Do You Remember The First Time?

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I took the boy to his first Sheffield United game this afternoon. The Blades v Plymouth Argyle in the second round of the FA Cup. A potential banana skin of note.

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(Just check out those blue skies, by the way.)
(And please excuse his hair, he’d just taken his beanie off.)
As local band Pulp once sang:

Do you remember the first time?
I can’t remember a worse time

And at half time, 0-0 and having endured a thoroughly depressing 45 minutes, I’m not sure I could, Jarvis, no.

But then in the second half, things perked up. They got a penalty and they missed it and then we got a penalty and we didn’t. And then we got another penalty and we didn’t miss that one either.
And with the boy thoroughly excited, we then slotted in another (not a penalty) and all was right with the world:

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All’s well that ends well, and this did end well.
It’s taken a while to get him there, but I’m glad we did. Another rite of passage in my (not so) little boy’s life.

Over Ukraine

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As I’m currently flying over (or maybe around) Ukraine, so why not hit you up with a Chernobyl post?

For the attention of the residents of Pripyat! The City Council informs you that due to the accident at Chernobyl Power Station in the city of Pripyat the radioactive conditions in the vicinity are deteriorating. The Communist Party, its officials and the armed forces are taking necessary steps to combat this. Comrades, leaving your residences temporarily please make sure you have turned off the lights, electrical equipment and water and shut the windows. Please keep calm and orderly in the process of this short-term evacuation.

Here’s that video taken by CBS in Pripyat, showing the desolation and ruin caused by “the catastrophe that never ended” – their words, not mine.

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And, while we’re here, a reminder of Michael Jennings’ excellent account of his visit to the same place and another – more recent – essay on the same “dark tourism” subject which I really enjoyed reading.

Tomorrow: Less radiation, more England!

Come fly with me…

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Take it, Frank:

Come fly with me,
Let’s fly, let’s fly away
If you could use some exotic booze
There’s a bar in far Bombay…

But I’m not going anywhere near India, Bombay is now Mumbai, and this isn’t actually an invitation. Still, while we’re on the subject, much new found respect for Frank Sinatra in keeping a straight face while telling us about the possible entertainment on the South American leg of our shared trip:

In llama-land there’s a one-man band
And he’ll toot his flute for you

Really, Frank? Really?

Nope, we’re UK-bound this evening at the end of a couple of hectic weeks which have exemplified this year for Family 6000. As ever when on the road, I will continue to attempt to blog each day, but I promise nothing. But you should probably expect fewer words and more photos – maybe a bit of Tumblr mode. You’ll survive.
If this is an issue for you, please drop me an email stating why you deserve a full refund.
Oh, and your bank details, obviously.

Look after SA for me while I’m gone, OK?

No sleep til Sheffield

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(With apologies to the Beastie Boys)

After a particularly sleepless night, this post – shared by Signe Rousseau on Facebook – hit home particularly hard. In fact, everything seems to be hitting home harder than usual today. Eina.

Every aspect of who you are as a human, every capability is degraded, impaired, when you lose sleep. What does that mean? Your decision-making, reaction time, situational awareness, memory, communication, and those things go down by 20 to 50 percent.

What was I saying? Oh yes. I’m not with it today and I’m about to head off on a 13,000km, 23 hour journey this evening.
Fortunately, I’m letting someone else do most of the driving.

Happy daze.