June, 2007:

Kerry and the kids have gone up to Scotland for the weekend to visit various family members and I have been left to my own devices. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure that Kerry warned the emergency services before she left.

I’ve been looking forward to having three whole days to myself. No early mornings, no incessant macarenaing, no pooey nappies. And for a few days I won’t even have to blame the children for my deadly flatulence. Initially the plan was to make a big push on the garden, but the forecast is for rain for the next few days; and anyway I’ve managed to get a surprising amount done up there at the beginning of the week. So I’m home alone with absolutely no demands on my time or conduct.

There’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me I should take the opportunity to de-evolve to my pre marriage ways. For most people this would probably mean copious amounts of wine, women, and song. But for me alas it would be more like beer, arguing about Star Wars in a dingy pub, and playing Civilization until three in the morning.

In some respects I miss those days. I’m not talking about sowing my wild oats. I never really went in for much of that sort of carry on, and anyway I’d be a fool not to realize that Kerry was the best thing that ever happened to me. No, I’m talking about the complete lack of responsibility and the vibrant and rich social life that I had in my early twenties.

But I have the opportunity to recapture that this weekend if I want to. I could go out round town with the lads and get completely off my face. I could spend my days nursing a hangover and my nights fueling the next one. I could. But I don’t really want to.

I know that will disappoint a few people; cause them to call me a wimp or a wuss. And I know that parenthood doesn’t mean the person that you used to be has to be buried under the weight of your responsibilities. It’s perfectly possible to lead the hip and hedonistic life and still be a good Dad.

But for me, that was then and this is now. I liked my life before I became a family man, but I simply love it now. As much as I kidded myself that I couldn’t wait to get a bit of time to myself this weekend, I knew deep down that as soon as Kerry, Amy, and Evan walked out the door I’d be counting the hours until they returned.

So I won’t be spending my days sitting idly around the house in my underpants this weekend. I’ll be cleaning and tidying, fixing and mending, and generally making myself useful . And not because I feel I have to, but because I want to do things to make my family’s lives just a little bit better.

And that’s what it’s all about really. All my hobbies and interests boil down to that little sentence. I mess about in the garden in an effort to improve our surroundings, I blog and take photos in order to record and remember, and I play Dungeons and Dragons because you never know when you are going to have to save your children from a marauding Orc.

It’s because I love them, and I’d never go back.

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It is an unfortunate fact of life that three year olds thrive on repetition. That’s why programs such as Dora, Wonderpets, and Little Einstein’s are so popular. Children develop from babies drinking formula milk into kids consuming formula TV. It’s the circle of life.

Of course adults aren’t much better, only our formulas are slightly more complex. House, Extreme Makeover, CSI: Milwaukee; you know the rhythm, the cadence, and what the twists are going to be before the starting credits finish. And that’s fine. Don’t fix what isn’t broken. I don’t have a problem with that.

Sometimes however, the three year old uses this obsession with repetition not for good, but for evil. We all know of a little boy who demands the same episode of Thomas the Tank engine over and over again. Or the little girl who will only accept one specific book for her bedtime story night after night.

And to the parents of those children I have some sympathy. It must be hard to endure those things over and over again. But, while I accept their pain, I am secure in the knowledge that Kerry and I are experiencing three hundred times their pitiful suffering.

At the moment Amy is listening to the Macarena up to ten times a day.

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My brother Sam (the ugly one on the bottom far left) has just handed in his resignation with the intention to fly to Asia this summer and slowly make his way to Australia to find a job.

He’s just set up a blog to chronicle his journeys: Rabbit Confused with Raisins (it’s probably better not to ask). Head on over there and have a look. You could even drop him a comment or two to encourage him to keep on writing. But make sure you make it abundantly clear that you feel that I am superior to him in every way. Like most little bothers, he needs to be kept firmly in his place

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Amy was telling me about the visit from the Paramedics she had at nursery yesterday.

“And if there is a ‘mergency you telephone 999″.

“That’s right sweetheart you do. And what kind of things are an emergency?”

“If you bang your knee or if you don’t have any sweets”.

I think we might have to hide the telephone.

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Amy and I were talking about what to buy Dan for father’s day.

“Playmobil.” she said after thinking for a moment, “But boys’ playmobil, not girls’ ones.” (She was right of course. The only reason Amy has playmobil is because Dan really wanted it for himself.)

So boys’ playmobil it was – a barbarian ruin to be exact. We rounded off the present with some beer, daddy coke, doritos and dips, and some honey roasted nuts.

“Mummy, do you know where nuts come from? Squirrels lay nuts and they give them to the shops.”

Fantastic, I love it.

Dan spent most of this father’s day with Evan, as Amy and I went to a christening. I didn’t make Dan go, so that was a present in itself. Evan’s present to Dan was feeling well enough to not be mr grumpalump all day.

Happy Father’s Day, my turn.

My Dad had an unusual Father’s day. He was marching with other veterans in London to mark 25 years since the end of the Falklands war. I was 7 so I only remember a few things about my Dad going away:

He went to war on the QE2. It was due to go on a cruise but was commandeered for the war, so they got to eat all the 5 star food on their journey. We went to see them off from Southampton and I was excited about having a whole tube of purple fruit pastilles on the coach (I did say I was only 7). There were lots of families on the dockside, so my mum and her friend Terri thought we should have orange dusters so my Dad and Todd could pick us out. We got there and found out we weren’t the only ones to have that idea. I also have half a memory of someone (Todd?) pulling a moonie but I wouldn’t want to be sued for libel if I’m wrong.

I remember going to the airfield when he was coming home and him walking through the arrival gate.

I can’t imagine what it was like for my Mum and Dad but I was young enough for it not to seem that big a deal. He came back safe and sound so I was lucky. My kids are lucky too, as they have a Granddad they adore, and who adores them back.

Happy father’s day to Dan and my Dad, we love you very much x

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“a game which the English, not being a spiritual people, have invented in order to give themselves some conception of eternity” – Lord Mancroft

Amy and I went for a walk this afternoon. Originally I had planned to wander up to the primary school where she will be going next year. But on the way we saw a cricket match going on at the village pitch and Amy wanted to stop and watch.

There is nothing that makes you feel more English than loafing around on a Saturday afternoon letting a cricket match wash over you. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of oak trees, the gentle sound of leather striking willow, and the polite smattering of applause accompanying each run, catch, or bowl. It doesn’t get much more relaxing than that.

Of course the whole thing is spoiled if you actually care who wins. Fortunately I had absolutely no idea who were the home team and who were the visitors so I was spared the temptation to take sides. And while I enjoy absorbing the odd game, I have only a vague impression of the more complex rules and subtleties of tactics.

We played cricket whilst I was at school of course, but I spent the entire time concentrating on trying not to be hit by the ball rather than learning anything. Every now and again my friends Craig and Dave try to persuade me to join them in a friendly game in the park. But that ball is still is as rock hard as it ever was and I’m even less likely to be able to leap out of it’s way these days, so I politely decline.

We spent about an hour down at the cricket pitch, and Amy was even reluctant to leave when I decided it was time to go. She asked if we could go back again tomorrow, and if it’s not raining, and if I don’t have to stay home and clear up the various detritus that is currently littering our kitchen, I must admit I’ll be very tempted indeed.

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Today I have worked for twenty of the last twenty four hours; nine hours in my regular job and eleven hours of a night shift as a as favor to a ward I used to work on. It’s been about a year since I last worked a night shift, and I certainly won’t be sorry if it’s another year until I do another one.

I’m not good at nights. My concentration wavers, my eyes start to swim, and I have to consume twice my body-weight in caffeinated drinks in order to prevent me lapsing into a coma.

I’ve even been known to hallucinate on my drive home in the morning. I once thought I saw a giant rubber duck on the back of a lorry that was overtaking me. And I’ve even had delusions that I am a half competent driver, which quite frankly is ridiculous.

Fortunately as the ward is a rehabilitation rather than acute mental health unit there is rarely that much work to actually do on nights. This evening I’ve handed out a few tablets, drunk a few cups of tea, and watched a few late night re-runs of old Star Trek episodes. And of course I’m writing this entry in work’s time. Occasionally I’ve had to chase the odd patient back to bed with a sharp pointy stick, but other than that its been pretty easy going.

Sitting here in the staff room looking at the same old notices on the same old notice-boards that were there when i left two years ago it’s hard not to reflect on the journey I’ve made since emerging bright faced and enthusiastic from the doors of nurse training. I’ve gone from being a anxious and self-doubting junior nurse to being a anxious and self-doubting specialist nurse practitioner. I’ve moved from a backwater ward to the front line of mental health services. I’ve managed to attain a 1:1 honors degree while still working full time and dealing with being a first time father. And on the way I’ve hopefully helped some of the people I’ve come in contact with change their life for the better.

But there have been downsides too. I’ve become more cynical and more hardened to the sheer amount of unpleasantness in the world. I’ve lost some of my naivety and trusting nature. I’ve lost sleep worrying about some of the decisions I’ve made, and I’ve discovered that there are some situations which I’m just not emotionally strong enough to cope with.

And if I’m honest with myself I’m still not sure that nursing is really what I want to do when I grow up. But you do get to inject people in their bottom so it can’t be all bad.

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