Tim Atkinson's Blog, page 80
July 8, 2012
Sunday Supplement
There's a technological tone to today's post. I'm reviewing the Tesco Mobile capped tariff in a paragraph or two and Charlie's going to tell you all about the LeapFrog LeapPad a little later on.
First though, a couple of unsponsored plugs. I 'phoned my father yesterday (no, that's not the plug) to ask for some advice. As I've mentioned before, in a reversal of generational norms he's my ultimate oracle for all things technical, especially if they involve iPhones and other Apple devices. Anyway, to cut a long story short I came away from the conversation £1.49 poorer but infinitely better off thanks to downloading a little app called AirDisk Pro with which I can move photos and videos (and all manner of other things) to and fro from my PC to my phone to my heart's content. And without wires.
This morning I downloaded the Android equivilent - WiFi File Transfer Pro, spending 89p in the process. I am now liberated from all kind of leads (as well as unreliable PC driver downloads) and can use my computers, devices and phones interchangeably.
And talking of 'phones, we've recently been trialling (thanks to Tesco's generosity) the Tesco Mobile Capped tariff. Not that I'm a control freak or anything, but keeping control of my daughter's mobile spending (that's Sally by the way, not Eloise) has been something of a concern since my own brush with the underworld of out-of-allowance data useage.
Three (my own network) provider did send several text messages telling me I was over my monthly allowance but they all arrived at four o'clock in the morning, several hour's after the extortionately-priced upload had occurred. So having been quite painfully bitten I thought we'd take the cautious approach when Sally was after a new phone.
The Tesco capped tariff is simple (handy that, in my case) - you choose a phone and allowance package and simply opt to 'cap' it at the checkout. The bundles are varied and flexible and come with a variety of phones at a range of prices. And - importantly - you know how much you're going to spend. In advance. And believe me, that's very reassuring.
Reassuring, too, is finding a games console that can genuinely be regarded as an educational tool. The LeaFrog LeapPad is billed as the number one learning tablet for kids aged 3 to 9. That means Charlie's at the lower limit of its range but - as you can see - that doesn't seem to hold him back. I ought to declare at the outset here that I'm not a big fan of gaming and games consoles for kids - we've resisted the lure of all kinds of hand-held consoles until now. But the LeapPad really is different. Yes, you can play (and Charlie does) but it's also an excellent instructional tool. In fact, many (if not all) of the games are highly educational (as well as entertaining) as you can see from Charlie's 'Sponge Bob' spelling race. And, of course, it's just the thing for a wet summer Sunday.
Whatever you're doing today, enjoy it!
First though, a couple of unsponsored plugs. I 'phoned my father yesterday (no, that's not the plug) to ask for some advice. As I've mentioned before, in a reversal of generational norms he's my ultimate oracle for all things technical, especially if they involve iPhones and other Apple devices. Anyway, to cut a long story short I came away from the conversation £1.49 poorer but infinitely better off thanks to downloading a little app called AirDisk Pro with which I can move photos and videos (and all manner of other things) to and fro from my PC to my phone to my heart's content. And without wires.
This morning I downloaded the Android equivilent - WiFi File Transfer Pro, spending 89p in the process. I am now liberated from all kind of leads (as well as unreliable PC driver downloads) and can use my computers, devices and phones interchangeably.
And talking of 'phones, we've recently been trialling (thanks to Tesco's generosity) the Tesco Mobile Capped tariff. Not that I'm a control freak or anything, but keeping control of my daughter's mobile spending (that's Sally by the way, not Eloise) has been something of a concern since my own brush with the underworld of out-of-allowance data useage.
Three (my own network) provider did send several text messages telling me I was over my monthly allowance but they all arrived at four o'clock in the morning, several hour's after the extortionately-priced upload had occurred. So having been quite painfully bitten I thought we'd take the cautious approach when Sally was after a new phone.
The Tesco capped tariff is simple (handy that, in my case) - you choose a phone and allowance package and simply opt to 'cap' it at the checkout. The bundles are varied and flexible and come with a variety of phones at a range of prices. And - importantly - you know how much you're going to spend. In advance. And believe me, that's very reassuring.
Reassuring, too, is finding a games console that can genuinely be regarded as an educational tool. The LeaFrog LeapPad is billed as the number one learning tablet for kids aged 3 to 9. That means Charlie's at the lower limit of its range but - as you can see - that doesn't seem to hold him back. I ought to declare at the outset here that I'm not a big fan of gaming and games consoles for kids - we've resisted the lure of all kinds of hand-held consoles until now. But the LeapPad really is different. Yes, you can play (and Charlie does) but it's also an excellent instructional tool. In fact, many (if not all) of the games are highly educational (as well as entertaining) as you can see from Charlie's 'Sponge Bob' spelling race. And, of course, it's just the thing for a wet summer Sunday.
Whatever you're doing today, enjoy it!
July 5, 2012
A Fairy Tale from the Daily Fail
Once upon a time there was a handsome prince. He met a fair maid and married her with much pomp and ceremony at Westminster Abbey. The whole nation rejoiced (especially at the sight of the fair maid's sister's rather captivating posterior) and the two of them lived happily ever (the prince and fair maid, that is, not her sister's glutei maximi). The prince went back to driving helicopters and the princess smiled prettily and captivated almost everybody.
Except, that is, for one man. His name was Paul and he hated to see other people living happily ever after, especially if their parents did rather well out of it. In fact, he was really rather beastly to the fair maid's mum in particular, never ceasing to have a dig or two about her former career ('It's a long way from 'doors to manual' for Mrs Middleton') and criticising her for selling 'gaudy Diamond Jubilee memorabilia' on her website.
Even the way she laughed came in for criticism. 'At Ascot,' he wrote, 'Carole, 55, felt sufficiently at ease to bray with laughter at one of Philip’s jokes as they watched racegoers from the royal box - even if such a raucous laugh was the sort of thing that would have raised eyebrows at Downton Abbey.'
Now in the same country there was a humble blogger who from time to time wrote things about aspects of the Royal Family he found puzzling. A few people read his stuff and now and then people added comments, which he liked.
But such was the zeal with which Scott of The Mail pursued the fair maid's mum that he seized upon these 'puerile witterings', describing one piece as 'an excoriating diatribe' and claiming that - as it was 'prominently displayed on the Middletons’ website' - it might imply their 'tacit approval' of this bloggers 'vehemently anti-monarchist' thesis.
That's the fairy story, anyway.
The reality, such as it is, is rather more mundane but in the interests of putting a few things straight (and in case Paul Scott is reading) here are the facts:
Far from 'penning a regular blog for The Party Times' or 'publishing an entry on The Party Times page' I write this blog, here, and publish it on my page. No 'inflammatory articles' of mine 'appear on the Party Times website'; they are merely linked via that 'tackily titled' blogroll you keep mentioning. That's how blogs work, Paul.
As you rightly say, I'm a former teacher. And old habits of correcting ignorance wherever I find it die hard.
Anything else I can help you with today?
Except, that is, for one man. His name was Paul and he hated to see other people living happily ever after, especially if their parents did rather well out of it. In fact, he was really rather beastly to the fair maid's mum in particular, never ceasing to have a dig or two about her former career ('It's a long way from 'doors to manual' for Mrs Middleton') and criticising her for selling 'gaudy Diamond Jubilee memorabilia' on her website.
Even the way she laughed came in for criticism. 'At Ascot,' he wrote, 'Carole, 55, felt sufficiently at ease to bray with laughter at one of Philip’s jokes as they watched racegoers from the royal box - even if such a raucous laugh was the sort of thing that would have raised eyebrows at Downton Abbey.'
Now in the same country there was a humble blogger who from time to time wrote things about aspects of the Royal Family he found puzzling. A few people read his stuff and now and then people added comments, which he liked.
But such was the zeal with which Scott of The Mail pursued the fair maid's mum that he seized upon these 'puerile witterings', describing one piece as 'an excoriating diatribe' and claiming that - as it was 'prominently displayed on the Middletons’ website' - it might imply their 'tacit approval' of this bloggers 'vehemently anti-monarchist' thesis.
That's the fairy story, anyway.
The reality, such as it is, is rather more mundane but in the interests of putting a few things straight (and in case Paul Scott is reading) here are the facts:
Far from 'penning a regular blog for The Party Times' or 'publishing an entry on The Party Times page' I write this blog, here, and publish it on my page. No 'inflammatory articles' of mine 'appear on the Party Times website'; they are merely linked via that 'tackily titled' blogroll you keep mentioning. That's how blogs work, Paul.
As you rightly say, I'm a former teacher. And old habits of correcting ignorance wherever I find it die hard.
Anything else I can help you with today?
July 3, 2012
God's Particles
Right. Let's do some science.
In my three or so years writing this blog I've covered most topics, from politics to parenting, to music, model-making and writing.
But not science; never science. Not until now. But today, according to reports, there's something big happening. (Well, actually it's something very very small.) Soon there's going to be an announcement. Oh yes. Deep beneath the earth in a place where scientists send tiny bits of stuff around an enormous underground race track until they collide with each other at the speed of light (think stock-car racing, only faster) they've found a bit of something interesting in the wreckage. They've found a Higgs Boson. Yes, that - the famous 'God particle'.
Except they haven't, quite. Not yet.
For those of you without much of an interest in quantum mechanics, allow me to explain. Basically, physicists think the universe is made of stuff - very, very small stuff. But they can't see (or even measure or detect) some of it. They absolutely definitely know it must exist because if it doesn't then their sums don't add up. And the sums are just too beautiful to be wrong. Here's one of them:
See what I mean?
Oh well.
Basically scientists tell us that a whole load of stuff - the universe, no less - works in a particular fashion and was made a certain way without quite knowing how. They know how it ought to work; they know how it should have been made. So they invent missing bits of the theory and then go looking for them. Like dark matter, for example. There's an awful lot more stuff in the universe than anyone can see. (The maths tells us that there must be.) So scientists just make up the missing bits to make the sums work. Hot dark matter, cold dark matter, would-you-like-fries-with-that matter; it's all the same. Like the Higgs Boson. It's theory.
And while we're on the subject of incredible scientific claims, did you know - really know - what the universe is actually made of? No?
It's string.
Yes, string.
But not the ordinary common-or-garden stuff you can buy at the Post Office. Oh no. Super string. Want to see some? Tough. You can't. Because it's too small ever to be seen by anyone with anything no matter how powerful or how many times you magnify it - so there. Yes, there. Everywhere, in fact. And everything. We're all made of the same thing: string.
Isn't that a pleasant thought for a rainy Tuesday morning?
I don't have a problems with undiscovered things and things we'll never see or hear or measure. In fact, I like the idea that's there's more in heaven and earth than we will ever know (Horatio). Keeps us - as a species - in our place, for one thing.
No. What I do get a little puzzled about is the way it's assumed that all this fantastical theorising is 'Gospel' truth without ever having anything by way of empirical proof to justify it. And that all attempts to justify it are just that - positive attempts to prove the facts rather than attempts to find flaws in the theory.
For a start that ain't the way science - as defined by generations since the Enlightenment - is supposed to work. Basically, as far as I understand it, you're meant to be trying hell-for-leather to disprove your theories, rather than build multi-billion pound particle playgrounds for them. Think double-blind trials for new medicines; deliberately keeping people in the dark about what you've after is part of the process of proving you've got it. If, indeed, you have.
Secondly, at a time when some scientists are ever more militantly anti-religion it seems not a little disingenuous to come up with your own ever-more-fantastical ideas with which to replace the creation myths established faiths.
I mean, come on, what's harder to believe? That the whole shebang was made by the Big Man upstairs or that we're all - from stars and planets, to people - made of tiny bits of vibrating string? I know which one my money's on.
Or perhaps the news from CERN will show that God - if he exists - is actually a mathematician?
In my three or so years writing this blog I've covered most topics, from politics to parenting, to music, model-making and writing.
But not science; never science. Not until now. But today, according to reports, there's something big happening. (Well, actually it's something very very small.) Soon there's going to be an announcement. Oh yes. Deep beneath the earth in a place where scientists send tiny bits of stuff around an enormous underground race track until they collide with each other at the speed of light (think stock-car racing, only faster) they've found a bit of something interesting in the wreckage. They've found a Higgs Boson. Yes, that - the famous 'God particle'.
Except they haven't, quite. Not yet.
For those of you without much of an interest in quantum mechanics, allow me to explain. Basically, physicists think the universe is made of stuff - very, very small stuff. But they can't see (or even measure or detect) some of it. They absolutely definitely know it must exist because if it doesn't then their sums don't add up. And the sums are just too beautiful to be wrong. Here's one of them:
See what I mean?
Oh well.
Basically scientists tell us that a whole load of stuff - the universe, no less - works in a particular fashion and was made a certain way without quite knowing how. They know how it ought to work; they know how it should have been made. So they invent missing bits of the theory and then go looking for them. Like dark matter, for example. There's an awful lot more stuff in the universe than anyone can see. (The maths tells us that there must be.) So scientists just make up the missing bits to make the sums work. Hot dark matter, cold dark matter, would-you-like-fries-with-that matter; it's all the same. Like the Higgs Boson. It's theory.
And while we're on the subject of incredible scientific claims, did you know - really know - what the universe is actually made of? No?
It's string.
Yes, string.
But not the ordinary common-or-garden stuff you can buy at the Post Office. Oh no. Super string. Want to see some? Tough. You can't. Because it's too small ever to be seen by anyone with anything no matter how powerful or how many times you magnify it - so there. Yes, there. Everywhere, in fact. And everything. We're all made of the same thing: string.
Isn't that a pleasant thought for a rainy Tuesday morning?
I don't have a problems with undiscovered things and things we'll never see or hear or measure. In fact, I like the idea that's there's more in heaven and earth than we will ever know (Horatio). Keeps us - as a species - in our place, for one thing.
No. What I do get a little puzzled about is the way it's assumed that all this fantastical theorising is 'Gospel' truth without ever having anything by way of empirical proof to justify it. And that all attempts to justify it are just that - positive attempts to prove the facts rather than attempts to find flaws in the theory.
For a start that ain't the way science - as defined by generations since the Enlightenment - is supposed to work. Basically, as far as I understand it, you're meant to be trying hell-for-leather to disprove your theories, rather than build multi-billion pound particle playgrounds for them. Think double-blind trials for new medicines; deliberately keeping people in the dark about what you've after is part of the process of proving you've got it. If, indeed, you have.
Secondly, at a time when some scientists are ever more militantly anti-religion it seems not a little disingenuous to come up with your own ever-more-fantastical ideas with which to replace the creation myths established faiths.
I mean, come on, what's harder to believe? That the whole shebang was made by the Big Man upstairs or that we're all - from stars and planets, to people - made of tiny bits of vibrating string? I know which one my money's on.
Or perhaps the news from CERN will show that God - if he exists - is actually a mathematician?
July 1, 2012
Sunday Supplement
There's been something of an Olympic theme this week following my invention of a new Olympic sport last Monday and Charlie carrying the Olympic Torch on Wednesday. As if that's not enough, Innocent (official Olympic 2012 smoothie, if you please!) has been running a competition to come up with some fruity alternative games of their own in the run up to their fruit sports day in Regent’s Park later this month.
If any of that has inspired you to have a go you might be interested to hear that you can test your virtual sporting skills and compete in three Olympic challenges without leaving the comfort of your armchair. Duracell Bunny has gone sports mad and launched three great sporting games - diving, javelin and beach volleyball - on the Duracell UK Facebook page. There are some great prizes to be won and in addition I'm giving away one of these...
- an exclusive Duracell Olympic survival kit (there are only 20 being produced) comprising towel, wristbands, water-bottle and an inflatable arm-chair! You can win yours by simply exercising your clicking finger (the 'like' button here) or by doing something a little more energetic and writing a comment in the box below.
Meanwhile (and again, on Facebook) Panasonic has just launched Flag Tags, which is a Facebook and mobile app allowing you 'virtually' to paint your own or your children's faces using either a webcam or an uploaded photo. Once completed they're inviting you and submit the resulting image to their gallery as a way of showing your support for Team GB (or any other country participating in the Olympics). And - yes - it's competitive! After you submit there's a leader board that pits country against country. And all without the mess of make-up!
After all that activity you'll probably be wanting to wind down. And what better way than by listening to some relaxing music. Composer, pianist and mother Fiona Bennett has just released ‘A Country Suite’, an album of music inspired by her love of costume dramas such as ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’ and ‘Cranford’ with each movement providing a musical snapshot of country life in that era. Fiona is a mummy blogger too with two sons, the youngest of whom - Zackary - having been diagnosed with high functioning autism.
Having put her music career on the back burner in order to help and support him Fiona is currently writing a book about her experiences and has found that her music has a calming and relaxing effect on Zachary, who requests it at bedtime to help him sleep. It's a delightful disc and you can hear a sample on Soundcloud as well as buying the whole CD from Fiona's own website.
Finally, I think if Charlie had to devise an Olympic sport of some sort it would undoubtedly involve Lego. Here he is having fun with his new Duplo farm set. Whatever game you're playing, have a super Sunday....
If any of that has inspired you to have a go you might be interested to hear that you can test your virtual sporting skills and compete in three Olympic challenges without leaving the comfort of your armchair. Duracell Bunny has gone sports mad and launched three great sporting games - diving, javelin and beach volleyball - on the Duracell UK Facebook page. There are some great prizes to be won and in addition I'm giving away one of these...
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- an exclusive Duracell Olympic survival kit (there are only 20 being produced) comprising towel, wristbands, water-bottle and an inflatable arm-chair! You can win yours by simply exercising your clicking finger (the 'like' button here) or by doing something a little more energetic and writing a comment in the box below.
Meanwhile (and again, on Facebook) Panasonic has just launched Flag Tags, which is a Facebook and mobile app allowing you 'virtually' to paint your own or your children's faces using either a webcam or an uploaded photo. Once completed they're inviting you and submit the resulting image to their gallery as a way of showing your support for Team GB (or any other country participating in the Olympics). And - yes - it's competitive! After you submit there's a leader board that pits country against country. And all without the mess of make-up!
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After all that activity you'll probably be wanting to wind down. And what better way than by listening to some relaxing music. Composer, pianist and mother Fiona Bennett has just released ‘A Country Suite’, an album of music inspired by her love of costume dramas such as ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’ and ‘Cranford’ with each movement providing a musical snapshot of country life in that era. Fiona is a mummy blogger too with two sons, the youngest of whom - Zackary - having been diagnosed with high functioning autism.
Having put her music career on the back burner in order to help and support him Fiona is currently writing a book about her experiences and has found that her music has a calming and relaxing effect on Zachary, who requests it at bedtime to help him sleep. It's a delightful disc and you can hear a sample on Soundcloud as well as buying the whole CD from Fiona's own website.
Finally, I think if Charlie had to devise an Olympic sport of some sort it would undoubtedly involve Lego. Here he is having fun with his new Duplo farm set. Whatever game you're playing, have a super Sunday....
June 27, 2012
The Olympic Torch Relay
... reaches Boston! How exciting:
June 25, 2012
Sister of woman with nice arse officially inferior to Beatrice and Eugenie
That's how Tim Footman (Cultural Snow) put it. The Telegraph is slightly more circumspect with the headline: The Queen tells the Duchess of Cambridge to curtsy to the blood princesses. (Is there a 'y' missing there?) But it's all the same, and at the risk of incurring (again) the wrath of the Daily Mail it does rather get my goat.
Let me make one thing absolutely clear (especially if there are any tabloid journalists reading). I really don't mind the Royals. I respect the Queen (well, most of the time) and I love a bit of pomp and ceremony. But when they insist on decapitating duplicate eggs to see which one's been boiled to their liking or making silly lists of who should bow to whom (and how low and how often) then it all goes a bit Monty Python as far as I'm concerned.
It doesn't really bother me. Her Majesty can instruct her family to gesticulate according to a spurious hierarchy if she so wishes. (I'm thinking of doing this myself, actually.) She can (as happened to Diana) demote a family member by insisting they lose some magic handle to their name; she can do what the hell she likes. It's her family. And she's The Queen.
And that's the only point that bugs me, just a little. She's our Head of State. I'm officially her 'subject'. (Except I'm not. Good Lord above if I were ever hobnobbing with royalty I'd be bowing to the whole bally lot of them and forced to be first to arrive and last to leave.) And I'd rather not have my titular head of state toying with such trivia.
It's all just a little silly, if you ask me. (I know you didn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway.) And not a little unworthy of her. Of course I'm sure in reality it's some courtier who works it all out. But does it have to be done at all? Should anyone be forced to bow?
This week, of course, it's Wimbledon again and no doubt there'll be all manner of nods and bows and curtsies to the Royal Box as well as the usual mutterings from the stuffed shirts when some hirsute foreigner refuses to play our silly little social games.
Mind you, at least it's one game we might still win!
So, who's up (or rather, down) for a bit of kow-tow? Get practising that bow.
And let everyone know - how low will you go?
Let me make one thing absolutely clear (especially if there are any tabloid journalists reading). I really don't mind the Royals. I respect the Queen (well, most of the time) and I love a bit of pomp and ceremony. But when they insist on decapitating duplicate eggs to see which one's been boiled to their liking or making silly lists of who should bow to whom (and how low and how often) then it all goes a bit Monty Python as far as I'm concerned.
It doesn't really bother me. Her Majesty can instruct her family to gesticulate according to a spurious hierarchy if she so wishes. (I'm thinking of doing this myself, actually.) She can (as happened to Diana) demote a family member by insisting they lose some magic handle to their name; she can do what the hell she likes. It's her family. And she's The Queen.
And that's the only point that bugs me, just a little. She's our Head of State. I'm officially her 'subject'. (Except I'm not. Good Lord above if I were ever hobnobbing with royalty I'd be bowing to the whole bally lot of them and forced to be first to arrive and last to leave.) And I'd rather not have my titular head of state toying with such trivia.
It's all just a little silly, if you ask me. (I know you didn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway.) And not a little unworthy of her. Of course I'm sure in reality it's some courtier who works it all out. But does it have to be done at all? Should anyone be forced to bow?
This week, of course, it's Wimbledon again and no doubt there'll be all manner of nods and bows and curtsies to the Royal Box as well as the usual mutterings from the stuffed shirts when some hirsute foreigner refuses to play our silly little social games.
Mind you, at least it's one game we might still win!
So, who's up (or rather, down) for a bit of kow-tow? Get practising that bow.
And let everyone know - how low will you go?
June 22, 2012
Britmums live
What a great first day it's been. Can't quite believe I've met the inspirational Ruby Wax, and after earlier paying a visit (and a cheque) to my own favourite mental health charity, Young Minds to.
It's true what both they and Ruby say: mental health problems begin in the ear
ly teenage years and help at this stage is crucial. Here are a couple of pics from the day... more to come tomorrow:
It's true what both they and Ruby say: mental health problems begin in the ear
ly teenage years and help at this stage is crucial. Here are a couple of pics from the day... more to come tomorrow:
June 20, 2012
An open top bus tour of York
The title says it all, really. But I'll add a bit more anyway. Because after all that tabloid tittle tattle it's time for a bit of bracing British air to blow away the cobwebs.
But I digress. I'd never been on an open-top bus tour before (I know, scandalous) and wasn't too sure what to expect. And I suppose if you have no expectations, then you can't be disappointed.
Not that I would have been. This ride was - as I hope the film shows - good fun. We learnt a little bit along the way, thanks to the commentary - multi-lingual and delivered via ear buds provided; we saw plenty from the top deck and had a rather jolly time of it.
If you're ever in York, I can recommend it. And this isn't a sponsored post.
But I digress. I'd never been on an open-top bus tour before (I know, scandalous) and wasn't too sure what to expect. And I suppose if you have no expectations, then you can't be disappointed.
Not that I would have been. This ride was - as I hope the film shows - good fun. We learnt a little bit along the way, thanks to the commentary - multi-lingual and delivered via ear buds provided; we saw plenty from the top deck and had a rather jolly time of it.
If you're ever in York, I can recommend it. And this isn't a sponsored post.
June 17, 2012
Let's celebrate...
...dads everywhere. Let's hear it for the men. Three cheers for the fathers!
After all, where would we be without them?
I was sent an interesting infographic earlier this week about the true worth of dads. I'll show you if you like...
Neat, isn't it?
But of course it only counts what can be counted, measures the measurable and quantifies what can be quantified. Doing stuff around the house is important, obviously; sharing the chores should be mandatory. (And don't forget fella's, it makes you sexy!)
But a dad - any dad - in fact, all parents is far more than that. I'd like to thank my dad not for the nappies he's changed, for the dinners he's cooked (there wouldn't be many to count there, actually!) or the lawns he's mown but for all the other unquantifiable but important things he's done.
Like late one Sunday afternoon when I was at a loose end, offer to play cricket with me on Beverley Westwood. Now, the Westwood - for those of you who don't know it - is a large expanse of rural pasture and common land near where we lived for part of my childhood. Although minutes from the market town, it's a place where sheep may safely graze, dogs daily walked and cattle contentedly graze. Quite a lot of cattle, in fact. Now you don't play games of cricket near herds of ruminating bovines, but you can't really play on a piece of land like that without, well, being in close proximity to their, erm... traces.
My dad batted first. Big mistake. In those days - in my teens - I fancied myself as a tearaway fast bowler. And I did bowl fast. If not always very accurately. But if I'd tried and tried and tried all day I couldn't have hit the hidden cow pat four-square any more accurately, sending a shower of shit over my poor, dear old dad.
I still laugh at the mental image of him vainly trying to protect himself from the airborne assault with nothing more than a cricket bat. That, needless to say, was the end of that. But he didn't rant or rave or even complain, much. All I can remember is that as he was being peppered with poo he was laughing too.
Try putting that on in infographic.
Thanks dad.
Happy Father's Day!
After all, where would we be without them?
I was sent an interesting infographic earlier this week about the true worth of dads. I'll show you if you like...
Neat, isn't it?
But of course it only counts what can be counted, measures the measurable and quantifies what can be quantified. Doing stuff around the house is important, obviously; sharing the chores should be mandatory. (And don't forget fella's, it makes you sexy!)
But a dad - any dad - in fact, all parents is far more than that. I'd like to thank my dad not for the nappies he's changed, for the dinners he's cooked (there wouldn't be many to count there, actually!) or the lawns he's mown but for all the other unquantifiable but important things he's done.
Like late one Sunday afternoon when I was at a loose end, offer to play cricket with me on Beverley Westwood. Now, the Westwood - for those of you who don't know it - is a large expanse of rural pasture and common land near where we lived for part of my childhood. Although minutes from the market town, it's a place where sheep may safely graze, dogs daily walked and cattle contentedly graze. Quite a lot of cattle, in fact. Now you don't play games of cricket near herds of ruminating bovines, but you can't really play on a piece of land like that without, well, being in close proximity to their, erm... traces.
My dad batted first. Big mistake. In those days - in my teens - I fancied myself as a tearaway fast bowler. And I did bowl fast. If not always very accurately. But if I'd tried and tried and tried all day I couldn't have hit the hidden cow pat four-square any more accurately, sending a shower of shit over my poor, dear old dad.
I still laugh at the mental image of him vainly trying to protect himself from the airborne assault with nothing more than a cricket bat. That, needless to say, was the end of that. But he didn't rant or rave or even complain, much. All I can remember is that as he was being peppered with poo he was laughing too.
Try putting that on in infographic.
Thanks dad.
Happy Father's Day!
June 15, 2012
Puerile witterings...
Yes, folks. I've arrived. Not only is my blog linked to a member of the Royal Family (well, her sister anyway) but it has been denounced this morning in the Daily Fail. I can die happy.
Ok, the link is somewhat tenuous. But not tenuous enough for the Mail to use it as a stick with which to beat Mr and Mrs Middleton.
Allow me to explain. Bringing up Charlie appears on the 'tackily titled' (their words, dear reader) blogroll of a wonderful site called The Party Times. I link back to them, too. It's an excellent resource for all manner of party fayre and their web page is edited, apparently, by the lovely Pippa Middleton (a fact I confess I am very happy to discover).
Now, Miss Middleton's parents are moving house. Not only is this big news for the Daily Mail (over 1500 words worth, in fact) but because their daughter edits a site that includes a link to a blog (I danced with a man, who danced with a girl...) that was less than gushing in its assessment of the Queen's diamond jubilee, it has given the Mail an excuse to issue stern warnings to the Middletons that they should: 'ensure there is nothing on their self-promoting website that could offend their daughter’s royal in-laws.'
Here's the post in question: http://www.bringingupcharlie.co.uk/2012/06/thats-all-folks.html. I didn't think it was too critical. But according to the Daily Mail it's an 'anti-monarchist tract' and proof that the 'the striving Middletons' have 'taken their eye off the ball' as they 'continue their inexorable social rise'.
Oh dear!
As I 'ruminated churlishly on the Queen’s Jubilee', 'wrote mockingly' about the flotilla while 'poking fun at the pop concert' I was putting them in grave jeopardy. Apparently.
Still, as the 'paper itself goes on to say, at least The Royal Family will be 'unfazed by such puerile witterings...'
Me too, Paul.
But don't be too hard on yourself. Takes one to know one, as they say.
But don't
Ok, the link is somewhat tenuous. But not tenuous enough for the Mail to use it as a stick with which to beat Mr and Mrs Middleton.
Allow me to explain. Bringing up Charlie appears on the 'tackily titled' (their words, dear reader) blogroll of a wonderful site called The Party Times. I link back to them, too. It's an excellent resource for all manner of party fayre and their web page is edited, apparently, by the lovely Pippa Middleton (a fact I confess I am very happy to discover).
Now, Miss Middleton's parents are moving house. Not only is this big news for the Daily Mail (over 1500 words worth, in fact) but because their daughter edits a site that includes a link to a blog (I danced with a man, who danced with a girl...) that was less than gushing in its assessment of the Queen's diamond jubilee, it has given the Mail an excuse to issue stern warnings to the Middletons that they should: 'ensure there is nothing on their self-promoting website that could offend their daughter’s royal in-laws.'
Here's the post in question: http://www.bringingupcharlie.co.uk/2012/06/thats-all-folks.html. I didn't think it was too critical. But according to the Daily Mail it's an 'anti-monarchist tract' and proof that the 'the striving Middletons' have 'taken their eye off the ball' as they 'continue their inexorable social rise'.
Oh dear!
As I 'ruminated churlishly on the Queen’s Jubilee', 'wrote mockingly' about the flotilla while 'poking fun at the pop concert' I was putting them in grave jeopardy. Apparently.
Still, as the 'paper itself goes on to say, at least The Royal Family will be 'unfazed by such puerile witterings...'
Me too, Paul.
But don't be too hard on yourself. Takes one to know one, as they say.
But don't
