to try lately I think this - the British Gas Remote Heating Control - is quite possibly the best. And a return to the wilder elements of winter this week has made me even happier to be able to tweak the heating wherever I am (even merely lying on the sofa) from my 'phone or my computer.



But that's not all. They reckon the £199 price tag of the system is easily off-set by the potential savings gained from having total control of your heating - wherever you are. So, you're out late but the heating's timed to come on and warm an empty house? No problem. Or you're leaving work early and worried the heating won't have time to do its job before you open the front door? Again, no problem. An instant solution is just a mouse-click (or touch-screen gesture) away.







The system is simple to install, requiring a wireless wall-mounted thermostat and a device plugged into your router. You can then set the controls - time events, decide temperatures etc. - on your computer. But get the smartphone app (available for iOS and android phones) and its even easier. No wonder the system won Home Gadget of the Year in the Stuff Gadget Awards 2012.









The system is also capable of being extended to do to other tasks like turning lights on and off too, bringing the smart house a step closer. And with rising energy prices and apparently no end in sight to winter, I'd say it's money wisely spent.




Which is all well and good. But the best thing about it? For me, that's simple: on a day like this (minus two, snow, two sick children in tow) I don't even have to leave the sofa.




That's smart!

Happy Mother's Day

Well, I hope you've had a good 'un. If you're a mum. And I hope the day brought everything you wanted.



Because the true meaning of Mother's Day isn't surely expensive presents like the iPad that I've been exhorted to buy mum this week (she's already got one - haven't you mum?) but the 'mere' fact that someone's thinking of you, remembering what you've done for them and being grateful for it.



A simple card (even one made with the help of bits of woodland litter) will do that job as will a bit of practical help doing for mum some of the many things she so often does for us. So (with a little help from our friends at OXO) it was on the chefs hats and into the kitchen for Charlie and me this morning.



We set to and made lunch for not one, but three mums today - and it was great fun too.



Whatever you were doing, I hope you had a lovely day doing it!

Mother's Day Apps for Kids

Baby Talk Show

Make a card for Mother's Day

We don't need much encouragement to get crafty (see posts, passim) so when The Forestry Commission got in touch last week asking if we'd like to be inspired to make a woodland themed card well... we certainly weren't stumped (if you'll pardon the inevitable arboreal pun).

A walk in the park, some blank card, a little glue and a lot of messing and, et voila! A handmade card that's a lot of fun and sent with a lot of love. But thats not all because The Forestry Commission also provides a wide range of gifts for all occasions (as well as Mother's Day) such as these flowers which will be accompanying our card.

Job done. Just don't tell mum, yet. Not til Sunday.

 

Let's get physio...

'So, how are we today? On a scale of one to ten where one is hardly any pain at all, how painful is it for us at the moment?'



Well, quite a lot actually. For me, that is. For you, though? Well, I'd hope no more than one or two. I mean I know this is the NHS and all that but if your job's any more painful than that then I'd recommend a career change, quite honestly.



'So, what do we do during the day Tim? At work, are we?'



Well you are, dear boy. I suppose I am too. Lulu's sleeping rather noisily in her pushchair while this young slip of a lad goes through a checklist, ticking off answers and marking things on a picture of a human body. Male, I notice. Even upside down.



'Do we smoke?'



Well I don't. (Although by now I'm starting to get desperate!) Do you?



'Like a drink, do we?'



And finally, the pièce de résistance...



'So, what do we think is the cause of the problem then?'



Well, I know the cause of the problem is an underlying chronic auto-immune ailment that is making joint pain and stiffness a daily occurrence and - apparently - giving me a limp as I compensate for the uncomfortable pain in my right foot when walking . But apart from that...



I've only visited a physiotherapist once before. I'm sure they're not all like this. The other one wasn't. But then, that was almost twenty years ago. (A dodgy knee the result of being pushed out of an aeroplane... don't ask.)



Maybe they've been trained now, to talk this way. It's quite a feat, maintaining a conversation - let alone interrogation - in the second person. In fact, Jason doesn't quite manage it. Occasionally he slips into 'I' and 'you' and even forgets to correct himself. As a result, the narrative perspective is all over the place; I can't give him any credit for understanding his audience either. My ever-so-slightly sarcy comments are lost on him - as are a number of my answers judging by the way we seem to go round in circles.



'So, we've been sent by the consultant have we?'



Then later...



'So, why do we think we've been sent here today?'



Is it me? Am I becoming more and more like Victor Meldrew? Or is the world out there becoming more and more unfathomable? I find the whole thing baffling. As well as tiring. As if being asked to tip-toe up and down a ward barefoot or balance on one leg while trying the catch a ball of screwed up paper isn't bad enough then trying to keep up with this verbal idiosyncrasy (or idiocy) leaves me exhausted. So if you'll excuse me...



We need a lie down.

A(nother) Night at the Opera

Or day, to be precise. Not even matinee, as the schools' performance I attended the other day began at 11.30a.m. But every bit as exciting, moving, and thrilling as any evening at the Royal Opera House. And in some ways, even more exhilarating hearing several thousand school children cheering the conductor the the rafters, boo-ing (loudly, theatrically) the baddie as if they were at the pantomine but also listening with rapt attention to some of the most beautiful music in the repertoire.



If you don't know it, Tosca contains three of the most famous arias in all opera. (Helpfully, one in each of the three acts). Within minutes of opening we get the wonderful Recondita armonia sung by the painter Cavaradossi (tenor) as he continues his painting of the Madonna in the church of Sant'Andrea della Valle in Rome:










Rome at the time (which is - to be unnecessarily precise - the 'afternoon, evening, and early morning of 17 and 18 June 1800') is in turmoil. Napoleon - having first invaded Italy in 1796 - has crossed the Alps again and is marching once more to the Eternal City. Having been holed up in prison for the last four years, the former Roman Consul Cesare Angelotti has escaped, and arrives in the church where Mario Cavaradossi is working.


There follows one of those contrived mix-ups that are ubiquitous in opera. Angelotti's girlfriend (the eponymous Tosca) arrives at the church and assumes he's been talking to another woman. (He's not; he's been agreeing the help Angelotti  (a baritone, thus difficult one would've thought to mistake for a girl) to escape. Then the evil chief-of-police Scarpia arrives (boo!) looking for the prisoner (and with more than a passing interest himself in the beautiful Floria Tosca). He plans to exploit her jealousy as a means of re-capturing his prisoner, executing the painter Cavaradossi and getting the girl (Tosca) for himself. Act 1 ends with the wonderful Te Deum as the citizens of Rome celebrate (mistakenly) Napolean's defeat at the battle of Marengo.









Act II takes place in Scarpia's apartment. Caravadossi's been arrested; even under torture, however, he refuses to betray Angelotti. Tosca, however, makes an easier victim. Hearing her lover's anguished cries from the torture chamber she tells Scarpia what he wants hear, further striking a reluctant bargain for Caravadossi's life (yielding to Scarpia in return). She sings the hauntingly beautiful aria Vissi d'arte about her plight, before waiting just long enough for Scarpia to arrange for a 'mock' execution (rather than a real one) of Caravadossi and sign a pass allowing Tosca and her lover to escape Rome before stabbing him through the heart with his own knife.











Act III takes place at dawn. Facing the firing squad in an hour, Caravadossi the third of the opera's great arias E lucevan le stelle - life has never been sweeter, yet he has (he thinks) to meet his maker:












He's right, because although Tosca arrives to tell his both of her deal with Scarpia and her doing away with him, Scarpia has the last laugh from the grave. There was never any intention to use blanks; the firing squad fires; Caravadossi falls and the guards discover Scarpia's body and come looking for his killer. 





Then this happens...











Tosca, at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, starts this evening and runs until July 20th. Catch it if you can. The production is amazing and the singing every bit the equal of the original cast (this is a revival) with Massimo Giordano as Cavaradossi and South Africa soprano Amanda Echalaz in he title role. 




But if you do go, don't boo the baddy!

I wanna tell you a story...

It must be great being little, having a story read to you every evening. I'd love it if someone would read to me. Actually, they sometimes do (via the medium of the wireless); I'm a fan (if intermittently) of Book at Bedtime on BBC Radio Four and especially like the ones read by the authors themselves.



The entire BBC commercial archive (or much of it, including many classic BBC Radio recordings) is now available on line via AudioGO, the UK's leading audiobook publisher and retailer. The Sherlock Holmes audiobooks, for instance, contain famous readings from the BBC archive by such luminaries as Carlton Hobbs as well full-cast dramatisations.



Formerly known as BBC Audiobooks, AudioGO's breadth and range is huge, numbering over 5000 titles by authors as diverse as Ruth Rendell, Bernard Cornwell, Dick Francis, John le Carré, Jane Austen, Emily Brontë, Bram Stoker and Daphne Du Maurier. No wonder the site has won Audio Publisher of the Year six times.



In addition to a growing range of new titles the vast range of downloads and CDs derived from BBC Radio features over than 800 titles in itself and includes landmark recordings such as Under Milk Wood (narrated by Richard Burton), The Hitchhiker's Guide to Galaxy (with the wonderful Peter Jones as The Book), Doctor Who, I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue and the BBC Radio 4 John le Carré dramas.



Hearing a story read well can have a lasting influence. My personal renditions of Winnie the Pooh borrow heavily from the readings (originally broadcast on BBC Radio Four) by Alan Bennett: Eyeore sounds a little like Philip Larkin; Roo is an excitable Australian ('did ya see me swimming?'); Pooh himself sounds, well, not a little unlike Alan Bennett.



I first heard the Bennett broadcasts on Radio Four in the 'eighties. I was at university at Norwich at the time. The fifteen minutes episodes made me miss the bus on more than one occasion and years later - with children (and therefore an excuse) - I hunted down an audio cassette of the readings (which I finally located in the old BBC World Service shop on The Strand, of all places).



Now, of course, thanks to AudioGO, the entire performance is downloadable in seconds. And you can even listen to a sample. Go on. It really is quite marvellous...



http://www.audiogo.com/uk/winnie-the-...