So much time has passed ...

Sometimes I wonder why I began this blog, because I either a) forget about it, b) get side-tracked and have no time to do it, or c) refuse to admit that I'm a lazy shit.

So what's happened to me in the last couple of months? Well, for a start, I was nearly arrested in France - along with my father-in-law - for looking at Eurostar.

L'Entente (Presque) Cordiale

I'd taken Becky and my parents-in-law over to Calais for the day for a bit of a mini booze cruise, and whilst the girls went shopping in the Cité Europe hypermarket, I took Bernard to look at the Channel Tunnel entrance as he is something of a train buff. So we're there watching the trains pass, and Bernard's taken a couple of photos when a military vehicle pulls up and two rather short, uniformed chaps with machine guns get out and ask us what we're doing and that we shouldn't be taking photos.

They then ask us if we're Afghans. Can you believe it? Me in an England rugby shirt, British car (okay it's a VW, but it's right-hand drive) and Bernard with a "Rail Monthly" magazine on the dashboard. So I apologise in French, and say we'll go. They stop us, saying "Il faut que vous attendiez les flics" or "You've got to wait for the coppers". So we wait for the police to arrive, and first thing they do is ask for our passports - which are with my wife at the shopping centre!! So we give our driving licenses, and hope for the best.

After a bit, the officer comes back and says "C'est bon; désolé de vous avoir dérangés". And that was it! He then proceeded to talk about the upcoming England-France Rugby World Cup semi-final ("Bonne chance, les British !!"), congratulated me on having such amazing French language skills, bade us farewell, and pootled off in his Renault Kangoo.

I told my colleagues all this, and now they've now dubbed me something like Mukhtar Ibrahim al-Taylor, and keep asking me to do my "You have no respect for me ... Al'lahhhhhhhhhhhhh" impression all the time. Sheeeesh (kebab).

Baby Baby & More Baby

Well it's only about 3 weeks until Becky's little passenger alights. Time seems to have flown by. Apart from general discomfort and the odd spike in blood pressure, all's gone according to plan. The nursery's done, finances sorted ready, and now it's just time for laddo to put in an appearance! We're looking at almost 9lbs in weight, which seems huge. A colleague of mine told me of a friend whose baby was so large and so surrounded by water and fluid in the womb that when the friend gave birth she lost 2.5 stone that very day. Reminds me of that Peter Kay line "She lost 14 stone in a DAYYYYYYYYY" ...

Jahn Teigen & Deirdre Rachid / Barlow - Separated at Birth?

I'm amost at the end of a great book called Spanish Steps by Tim Moore. Tim's humour never fails to impress me. The book is about Tim's travels along the world-famous Way of St James (el Camino de Santiago) across northern Spain ... with a donkey called Shinto. I haven't laughed out loud for so long at a book - theres' something about Tim's humour that really appeals to me.


I've already read French Revolutions and Do Not Pass Go, but now I want to read Tim's Nul Points book next, a look at all those acts from countries on the fringes of Eurovision notoriety who have ignominiously received nul points. One of my all-time favourites, and a legend in his own lunchtime - in fact, he adorns the cover of Moore's book - is Jahn Teigen of Norway. The YouTube video below is from his legendary performance at the Paris Palais des Congrès in 1978 ... check out his comedic, fake trip (hilarious with a very small "h"), not to mention his Deirdre Rachid (or is it Barlow again now?) glasses ...

Jahn Teigen's Official Website (in Norwegian, I'm afraid)




We went to see the midwife again yesterday, and all is fine with the baby (or "laddo" as I now call him). The midwife chirped up with "If your growth chart's correct, you'll be looking at an 8-pounder". What a skill it must be to be able to make an unborn baby sound like they're an airborne explosive device used by the Wehrmacht, discussed on endless Channel 4 documentaries by aged Cockneys pointing at the skies above the East End.

Humiliation Par Excéllence

What has happened to the England Rugby Team? I just can't understand why we've become so depressingly awful.

Why am I being so negative and not doing as any faithful fan would, such as espousing the virtues of "taking part, not winning"?

Well, on Friday evening I settled down with a few cold beers on hand to watch England v South Africa. I knew this would be a tough match, and it was being touted as England's biggest test match since last World Cup's final against the Wallabies.

Beset with injuries, no strength in depth, no battle-ready number 10, and no real peripheral vision going on, I watched as time and again the Springboks ran ring after ring after ring around us. I actually found myself cheering Bryan Habana as he came back onto the pitch to replace his blood substitution.

Such was my disappointment that I actually turned over at half-time to watch some vacuous BBC comedy, as my constant grimacing was giving me face ache.

But the worst is yet to come. If - and it's a big if - we get second place in our Pool, then we get the almighty task of meeting Australia in the quarter finals. Safe to say that our velocitous exit will be precipitated by Australia's bloodthirsty need for revenge.

But we shouldn't all look on this gloomily - even though Australia will beat us, and it's not a case of if but of by how many points - we can all safely look back on November '03 and know that we beat them when it mattered most, on their turf, in front of their home crowd. Despite all of their back-stabbing, smear campaigns, verbal and xenophobic attacks on England that tournament, we still lifted the Webb-Ellis trophy.

We all get our "15 minutes of fame". Our time's now up.

Back In The Saddle Again ... And 3 Names You Should Never Choose As A Parent ...

It's been quite a while now since I last wrote in this blog - two months, in fact. Thing is, I don't even know where the time has gone! Back at the end of May I extrapolated about there being less than 200 days before I was to become a dad ... now it's only 100 days! And that - by my calculation - means that I have 14.28 weeks left before my son is born.

That's right, I said son, as we're expecting a boy!! We went for the second ultrasound scan back on August 6th at th'ospickle in Lichfield, and thankfully all was okay with the baby. The nurse doing the ultrasound (what is their job title?!) was checking the heart for ages - got me worried - but she said it's procedure and all was fine.

Then she asked if we wanted to know what it was - well I did, but Becky didn't. Trouble is, she'd be able to tell immediately from my reaction what it was. So we agreed and the nurse said "I'm 98% sure it's a boy". 98%?! What's all that about? Why the 2%? We were later told it's because there are many mistakes made with declaring - one woman was told 3 times that she was having a boy, then out popped a girl. So I'm happy, but not out of the woods yet!

The nurse asked if we'd chosen a name yet - well if it's a boy (note I'm still saying "if") it's going to be called Harry after my paternal grandfather, who died of tuberculosis at 32 years old, a week before my dad's 1st birthday. There's no other name we want. My mother-in-law's not keen on the name ... but she keeps referring to him as "Hal" or "Arry Boy" (when she first said this last one, I thought she'd said Haribo after the German confectioner!!). I like Hal, as he's one of my fave Shakespeare characters from Henry IV:Part One. The nurse also told us about other names that she has been told be prospective (chav) parents, who already have kids - these are REAL names for kids in the same families ...

• Girls
• Chanelle,
• Chantelle, and
  
• Charelle.

• Boys
• Wayne,
• Dwayne, and
  
• Shane.

• And I remember two Pakistani brothers I was at school with were called ...
• Wajid (aka. Waj), and
• Sajid (aka. Saj).
  

So now we're into the final stretch of the pregnancy, and we have no more time off work before the big day arrives (earmarked for December 16th). I'm getting very excited now - the nursery's all but done, we've been out and bought all the necessary bits and pieces, we've filled out all of the maternity and paternity forms, etc. All we really need to do now is wait for Haribo to put in an appearance - preferrably on the date specified!

Vive La Frangleterre!

I was reminded this morning whilst listening to French radio on the Internet of a very amusing anecdote told to me by a former colleague back in 2000, to do with the many pleasures brought about by linguistic faux pas, semantics or general mispronunciations.

He was telling me that whilst working for a consulting practice in the 1990s, a couple of particularly senior French directors had paid their site in Manchester a visit to talk about the company's new strategy and what lay in it for employees.

All available staff gathered in the conference room, and my colleague told me how the French visitors really looked the part, mid-50s, olive-skinned, very suave and debonair, all hair dye, sharp suits and questionale eau de cologne. Everyone was a little in awe ... then they started to talk.

At first, it was evident that they had a very competent grip of the English language, very educated, a slightly American twang due probably to their years of dealing with the United States. Then one of them stated "If you want to 'ave ze very big success in zis companies, you will 'ave to fuck us". Deathly silence. My colleague said this French guy was a little taken aback, turning to his counterpart for support, HE then stated "Yessss, you will 'ave to fuck us very 'ard".

It was at that point my colleague piped up "I think you mean FOcus, not FUCK us".

I rest my case.

Blood Tests, Nurses from Hell & Monty Python!

We had to go to the Winshill Medical Centre again today for the next set of blood tests, this time testing for Down's Syndrome and spina bifida. The midwife told us that the last set of tests we had three weeks ago, when the first scans were done, were absolutely fine and nothing to worry about. So today Becky had to go through the whole episode again of having blood taken ...

The fear I think really started when she had a routine blood test done a few years ago at Burton's Queen's Medical Centre. The particular junior nurse tending to Becky was unnecessarily stupid (is there a necessary level of stupidity?), and taking the blood took three failed attempts to get a hit, then on the fourth go she literally whacked the needle in and proceeded to gossip with her colleagues in the room. Becky was quite poorly afterwards, breaking out in a very cold sweat, coupled with dizziness and nausea the whole day. Only one way to describe that nurse, it starts with dick and ends with head.

When I got home there was a letter from South Staffordshire Primary Care Trust (PCT) to tell us that the next scans will be on Monday, August 6th. At this scan we should be able to learn whether we're expecting a boy or a girl. It's going to be a boy, of course, I just know it is. Sans doute, as they say in the Dordogne.

So everything is - touch wood - going according to plan, and nothing currently to worry about. That's such a relief for us both. we'll just have to wait now for that next set of scans.

They're still saying December 16th for the baby's arrival ... my maternal grandfather's birthday. But I've been warned that the baby will be a Sagittarius, and so prone to tempers (see post immediately below, Becky's brother is a Sagittarius).

Personally I think that putting any credence in astrology is tantamount to talking bollocks. Your honour, I rest my case.

Monty Python's "Meaning Of Life"

And now for something (not) completely different ... I hope it won't be like this in December!

Mountain Bike Killer ...

I found something out about my brother-in-law on Saturday that really made me laugh. He's apparently got a bit of a temper on him, and being a 6-foot-odd London fireman you'd probably not mess with him, but it's the resolute way he seems to go about things that I find great.

My father-in-law told us about an incident a few months ago, when he was at my brother-in-law's house in Sidcup, building a new garden wall. Some teenage hoodlums (who'd been causing a nuisance for a long time to all of the local residents) came past on their mountain bikes, one of them holding a water-filled balloon that he promptly threw at my father-in-law, hitting him full on. He was soaked. My brother-in-law came running out of his house and after the teenagers, jumping into his car as he passed it. My father-in-law told me that he drove back a few minutes later, with one of the teenagers' mountain bikes in his car.

This is the good bit ...

He promptly borrowed a diamond-bladed cutter from a willing neighbour to saw through the bike ... apparently he cut it into little pieces (in full view, in the road) before dumping it back where he'd grabbed it off the teenager.

He's had no comeback in months, and the ne'er-do-wells haven't reappeared.

Why can't we all be so good at fighting back?

Tweel & Segway

I often find myself amazed by what people dream up as the next big thing. I remember when the Segway PT was first being touted by its inventor Dean Kamen, and I'd read about his giving it the codeword "Ginger" ... looking at the first pictures I ever saw of one, I was astounded at its brilliance - that was until I saw one shooting up and down a boulevard in Paris, not far from the Shakespeare & Co bookshop. People were ooh-ing and ahh-ing at it, but I quickly realised that it looked like a stupid and dangerous invention, almost as loopy as the Sinclair C5.

But today I saw an invention on another blog that really got me thinking. It's called the Tweel, the name apparently being a portmanteau of tyre and wheel. It's basically an experimental tyre developed by Michelin that doesn't use air so can't either burst or become flat. Apparently, though, it's very noisy over 50mph, so it's got to be developed further I guess. I've often worried about having a tyre burst on me on the motorway, so I'll have to keep my eye on this one.

From Machine Translation to Stanley Unwin via China ...

I wanted to see what my language would look like if I translated it in a program from English to Japanese, then back again ... below is the result, using this very same sentence!

(I also tried Traditional Chinese, which when read sounds disturbingly similar to Stanley Unwin).

[Japanese]
I to see tried, when it translated that of the program from Japanese from English, had decided in those where my language is visible, for the second time very next back section ... The result using this, is the same sentence!

[Traditional Chinese]
I decided attempts and will look any my language will look resembles, if I have translated it at a program from English to Traditional Chinese, then behind again ... Following result, uses this extremely similar sentence!

Only Fools & Horses / The Wine Bar Tumble

Probably the best comedy tumble ever performed ... God bless you, David Jason!

Blackbird Cam ...

I called the RSPCA centre in Stretton about the baby blackbird, and they were quite helpful in that they asked all the right questions ... i.e. Are the parents still feeding it? (don't know), Is it able to fly? (err, no, because it'd have flown off already), Can you feed it? (yeah right, what with, lamb vindaloo and peshwari naan?) ...

I agreed to monitor it for the next couple of hours until about quarter past three, after which time I'll take it to the centre for them to look after it or - worst case scenario - put it to sleep.

So anyway, I'm busy working downstairs when I come up with this idea of setting my own laptop up with my webcam out of the back window onto the flat bathroom roof (where the blackbird is, in a box) and I can watch through MSN Messenger from downstairs to see if the parents come back to feed it. So far ... zilch.

I'll keep you posted.

First Scans & Maternity Wards that double as IKEA Showrooms

Well they're done, the very first scans of the baby ... and I tell you what, what an experience it was for me to sit there and see on the screen this tiny little living thing moving around and changing sides (obviously annoyed, trying to get comfy with that bloody nurse poking around and trying to get a good shot of him / her). It was all so unreal at first, like "Is that really ours?" I was in absolute awe of the whole experience ...

Then Becky had the blood test done, and was so scared of that big needle. I wanted to crack the old joke of "You might feel a little prick ..." but kept my mouth shut.

We then had a tour of the Maternity Ward at the hospital. Well, I say Maternity Ward, it was more like a comfy, modern home, very tastefully decorated (including a mural painted by a Spanish artist), with dining room, kitchen, luxurious beds and armchairs, massive flat screen TVs, stereos, jacuzzis (yeah, jacuzzis), lots of very friendly and chatty midwives. Becky was beaming all the way 'round the place, so was I. One room did look like it was straight out of Big Brother, which unnerved me a bit. But apart from that, even I'd be happy living there!

As for the baby blackbird, it fell off the birdtable, so I put it on the flat roof of our bathroom, which it jumped off ... so now I've put it in a box with sides too steep for it to jump out of, where its parents can get in to feed it and it can build up some strength until I take it to the RSPCA centre in Stretton (which, surprise surprise, was closed yesterday). Alfie stayed in all day yesterday, and my word was he annoyed!

First Scan & The Blackbird Botherer in the Night-Time

Well today at 11:30 is our first scan at the Samuel Johnson Community Hospital in Lichfield. Becky's just left for work, and I'll be over to collect her at her office in Tutbury in a couple of hours or so. Not sure what to expect from this first scan. I remember looking at the first scan of our friends Simon and Helen's child back in mid-March, so I've got sort of an idea about what's coming. Becky's worried about the blood tests as she bruises so easily, and last blood test she had a couple of years ago at the Burton Queen's Medical Centre, the student nurse taking the blood was so busy chatting she made a real hash of sticking the needle in and Becky was poorly for a couple of days. I shall be posting the first scan photos on my Flickr pages later today ...

Anyway, nice stuff aside ... last night we were trying to get our cat Alfie in at about 23h00, and there was NO sign of him at all (he's lost his collar at the moment, too, so we can't hear his bell ... he's in the feline version of stealth mode). So we called and called, and heard a sudden, high-pitched squawking - which is unusual as birds aren't usually around at that time of night. So this morning, Becky calls him again ... nothing. Eventually he saunters in like some (self-perceived) hard case, has his breakfast and suddenly wants out again. Just before I let him go, I notice a male and female blackbird going bonkers across the courtyard out back ... and then I spot huddled in a corner a baby blackbird with feathers ripped out of its back, but still being fed by its parents (good sign, they haven't abandoned it). So I keep Alfie in (his night patrol having caught up with him, he's now fast asleep), and get my big gardening gloves on and go to pick the blackbird up to put it atop the high, covered birdtable. Broke my heart, as I reached down, as it held its beak open to me to be fed ... I so so gently lifted it up onto the birdtable and quickly moved away so the parents would be happy I wasn't there.

As I sit here now, I'm looking at the bird table outside, and the mother blackbird keeps coming back to feed the baby. I'm hoping it won't be so daft as to jump off the birdtable. Alfie won't be going out until I'm sure it's gone, even if he goes mad to go out, he'll bloody well stay in.

I just hope everything works out for that baby bird, in just the same way I hope everything works out for our baby.

So Angry I Could Spit ...

What an epsisode I've been subject to this week.

At the start of May I asked for my work expenses to be paid into an account other than my current account, therefore my work expenses bypass my day-to-day home and life incomings and outgoings. Simple, right?

Wrong.

First of all - and I admit my mistae - I miskeyed the expense account bank sort code number, and only when I spotted no expenses being paid was I told that I'd miskeyed it by payroll. So I correct the number, and all is fine now, right?

Wrong again.

Somebody decided that by "expenses" I meant "salary AND expenses" and so I haven't been paid this month. I've had to do some pretty quick talking with my bank to shore me up whilst my mortgage payment goes out today.

I was promised a telegraphic transfer / CHAPS yesterday (before close of business) - but that still hasn't arrived. I guess I'll just have to wait!

Rant over.

As you were.

Motorway Blues & Picturesque London ...

What a SHOCKING day I had yesterday ... problems on the M40 (apparently blue light services were turning cars around just shy of the M25 and sending them back to the previous junction) meant I plumped for the M1, which was no better through the widening between junctions 10 to 6.

I eventually arrived in London early evening, and after parking my car at our Sampson House office I dropped my bags off at the hotel on Southwark Street and went straight over the road to The Tall House, which is a great little Chinese restaurant opposite. Last time I was in there, I'd just been up to Leadenhall Market with an old colleague of mine and had had about six pints of Old Speckled Hen. Three colleagues were talking around me, and I wasn't even capable of a grunt. I must have seemed such a complete drunk - something I hate is out-and-out drunkenness.

Anyway, I was in The Tall House having a bottle of Tsing Tao beer (which the perennially complaisant Chinese waiter always announces, as he places it carefully on the table, as "Cheeng Chow ... Cheeeeeeeeeeng Chowwwwwww" as if he needs to repeat it. So I'm sitting there and I realise the music is out of place. In an Indian restaurant you always get Indian music, either some bearded guy playing a sitar or a George Harrison song (which I suppose is also a bearded guy playing a sitar). But this music was oddly out of place ... what was it? I sat pondering ... of course - Glenn Miller!! What a coincidence after yesterday!

As I sat chewing some really tough fried chilli beef, two guys who'd been sat outside came in, saying "It's raining out there" (it wasn't, it was sunny ... don't ask) and proceeded to say to the Chinese girl in the bar (with her child in a carry-cot) "Your baby's got a funny haircut". The bloke saying it had a comb-over, so he could hardly comment. Poor girl just looked hurt ... and the baby started crying.

After eating I had a walk around the Tate Modern (outside, of course, the place was shit ... typing error, I mean shut ... no, actually, I'll stick with the first one) and along the embankment to take some photos of St Paul's and The City. London's got the best and worst of everything (I drove through most of the worst on the outskirts today), and it's funny to think it's where my family originates. To say my dad was born in Battersea you'd never know. given his strong Midlands accent.

What Is Happening To Our Weather, Mr Miller?

Yesterday was such a beautiful, sunny, June day that it's hard looking out of the window this morning to understand how the weather can suddenly become so inutteraby dull. I've got to travel down to London today, so I'm leaving it until about lunchtime to avoid traffic hell on the M42, M40 and M25 motorways. Actually, I have to go into Guildford in Surrey first, then I'll head into London from the south. Whatever, I'm not looking forward to it, I'd much prefer to be working from home.

1940s at the Bass Museum

We went to the Coors Visitor Centre yesterday (or for the purists, the Bass Museum as it was once known) to visit a 1940s day that they'd put on. It was quite marvellous, all people dressed up in 40s gear, "soldiers" walking around, armoured vehicles and old cars everywhere, Glenn Miller music playing everywhere, it was quite marvellous! I'm not the biggest fan of 1940s style, but I have to admit they put on a good show and the place was certainly packed.

Rant Par Excéllence

We'd parked over the road from the museum, in one of the Burton's many "pay on exit" carparks. So I go to the paystation, put in a brand new £10 note to pay the £2.50 fee, and end up having the note spat back out. I try 5 or 6 times, but it won't accept it! So I went into the cinema foyer right next door, change the tenner for a fiver and five £1 coins, get back to the paystation machine, and NOW it asks for £5 for the ticket ... b***ards!! What can I do? I have to pay.

On the exit I spoke to the parking attendant - who, just add insult to injury, was some geeky-looking Polish bloke with next to no English language skills. He was disinterested, as he couldn't understand me ... this REALLY riled me, and caused me to start shouting at him. He eventually, not to mention begrudgingly (how dare I make him work for a living, this would never happen in Warszawa), wrote down the complaints number, and I'm going to shout at the carpark junta fascisti today. Watch this space ...

Sgt Lloyd-Webber's Lonely Hearts Club Band ...

I watched an incredible one-off documentary last night on the Beatle's greatest album, and the most successful UK album ever produced - Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Because it's the 40th anniversary of its release this year, a number of current groups (The Fray, Kaiser Chiefs, The Magic Numbers, Travis, etc.) went into Abbey Road Studios to record the album again using the same technology and methods that the Beatles used. It was fascinating to see them all struggle with the 4-track method, having no digital gadgets to help them or cover their tracks. It was quite a documentary ... the Kaiser Chiefs' drummer seemed so obsessed with the Beatles that he even knew how Ringo Starr was playing as he sat at his drumkit recording Sgt Pepper - right down to the tea-towels he had over the drums to control their resonance! Brilliant brilliant viewing ... is this album going to be released, I ask?

Any Dream Will Do

Now I'm no real fan of these talent-hunting TV shows, like The X Factor, Pop Idol, Grease Is The Word or last year's f***ing horrible How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?, principally because they're shite. However, I do have to say that I've caught on to this year's Any Dream Will Do, about the search for a Joseph (& The Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat). I never thought I'd let myself sink so low into Saturday evening telly, but this show has been gripping. I am a big fan of Andrew Lloyd-Webber (not such a big fan of his facial features, however ... ooh bitchy!) and so I like watching it for his feedback and criticisms (which almost invariably begin with the word "Look ......."

Becky and I are rooting for this guy called Lee to win the competition, because he seems to be the only one at the moment with all-round talent. Don't get me wrong, the others are good, it's just that Lee seems to have that professional edge on them. Here's a clip of his audition ... good lad!

Alfie's 2nd Birthday & Multilingual Me ...

Becky told me - somewhat gleefully - yesterday that it's our cat Alfie's 2nd birthday today, and she even told him this morning that I'd be wishing him a happy birthday. He's a cat!! Oh well, I suppose this is a sort of happy birthday ...

He's currently flaked out in the back yard, enjoying this glorious June morning sunshine we're having ...

Another Big Milestone, Astronomical French Tax & This Is England ...

I've just realised it's now less than 200 days before I become a dad! Another milestone passes and the time draws ever nearer to the next stage in my life, and probably the biggest change I'll ever experience (people tell me the second child onwards is far easier). It'll be amazing, and I'll be so happy it'll equal the joy I felt on the last day I left France for good in 2004 (I'd worked there for nearly 4 years, and all I had to show for it was a bloody good French accent and a bloody huge French tax bill ...

When I was in France, I was told that because at the time I was single and so far childless, then I would pay a massive tax bill ... unless of course I could get married, have three children and have my (exhausted) wife not go out to work. I asked if I could buy ready-made families at the supermarket, which didn't go down too well with my humoristically-bereft French colleagues.

This Is England

There's something about home-grown English cinema that really excites me. From the likes of Mike Leigh and Ken Loach to London-esque flickmeisters like Guy Ritchie and Nick Love. But recently one film seems to be soaring above anything that those guys have put out, and that film is This Is England by Shane Meadows. Now I knew Shane back in the early 1990s through his friendship with the actor Paddy Considine, who I was at school with. As I remember I wasn't all that keen on Shane, because to me back then he seemed a little too arrogant, with too much to say for himself ... but maybe that was just me.

What I can say now though is that this new film I hope will push him to the zenith he deserves. About 1980s skinheads in England around the time of The Falklands (not Malvinas), for me this film responds to everything I look for in a film ... action, strong characters, realism and that all-important coming-of-age story that gives even the harshest of tales that injection of believability. Miss it at your peril ... here's a short clip ...

Dave Gorman, Danny Wallace & Crapston Villas, I Salute You ...

I am coming to the end of one of the most rewarding not to mention funniest books I think I've ever read ... if not for the sheer lunacy of it, then for the witty, punching style in which it's been put together. "Are You Dave Gorman?" is a must read for everyone in my opinion. I'd been eyeing the book up for ages, and never actually got around to buying it, but a friend lent me it a few weeks ago and I've been reading it small chunks, so as to delay getting to the end of it (which I wholeheartedly do not want to do).

There's just something about the book's "following (moreover sticking religiously to) a bet" background, it reminds me a lot of "'Round Ireland with a Fridge" by Tony Hawks (one of my all-time personal favourites) and even "French Revolutions" by Tim Moore. I guess it's that zany streak that Dave and Danny have that makes me wish I'd got the wherewithal and freedom to be able to just bugger off on a whim and do something crazy like look solely for people that share my name!

Now I'm after their follow-ups ...

• Join Me (Danny Wallace),
• Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure, and
• Yes Man (Danny Wallace).

But before I do, watch this hilarious excerpt from the Are You Dave Gorman? show ...



Crapston Villas

I also found this on YouTube, it's from probably my favourite animated "adult" comedy show, Crapston Villas. It's based on some rotten bedsits in a filthy part of South London. I look everywhere for it on DVD, but to no avail. Such a shame ...

Il Divo, U2 & Alan Partridge ... do I ramble?

Well, yesterday Becky and I went to see Il Divo in concert at the Hallam Arena in Sheffield. We saw them last year at the NEC in Birmingham, but we were sat in the main floor area and - lo and be-f***ing-hold - the "possessor of Birmingham's largest head" sat right in front of me so I couldn't see a thing. I still have nightmares ...

So this concert was for me a sort of putting old ghosts to rest, of no longer having the Pavlovian response of thinking of the backs of sizeable crania every time I hear Il Divo. As it happened we were sat quite high up and got a top view ... bit far back, but the sound was amazing. For Becky, I'm sure the concert was all about going to see Sébastien Izambard, the French singer in Il Divo (who the women go crackers for, despite him being French).

I'd been to the then Sheffield Arena in 1992 to see U2 on the European leg of their ZooTV tour, and I remember it very well that on May 2nd that year we'd queued for about 6 hours waiting to buy tickets ... it was the day my maternal grandfather died as when I got home there was just my dad there looking quite solemn.

We had a little drive through Sheffield before we arrived, with Becky driving her VW Beetle I had the opportunity to take some photos of the area, because as I'd worked a lot in Sheffield between 2004 and 2006 I wanted to capture some of the areas that I remembered (I've uploaded the photos to Flickr.com).

We stopped by at my old Liberata workplace in Attercliffe and took a couple of shots, before going on to the Holiday Inn Victoria Hotel near to the centre of the city. What a grand old building it is! We surmised that in its heyday it must have been one of the main hotels in the city, and sure enough there were lots of old photos of it from early last century with chaps in top hats and tailcoats proudly on their way to the train station (which I take was right next door, but has long since been demolished).

It seems such a shame that such a grand old place has become a Holiday Inn. Well that's progress for you, I guess!

It could have been worse, we could have stayed at a Travel Tavern, Alan Partridge style ("It's 3-star") ...

A wet weekend of work work work ...

Why is it that every UK bank holiday weekend it has to rain? Yesterday it was threatening a few spots throughout the day, although I managed to put up two trellises (I love that word) for the climbers I've planted and the grape vines.

To make matters worse, I've had some emergency work this weekend for a customer, and it's just added salt to the wound of the weekend's dubious meteorological conditions.

Still, we've got tomorrow to look forward to, as we're going up to Sheffield to see Il Divo in concert at the Sheffield Hallam Arena. It was a Christmas gift for Becky. We'll take a leisurely drive up over the Peak District, I think - even that place looks beautiful on a rainy day.

I'm just going outside to admire my trellises (sounds like a euphemism) ... actually I wonder what the plural for trellis is ... trellae, perchance?

Oh and another good book recommendation I got from a friend of mine in London is The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. Again, I'm really looking forward to this book, the synopsis really firing me up ...

Dawkins contends that belief in a supernatural creator qualifies as a delusion, which he defines as a persistent false belief held in the face of strong contradictory evidence. He is sympathetic to Robert Pirsig's observation that "when one person suffers from a delusion it is called insanity. When many people suffer from a delusion it is called religion."

I guess that even though I go to church and consider myself Christian, I had to read this book. After all, we're all allowed the freedom to think what we like. Well, we will be again after the "Labour" government are crushed at the next election. I just can't wait for Cherie Blair to do us all a favour, and forget to brake as she hurtles towards a brick wall.

As you were.

Black daleks & earthly damnation secured ...

I looked out of the window yesterday and got the shock of my life ... what looked to all purposes like a black dalek was sat in our garden! For that one split second I was like "What the fffffff ... ?!" Then I remembered, I'd order a compost bin, and it'd arrived far more quickly than recyclenow.com had stated. It only cost me £9 (with free delivery too).

So now I'm the very proud owner of one very black compost bin, and the only thing I've got to do is find somewhere for it. The base of it is open, to allow worms and other creatures to help break down the contents of the bin, otherwise I'd have put it on some hardstanding at this end of the garden ... as it happens, it'll have to go 30 metres down the garden into the back corner where it can work its magic before feeding my vegetable patch next year.

On another note, we met a group of friends last night as we do every Thursday evening more or less at one of their houses a couple of streets away, and I got a really good tip-off for a book by CS Lewis (not my favourite author) called "The Screwtape Letters". Its story takes the form of a series of letters from a senior devil, Screwtape, to his nephew, a junior tempter named Wormwood, so as to advise him on methods of securing the damnation of an earthly man, known only as "the Patient." (who was an ordinary man living in war-time England).

What I didn't realise was that Bono's characters "MacPhisto" and "The Fly", as seen in U2's Zoo TV Tour, were inspired by Screwtape. I'm really looking forward to reading it!

Scan date confirmed ...

Well, we've been given the scan date by the hospital ... it's Tuesday, June 12th - the day after Becky's birthday. We did ask if they could change it to the Monday, but they can't unfortunately.

Now it's all getting very real!

On another note (mild rant here) I had to do a Myers Brigg Personality Type Indicator Questionnaire today for our team meeting in a few weeks. Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind doing a bit of pre-work, I even quite enjoy it, but these questionnaires I just fail to see the value of.

The questionnaire I had asked you things like "You're at a party. Do you A) talk to everyone and be outgoing, or B) talk only to those people you know?" ... and someone you'll never meet deciphers your personality type from that?! What they should ask is "You're at a party, and someone makes a move on your girlfriend. Do you A) tw*t him, and drag him by the hair kicking and screaming to give him a pasting outside, or B) congratulate him on his first-class choice of lady to pester?"

Do me a favour!

Names ... who'd 'ave 'em?

Well it's been quite an uneventful week all told, taken up mostly by work. Becky remarked only this morning how it'd already been a week since we saw the midwife.

I had a first-time, small-scale emergency exercise for a group of individuals on Monday, which went very well , although the sheer amount of work required to put one of these things together is not reflected in the two hours it takes to do the things! More's the pity. It's like spending all day preparing a Christmas dinner then having everyone devour it in 30 minutes flat. Fat gits.

So I was down in Guildford on Sunday to avoid any complications trying to travel on Monday morning, which didn't go down at all well with Becky ... maybe more than 48 hours' warning would be better! Although I have to say, a leisurely (or as Americans would say "leezhurlee") drive down the M40 on a Sunday afternoon isn't all that bad ... certainly beats the early morning traffic I usually have to contend with.

We were looking at a names book for the baby this weekend. Some of the names people give their offspring these days, it's verging on the immoral. Get these ...

• Girls
• Semirami (meaning "half a savoury pork sausuage snack")
  
• Sharlott (meaning "related to onions")
  
• Sinead (kitsch, shortened form of "skinhead")
• Vidula (some medical term, probably vulgar)
• Xylophila (hates foreigners whilst at the same time appreciating the sonorofic qualities of the xylophone)

• Boys
• Conan (after the Barbarian / Cimmerian)
• St John (pron. "sin-jun", a name exclusively reserved for children of middle-class tw*t parentage ... same goes for Hugo, Rupert and Angus)
• Sachaverell (compound version of Sacha Distel)
• Saladin (diminutive term for"salad", a name favoured by left-wing vegetarian tree huggers)
• Thierry (after the Arsenal striker & French international)
  
• Henry (after the Arsenal striker & French international)

Worse than those names, my cousin on the Isle of Man mentioned last week that her daughter went to school with a girl called Destiny who had a sister called Harmony ... I still think the winner was the Shaniqua, the name I heard in London that day, which our book kindly describes as:

a blend of Shan and Monique or Monica, popular among Afro-Americans. Other forms: Shanika.

I feel like watching tattooed, toothless low-life batter each other on the Jeremy Kyle show now. Fare thee well.

MAAAAAATRON ... I mean Midwife ...

Well we had our first midwife visit this morning at the Winshill Medical Centre. The building it's in used to be the Winshill Community Centre (it's far nicer now, no thugs fighting or vandalism anywhere near it). And I couldn't believe how quiet and empty the place was - is no-one ill this week? My surgery on Gordon Street is on the other side of the town, and on a "quiet" day is like a bustling street market in Islamabad.

I don't really know what I was expecting from the midwife, but it turned out to be all about filling out forms, asking lots of questions about history of dementia, insanity or syphilis in the family, and looking at a chart suspiciously similar to an astrology chart to ascertain a due date, which for us is December 16th. I was really pleased because that was my late maternal grandfather's birthday as well. Would be nice to have him / her born on that day.

We'll have our first scan in the next month or so, so I'm really looking forward to that! My mate Simon and his wife Helen showed me the first scan of their baby in March, and I remember wondering what that must feel like to see that and know it's your kiddie ... well now it's our turn!

The midwife told us about the two choices we have for birth location.

1. Burton Queen's Hospital, or
2. Samuel Johnson Clinic, Lichfield.

We were sold, Lichfield it is :-) ... you see, the Lichfield clinic is all about water births and all manner of therapies to help relax expectant mothers before birth, and the midwife assured us that it is a far nicer experience all 'round. Thing is, why've they chosen Samuel Johnson as the name? I mean, I know he was born in Lichfield and all that but he doesn't seem to have much affinity with childbirth. It'd be like calling one in Nuneaton the "Larry Grayson Maternity Hospital" or one in Windsor called the "Henry VIII Maternity Clinic". They just don't seem to go.

I suppose if you were really sad in looking for a tenuous link, you could always say that Johnson "gave birth" to the English dictionary ... I'll get my coat.

Norman Collier, as I live & breathe ...

I was reminded today of a great old English comedian from the 1980s, who I've not thought about in years, and yet who used to have me laughing my head off whenever he was on the telly.

Trying to speak on a conference call this morning, the 'phone my colleagues were using suddenly decided it was only going to relay about 50% of what they were saying, interspersed with annoying breaks. So instead of hearing "So we need to understand what the client's requirements are", all I heard was "... we need to ...hand ... the ... lion ... mints" - or something like that.

I piped up "This is like listening to that bloke who used to only say like half of what he was saying on telly" (I'm so articulate sometimes), and from that one of my colleagues said "Ah, you mean Norman Collier". Fantastic! Not only had someone managed to decode the drivel I was spouting, but had in fact reminded me of his name. I've tried to find some footage on YouTube of his "faulty microphone" routine, but alas to no avail. Maybe he's stuck in the 80s?

Why blogs are so important ...

The person whose blog inspired me to start this one's latest entry has hit the nail squarely on the head as to why these blogs can be so important ... they're a true, frank and honest account of the tumult that can come about through massive personal and life change.

Good on you, mate! Here's to you and your family settling Down Under, and all the luck in the world to you.

A few days at home, and too much pregnancy awareness ...

We've got a midwife appointment on Wednesday this week at the star-studded Winshill Medical Centre, whose timing because it cuts the week in two, means I have a few days at home and don't travel until either Wednesday afternoon or Thursday.

For some reason I'm worried about the appointment, I don't know why really. Becky says there's nothing to worry about ... so I guess if she's happy then so should I be!

I keep seeing pregnant women everywhere I go now though. We went to IKEA in Nottingham last Saturday, and counted up to 15 expectant mothers ... everywhere we looked there were lumps and bumps, and people measuring up cots and changing tables!

Then last week when I was walking beside the Thames between, and I just kept noticing pregnant women. I couldn't help but stare at their shall we say "impending motherhood" for want of a better term, but was also extremely conscious of appearing to have a pregnancy kink. Last thing I need is my collar felt by the local gendarmes down there.

One thing I did see, that made me laugh, was on the way back to my car a small coloured girl ran across in front of me and onto this little pier by the Thames. I suddenly heard this South London caterwaul of "SHANIQUA!! SHANIQUA!! Don't go onto tha' f***ing pier, or you'll ge' a slap." I looked to my right and there was this vile, tenement-dwelling, chav teenage mum, smoking endless cigarettes between talon-like red nails, and surrounded by another 3 kids all under 3 years of age by the looks of it.

The names these pikeys give their kids ... Shaniqua, for goodness' sake! They make the names up, I'm willing to put money on it. I once saw on Ricki Lake (when I was a student) some great big vile beast called LaSheeba, who was on there it seemed to tell some scrawny little bloke with a mullet and bum-fluff moustache that "I got my own car, I got a job, and you ain't all that motherf***er". LaSheeba - is that not a make of cat food?

Eurovision Rubbish!

I don't usually watch the Eurovision, on the simple grounds that it's a big pile of steaming crap. I do, however, watch the rounds of voting and laugh my socks off at the "tactical" regional voting that goes on, especially amongst the former Soviet states, the Balkans and the former Eastern bloc countries.

So imagine my disgust when last night we watched the entire spectacle from Helsinki from beginning to end, hearing some of the tacky shite that countries with unpronounceable names put out, and had to watch Serbia take this year's crown with a song so dull it could make even the happiest amongst us feel low and depressed. And the "woman" who won it - less of a bull dyke I've never seen. Terry Wogan put it beautifully (and very sarcastically) ... "It just goes to prove that you don't need looks to make it in Eurovision".

Well the UK's Scooch didn't win, and for a time it looked like we'd be going out on nul points, but we did get something at least. What did piss me off was some girl in a pink dress "interviewing" entrants in the green room out back during breaks in voting, saying "And now here we are with England" ... bitch! It's the UK. Reminds me of the Stereophonics once saying "When we win awards, we're known as a British band, when we don't win we're known as a Welsh band".

A big hats off though to the Ukraine, who presented the funniest thing I think I've seen in years! Check it out in the link (Ukraine are right at the bottom) ... Eurovision Contestants.

London Cab? More like Smash & Grab!

Demi-rant.

Went from South Bank to the top end of Whitehall yesterday for a meeting (it's 0.6 miles as the crow flies, ordinarily you can walk it in 15 minutes, but it was raining very heavily and I had no umbrella). So we got a cab from right outside our offices.

Get this ... the cabbie charged us £7.20.

The evil, thieving, cockerney (sic) b***ard.

Oh deer ...

What a morning I've had already, and I only started this blog less than 24 hours ago.

I left my hotel in East Horsley at about 06h05 this morning, and was happily driving up to the A3 north of Guildford. Beautiful clear morning, bit windy, and the roads were clear (very rare for Surrey). There were lots of birds on the road, crows, pigeons, sparrows, magpies and so on, and I had to keep braking to avoid them.

I spotted a rabbit running across from right to left, so I slowed right down and suddenly! out of the corner of my eye I spot a small deer and for that one split second I make eye contact with it before it decides it's going to have a go at crossing. I'm less than 50 feet from it, doing about 30mph ... and across it goes. I slammed the anchors on, and turned to the right (there was nothing oncoming) and BANG! (well, more a THUD! really) it hits my left front wing.

There was no panic, I just pulled over up the road and walked back down. I was gutted that I'd hit it of course, and had images of having to lift it, flaying its legs and panicking, into my car. There was no way I was going to just leave. But if I did find it, injured, then where would I take it?! There was a deep ditch at the side of the road, lots of nettles and bushes, and I could see nothing. I scanned the field in front of me ... nothing. Where was it? A car passed, the driver looking oddly at me in my bright shirt and tie. Must have thought local authority workmen had some bizarre new "dress smartly" directive (I certainly wouldn't put it past local authorities).

Then, suddenly, I heard a huge rustle in the bushes, and the deer leapt up from right next to where I'd hit it, bounced like a beachball about 3 feet over a barbed wire fence and bounded at speed across the neighbouring field. Not even a limp! It stopped, looked back at me as if to say "I'm fine, but no thanks to you", and away it went. I was absolutely delighted, thanked God for his good will, got back in my car, drove to Southwark and walked along the Thames to our South Bank office with a real "spring in my step".

Just the beginning ...

There comes a time in most people's lives where massive, total and life-altering changes manifest themselves all at once, like three big manifesting things ... collectively they're known as pregnancy, and they're all stalking me right now.

It all started in the middle of April this year. My wife Rebecca had made a passing comment about being pregnant and I, in my usual ignorance, brushed over the subject as if she was joking. There's something unnerving though about a woman who isn't joking - she just stared at me. "D'you think I'm joking" she asked. "Oh don't muck about" I replied. All she did was stand there, arms folded, one eyebrow raised, and I knew I was buggered.

Me? A dad? Noooooo ... only when I saw that word PREGNANT on the home testing kit did it begin to sink in. I mean, at first I was mortified, but the idea quickly grew on me. I'm going to thoroughly enjoy this.

An old colleague of mine has put together a blog of his move to Australia, which got me thinking what a wonderful way to record your thoughts and emotions as they happen. So here it is, my blog for impending fatherhood.