We made it

I would like to publicly thank the Bs for looking after me competently enough that we made it through to M's return from 3 nights away without any trips to the hospital, police station or lunatic asylum. Here is pictorial evidence that B1 had a lovely time, more on the Flickr site.

Meanwhile, I wanted to cry with hysterical incredulity at the Daily Mail, with nostalgic sadness at the distance between Sydney and Shepton Mallet, and with sheer bloody frustration at Arsenal.

Who's the Daddy? I'm the Daddy.

Barnaby, future gamer
Originally uploaded by Tom Goodfellow

As you can see, B2 is missing his mum so much he has resorted to eating comedy nerdgaming paraphernalia for comfort. The black eye didn't happen on my watch, honest. I won't say who's watch it was on.*

I took them for swimming lessons yesterday and it went okay. B1 was on her own with one teacher, whereas I was carrying B2 with a bunch of mums & bubs all of whom knew what they were doing though I clearly didn't. Still, he didn't drown and that's a plus.

Afterwards, B1 dried and dressed herself and even put her shoes on the correct feet, an accomplishment she now manages almost 50% of the time.

It's now Friday night and no trips to the hospital/jail/insane asylum have been necessary so far.

Meanwhile, M is next door to the biggest shopping mall in the southern hemisphere. Today she had her eyebrows tinted and bought three pairs of shoes. No, really.

*Mother-in-law's

Trepidatious

Back in early December, a dad of my acquaintance suggested that a few of us conspire to send our womenfolk away for a weekend. It solved the Christmas present conundrum, provided a convenient expression of romantic ardour and seemed such a very long time away. Well, that weekend has now arrived.

M heads north (to one of those called Talooma or Katomba or something) on Thursday morning and returns on Monday, leaving me in charge of the kids for the best part of five days. Eek!

I've no idea what to do with them except for send them to daycare on Friday. I know there's a swimming lesson on Thursday but the weekend looms like a great ominous scaryfier.

If I drop the kids at daycare on Monday morning and they aren't broken, I'll consider it a success.

Jolly Goodfellow

So somebody said, how are you doing Tom? So I said

In a Godless universe life has no purpose. Existence is merely a long slow trudge towards death, an inevitable process of physical, mental and spiritual disintegration, until we ultimately collapse gratefully into the welcoming arms of oblivion.

How are you doing?

I am 36 today.

Bet your house on a Heath and Mickey double

It’s that time of year again. The Strat is back.

This semester the 10-year course is starting afresh, taking us from the birth of cinema up to 1920 sometime in May. Scratchy old silent film stock, hammy acting and primitive storytelling await. I am really, really looking forward to it.

Here is the oldest surviving celluloid footage to give you an idea of the thrills that await:



I know. Exciting, huh?

Meanwhile, my quest to take in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die has reached 812, and after watching the risible Crash and the charming Driving Miss Daisy, I have now seen every Best Picture Oscar winner as far back as 1956.

Geek much?

Grim week

It’s been a gloomy week in our house as we’ve watched the increasingly depressing news from the Victorian bushfires. M’s family are friends with a family that live in Kinglake, at the centre of the devastation. Thankfully they escaped but it looks like nobody else on the street made it out. 30 people, of all ages. Unimaginable.

I hate it when people start a sentence with “Speaking as a parent...” but this kind of tragedy definitely effects me more viscerally now that we have kids. I can’t help but mentally transpose my own family into these horrific situations. With great love comes great vulnerability and, sometimes, abject terror over what could happen.

Like most people we’ve given a few quid to the appeal, but it doesn’t really feel like an adequate response. Hopefully we’ll be able to achieve something more practical as more fundraising events are arranged. There is a real sense that people want to do something, which is at least something to engender happier thoughts.

I want to go boozing with him and Graham Linehan

i-witness (eyewitness) n Any internet messageboard user quoted in a newspaper article in a bid to pad out a weak story; eg: "Leona Lewis fans were furious last night after the star pulled out of a charity gig at the last minute. An i-witness raged: 'We'd queued in the rain for hours . . . Now when I look at my copy of Spirit it makes me want to puke.'"

Charlie Brooker is a genius.

These are not my people/I should never have come here

Saturday found us at Rosehill Racecourse for Todd's birthday. No babysitting was available so the kids came too, which was fine and they had fun, but the general vibe was not especially child-friendly. In fact, it wasn't particularly me-friendly either.

I've never been one for the horses and, other than our little gang, I felt very disconnected from the other punters, who were all dolled up and seemed to be having a splendid time. At the football or cricket I find it easy to feel part of the gestalt because I am supporting a team, but to cheer on a nag just because I have money on it seems individualistic and selfish. It was a strange experience and an isolating one - I was the only miserable bugger there not having a great time, so I can only assume that the issue is me.

You may recall that I have similar feelings about the beach.

So next time I guess I'll just stay at home and look after the Bs. Oh well, at least I enjoyed seeing Todd, Dani, Pecky et al, and we broke even on the betting.



For the rest of the weekend, I watched 3 D V D s and a whole bunch of sport, caught up with Sarah and family, had a bon voyage chat to Ness and Jem, lunched with Lou, and stayed in when M failed to go clubbing.