Note to regular readers: Please scroll down to read 6000 miles…
Just here for photos of our newly-arrived daughter? Of course, I’d much prefer it if you’d hang around a little and take in the sights and smells of 6000 miles… Or even subscribe to the RSS feed and we’ll tell you about all the latest news. Who knows – you might even like it here.
But if you were directed here by my wife or you are here with the sole intention of looking at photos of squeaking neonates, then you’ll find the appropriate flickr set here. (Last update: 18th August 2008).
UPDATE: The Mrs has been utilising her swanky mobile phone to upload pictures of the kids to her Sony Ericsson/Blogger photo blog. No words, no frills, just photos. Which is what it’s all about really, right?
Normal service is resumed below. Thanks for visiting – and Bon Voyage!
Hectic doesn’t really begin to describe it. Although, of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I used to get my comfort from sleep, but that seems to have become a distant memory of late, so in both my spare seconds, I’ve been trawling the interweb and popping into local “record” shops on my nappy-seeking visits to Pick n Pay, for musical inspiration and salvation.
First off, for you non-Saffas, a wonderfully catchy summer hit released smack bang in the middle of winter by Cape Town’s electronica specialists, Goldfish. I will warn you that you will be Ooh-ahh, Ooh-ahh, Ooooh’ing for the rest of your day if you click on the youtube link below. This Is How It Goes is taken from their new album Perceptions of Pacha, which is seemingly widely unavailable to download anywhere online.
Watched? Enjoyed? Yes, I know. It’s perhaps a little too trendy for some of my older readers. I recognise that about 90% of you are now closing your browser windows in tears. It’s ok – it happens a lot when people read my stuff. And while Fleet and Globus will surely be checking out Goldfish further, they won’t be too annoyed to be reminded about the brilliant Fuzzbox and their lead singer, Vickie Perks. Here she is and they are, in top form back in 1989, in a video directed by and starring Adrian Edmondson.
Still brilliant. In a mildly chedderesque fashion. Vickie Perks is now lead singer of the imaginatively named “Vix n the Kix”, who, according to her myspace page are touring South Africa in October this year (TBC). This seems slightly bizarre for a band that appear to have been no further than Wolverhampton and Stourbridge of late, but hey – if you’re coming to Cape Town, Vickie, I’ll make the effort. Just let me know where and when.
* Visiting from South Africa? YouTube videos “no longer available”? Of course they are – it’s just dearest Telkom playing tricks on you. Refresh a few times or use the direct URL to play them.
To be honest, when I went to bed yesterday evening, I wasn’t expecting to sleep through. It did appear that the wife was going to pop – possibly even in an extraterrestrial Sigourney Weaver style – and so I was mentally prepared for a midnight trip through to the hospital, perhaps repeating or even bettering my 145kph Hospital Bend run last time around.
But nothing happened and thus my plans for the day changed from playing OK and Huis Genoot off against each other for the exclusive alien birth pictures, to going to a 2nd birthday party and repairing the storm damage in the garden from last week.
The birthday party in question was Max & Scarlett’s (flickr set here) and was held at PoP at Canal Walk, which comes highly recommended by Alex. They also do great coffee and have an amazing jungle gym which *ahem* is er… quite fun for adults too. And that’s before we’ve even ventured outside onto the bike track, where some little boys were having a great time on the trikes.
As ever, when taking Alex along to a kid’s birthday party, I didn’t get much time to socialise. The boy doesn’t sit still for a moment and I spent most of the time chasing him and (almost) keeping him out of mischief. But hey, it was a lot of fun and it’s all in a day’s work for a dad.
After an early afternoon nap for the boy, we ventured out into the back garden to assess the large chunk of tree that had come down during the dreadful weather last week. Only a few minutes into the mission, I opted to put a log saw through my thumbnail and in an almost simultaneous, yet seemingly unconnected incident, Alex put a large clay flower pot through his chin.
Despite our respective agonies, we both turned to look at the waddling pregnant one, expecting that if there was going to be a moment, this would be it. There was no moment.
Honestly – if there had been a moment, do you think I’d be here writing this? I’ll keep you informed.
I was awoken from fitful slumbers, punctuated with dreams of Kari Byron relaxing in a bath of Woolworth’s peanut butter (crunchy, obviously), on six separate occasions between midnight and 3am last night. Our son – usually a sleeper of note – is going through one of those stages that helpfully reminds us just how lucky we are when he doesn’t go through those stages.
Mostly it was just crying. Maybe a bad dream – the thought of Robert Mugabe in that horrid shirt, perhaps or maybe the thought of the South African national football side only managing a 0-0 draw against Sierra Leone last weekend. Understandably galling.
Bob’s shirt: Wakey Wakey!
Two of the wake-up calls were obviously premeditated, however: There was the “Daddy! Dadddeeeeeee!” dragging me out from under the duvet at a quarter to two and the somewhat more implausible, “Want Chicken!” about an hour later.
As I heaved my soporific frame through the chilly darkness across the landing, I distinctly remember thinking, “It sounds like he’s shouting “Want Chicken!””. Which of course, he was.
The culprit was a small, plastic chicken from a farm set he got for Christmas. It was silhouetted against the glowing green of the digital clock in his room. I picked up said chicken and then, having considered the (hopefully minimal) choking hazards it posed and then considered the not inconsiderable warmth beneath my duvet, shrugged and tossed it into his cot. Cue silence. Wonderful silence.
I recognise that this post will probably be, at best, of limited interest to many readers. However, it serves as the perfect excuse as to why I can’t actually get my brain to work on writing anything more intellectually challenging today.