Archive for August, 2008

School

Published by
Dan
at August 31, 2008 in General. 29 Comments

Amy starts school on Tuesday.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been waiting for the right moment to write about the mixed bag of emotions that Im feeling. Waiting for that serendipitous combination of free time, bittersweet mood, and good old fashioned inspiration which would be required to pay full justice to the momentous milestone my beautiful daughter is just about to pass.

But that time hasn’t arrived. Work has been hectic, my emotions have been drained, and, umm… well Kerry and I have just rejoined LoveFilm and there has been a whole stack of shiny new rental DVDs begging to be watched.

But the day fast approaches and I’m still wittering on about Margaret Thatcher and morris dancers. So I guess I’m just going to have to bite the bullet.

Amy starts school on Tuesday.

It is a good school. It has reasonable OFSTED reports, but more importantly it has a reputation as a friendly and nurturing place for children to develop. There are only 40 pupils there. That’s in the school, not in Amy’s class. She will be in a class of ten other children, eight of which will be starting with her and two of whom are there already. Ten children to one teacher and one teaching assistant, the ratios don’t get better than that.

The school is in walking distance from our house, and we only need to cross one relatively quiet road to get there. We will be saving £90 a week in nursery fees and my mum has agreed to pick her up after school on days when both Kerry and I will be working so we don’t need to worry about finding a child minder.

Amy is desperately excited about starting. She’s more than ready for the academic challenges and is ecstatic about the prospect of learning to read. She has her school uniform and her new school shoes all ready to go and she paws over them like they were encrusted with diamonds.

Amy starts school on Tuesday. But I don’t want her to go.

I’m going to miss her terribly. I look after the kids on Mondays and Wednesdays. Me, Evan and Amy; we’re a team. A bumbling and shambolic team with scruffy clothes and snot running down our faces, but a team all the same. When she goes to school there is going to be a big Amy shaped hole in my and Evan’s day. There will be no more going to tourist attractions on schooldays and avoiding the hordes, no more free and easy weekdays with no deadlines or time restraints. Things just aren’t going to be the same.

But more than that, Amy going to school cements the inevitable truth that my little girl is growing up. She’ll be five in a couple of months. The same time again and she’ll be ten. Then fifteen, then twenty, twenty five, thirty.

I know it shouldn’t, but the prospect of Amy starting school feels almost like a bereavement. It doesn’t help that I work a lot of weekends and so the amount of time I am able to spend with her will be reduced dramatically. I’m making moves to resolve this, and things are looking relatively positive, but I just can’t shake that feeling of loss.

They say that from the moment a baby is born parenting is an exercise in learning to let go. Now, more than ever, I’m finding that hard to deal with.

Amy's first ever picture

Back to the usual rubbish

Published by
Dan
at August 29, 2008 in General. 24 Comments

Kerry, Amy, Evan and I went to the Royal Armories Museum on Monday. I’ve said it before, but I place the Royal Armories firmly in the number one spot of my Top Ten Museums of All Time list.

This in comparison to our regions other famous museum, the Bronte Parsonage in Howarth, which has been winner of my Most Boring Museum in the World Award for seven years in a row. Six pounds admission for the privilege of looking round a load of dusty old furniture? Six pounds?! I don’t care if the author of Withering Shites did sit in it, a wooden chair is just a wooden chair in my book. Bah, humbug.

But I digress. The reason we went to the Royal Armories on Monday was to see the Weta Workshop exhibition. As any geek worth their salt will tell you, Weta are the people who are responsible for creating all the weapons, armour, and models for the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy. Not only that but they did the props for the Chronicles of Narnia, Hellboy, and King Kong movies too.

It’s a little known fact, but Kerry is probably a bigger geek than me. And that’s really saying something, I even have a certificate of geekery from the Association of Geeks, Nerds, and Dweebs and everything. She was as excited about seeing Anduril, Glamdring, and Sting as I was, and we’ve been trying to find time to go along for about a month now. Plus I’ve been looking forward to taunting Lee with the knowledge that I’ve seen Hellboy’s gun, The Samaritan, and he hasn’t. I’m an evil man at heart.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we didn’t get to see the Weta Exhibition after all. We did get to see the queue for it however, and we decided that standing in it for half an hour with two kids was probably not a good idea. And anyway, there was a very real chance that they would find the more monstrous mannequins pretty terrifying, and we’d have go through the exhibition at a sprint. We’ve not admitted defeat though, and have decided to go back next Friday as we both have a day off and the kids will be elsewhere.

If you told me seven years ago that I’d postpone seeing real live props from the Lord of the Rings films due to vague concerns that my kids wouldn’t enjoy it I’d have laughed in your face. It’s staggering how much parenthood changes you. I’ve even stopped flicking my bogies at people

The day wasn’t wasted however. We did get to see a few props from the film which were scattered about the museum. For example, here is a Uruk-hai warrior keeping a fearsome eye on the kids craft table:

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“Spill the glitter and I’ll eat you”

Also going on was a rather elaborate jousting tournament. Unlike previous performances at the Armories that we’ve attended this involved people really hitting each other. The lances were designed to splinter on impact, but still there was a slight risk of an impaling, which always makes things a little more interesting.

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A guy in black armor won in the end, which went against everything that I’ve learnt in Saturday morning cartoons. It was only the semi final though, so I’m sure the guy on the white horse won in the end.

All in all it was a pretty busy day. And it didn’t end there as it was straight back to Huddersfield to welcome my brother Sam back into the country from his recent adventures in Australia. Talking to him about his experiences living over there made me hanker for the antipodean life myself. But that’s probably a subject for another blog.

Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t get a chance to see Hellboy’s gun if I lived in Australia would I Lee?

…and another thing

Published by
Dan
at August 27, 2008 in Politics. 9 Comments

Just a quick follow up post from yesterday’s rant about Thatcher and her dementia.

It occurred to me how powerful my dislike for the woman and her politics must be for my hate to be still burning brightly after all these years. I was three years old when she came to power and fourteen when she left it, hardly the prime age for political activism.

But she evoked real passion in the nation. People loved her or loathed her with equal fervor. And the same can be said of her opponent, the Labour party leader Michael Foot. Both individuals had an integrity which is never seen these days.

Foot vs Thatcher was left wing vs right wing. Socialism vs capitalism. Even good vs evil if you like; or that is certainly how it seemed to my youthful and naive eyes.

But what have we got now? Slightly left of center vs slightly right of center. It really does come to something when the Liberal Democrats are the most radical party.

These days I find it difficult to even summon up the energy to vote. It’s only the thought of the mess that the conservatives will make when they regain power that gets me tromping down to the ballet box. It’s not that I think my vote will make any difference, I just want to reserve the right to smugly say “I told you so” when it all goes wrong.

So while I wouldn’t want another Thatcher, I do miss the sense of passion of the politics of the 80’s. But as George Carlin said, you get the politicians you deserve. Maybe bland times calls for bland leaders. Who knows.

Back to the usual rubbish next post I promise.

Milk snatcher

Published by
Dan
at August 26, 2008 in Politics. 27 Comments

So Margaret Thatcher has dementia. Of course she does, after all Ronald Reagen had it and those two were pretty keen on presenting a united front. I wonder if Alzheimers is sexually transmittable?

Dementia is a horrific condition, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. But I do find some dark humor in the fantasy that she will end up in some dank privatized old peoples home. Looked after by indifferent sixteen year olds who leave her swimming in urine because the owners are too busy watching their bottom line to ensure that the place is staffed properly.

You know, the kind of place she is directly responsible for due to her deregulation and privatization of the social care industry.

But alas that really is just a fantasy. No doubt she is being cared for by the finest doctors and nurses in the country.

There has been all this talk recently about giving her a state funeral when she eventually pegs it. And that’s fine by me. She certainly was popular to a certain sector of society (the selfish and short sighted “I’m all right Jack” sector obviously). They deserve the chance to say goodbye to their Iron Lady in a way they see fit.

But so do the people who have a slightly less generous opinion of her achievements. And if they do spend public money on a state funeral then it’s only fair that we get to express our feelings at her passing too.

I’m torn between either dancing a jig or a irish hornpipe on her grave. What do you think?

Men in fancy dress, part 1

Published by
Dan
at August 25, 2008 in General. 18 Comments

On Sunday we were feeling particularly civilized and so went out for breakfast. Amy even asked for a bagel, which made us feel very cosmopolitan indeed. Unfortunately we were eating in a greasy spoon cafe so she had to make do with a toasted currant tea-cake instead. To be honest Huddersfield sophistication has its limits. We still keep coal in the bath you know.

After we had eaten we set off over the moors in search of a playground and ended up stumbling across the Saddleworth Rushcart Festival, the countries largest gathering of Morris Men.

Now how can I describe Morris Dancing to the uninitiated? The truth of is I probably can’t. According to the mighty wikipedia:

Morris dancing is the English national dance dating from the fifteenth century. It is a type of folk dance usually accompanied by music. It is based on rhythmic stepping and the execution of choreographed figures by a group of dancers. Implements such as sticks, swords, and handkerchiefs may also be wielded by the dancers.

But that doesn’t truly describe the phenomonon. If I were forced to come up with my own definition I’d say that Morris dancing is a type of dancing done by men who can’t actually dance but can just about manage to skip up and down in a row and bash a few sticks together. In silly costumes. And with bells on their feet. Shouting “YYYEEUP!!” at seemingly random intervals.

Oh it’s no good, i think I’m going to have to resort to YouTube. I’ll give you a pound if you manage to watch all the way to the end:

The English composer and poet Sir Arnold Bax once said “You should try everything once, except incest and morris dancing”. Which I have to admit is pretty bloody funny. But sometimes I feel that morris dancers come in for a great deal of unwarranted stick (if you’ll pardon the pun). After all, these men are keeping an ancient and idiosyncratic piece of our heritage alive. And they are doing so by wearing silly hats and playing sword fighting, which has to be a bonus in anyones book.

Saying that, I’m not too keen on the soft southern white suited Costswald breed of morris dancers, much preferring the theatrics of the rag wearing handkerchief shunning Border morris (oh yes, I know all the lingo). I especially like the morris men who don’t dress in the traditional costumes at all, but go with an updated look of a bowler hat and pinstripe suit or even a pantomime dame. It’s my view that anything that organically and naturally evolves a tradition can only be a good thing.

So would I become a morris dancer myself? Probably not, although I do have the beard for it. But despite my previous jokes at their expense I must admit that I have a healthy respect for morris men and will generally stop to watch if I come across them performing. As street entertainers go, Morris Dancers are certainly more fun to watch than living statues and bagpipe players, although perhaps not quite as fun as this chap (more on whom tomorrow):

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Mmmmm… Tunes

Published by
Dan
at August 24, 2008 in Competiton time. 24 Comments

As promised last week, here is another “guess the theme tune” quiz. OK so it’s a day later than I said it would be, but I’m a busy man. Anyway it’s probably still Saturday somewhere in the world.

It’s a little bit harder this time round, especially for the chronically foreign who I am pretty sure won’t be able to get a single one of them. Serves them right for not being British, that’s what I say (although there is a slim possibility of them getting number 4).

 
icon for podpress  Track 1: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (219)

 
icon for podpress  Track 2: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (207)

 
icon for podpress  Track 3: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (200)

 
icon for podpress  Track 4: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (235)

 
icon for podpress  Track 5: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (204)

“Excellent”

Published by
Dan
at August 21, 2008 in General. 12 Comments

Evan was happily munching on a Simpsons ice pop from the freezer when suddenly he noticed the wrapper.

“Look, its Pa!” he exclaimed, pointing at a character on the packaging.

comp

I’d wondered what my dad was doing buying that nuclear power station, now I know.

Bzzzz

Published by
Dan
at August 20, 2008 in General. 17 Comments

Big creatures like biting me. In fact I’ve probably been bitten by a wider variety of animals than most people I know. I’ve got the standard cat, dog and hamster bites under my belt of course, but then I’ve gone that extra mile and been gnawed on by some more unusual creatures. Pigs, goats, cows, horses, chickens and turkeys have all taken lumps out of me. And outside of the farmyard: ostriches, emus, lizards, trout, parrots, llamas, and penguins have tried to discover if human flesh really does taste like chicken.

I even created my own social movement revolving around encouraging animals to try and eat you, but sadly it never took off.

But despite this; small creatures (wasps, midges, gnats, fleas, mosquitoes and the like) have always left me alone. And for that I have always been grateful.

The funniest moment in my whole life was when a wasp got trapped down my history teachers shirt when I was about fourteen. The sight of him flailing around and slapping himself like a crazed Bavarian dancer will stay fixed in my memory until the day I die. And part of the humor in the situation was a confident certainty that nothing like that would ever happen to me. Because even when all around me are acting as blood oozing buffet carts, I have always been left alone.

Until recently that is.

I first noticed that I had been placed firmly back on the menu during the Dales Walk. We spent a good deal of time walking alongside riverbanks so I naturally assumed that the odd bite here and there was to be expected. After a while however I noticed that no matter how much insect repellent I was putting on I was still being bitten, And what’s more, I was being bitten more than everyone else.

And it didn’t stop with the walk either. All of a sudden I appear to be a magnet for nasty bitey things. I was watching cricket with Evan the other day, but after a while I had to go and sit in the car due to being dive bombed by swarms of midges. I felt like Mully and Scully in that episode where they were trapped in the woods b fireflies (shut up, it was a bloody good episode).

This never used to happen to me. Can an insect’s taste change? Amy I now the new sun-dried tomato of the mosquito world? - unknown and unpalitable ten years ago but all the rage now?

No. It can’t be them, it must be me. Somehow I must have become more appetizing. But how? I have been eating a little more garlic than usual, so it could be that. Or maybe it’s because I’ve started showering weekly rather than monthly.

But I’m kidding myself. I know the reason I am being targeted and it has nothing to do with how stinky or un-stinky I have become. The truth is I never used to get bitten by insects until this summer; and this summer is when I lost my beloved iPod touch. The insects can smell it on me - the shame, the despair, the sorrow, the stench of failure. They know my victim status and they are capitalizing on it like bullies in a playground.

Damn them. Damn them to hell.

Burneside to Bowness-on-Windermere

Published by
Dan
at August 19, 2008 in The Dales Walk. 14 Comments

The previous evening Dave had been talking about adding two or three miles onto the distance of our last day by walking from Kendal to rejoin the Dales Way rather than getting Kerry to give us a lift. His suggestion was met by incredulous looks and open hostility.

Dave had probably been the one amongst us that was least phased by the walk so far. He cited regular training and a job in which he spends most of his time on his feet as being the primary reasons for his competence. Sounds a bit like cheating to me. I secretly wondered how fast he’d be walking if I gave him a quick kick in the balls, but decided against it in the interest of group harmonics.

Seeing as though no one took Dave up on his “lets walk three unnecessary miles” idea Kerry once again kindly ferried us to where we needed to be and we set off on our final day’s walking in good spirits.

Ten miles would seem like a long way to walk at any other time, but after nearly a week of walking up to seventeen miles a day we had downgraded it in our minds to a gentle stroll before lunch. In fact we were so blasé about the whole thing we didn’t even bother taking a packed lunch with us - figuring we’d just get something at the other end. A decision that we would later regret.

The guidebook described the final leg into Bowness as “an extremely straightforward day bringing the Dales Way to it’s happy conclusion”. What it doesn’t mention is that there is a great big bloody hill slap bang in the middle of it. Now I realize that my tolerance of hills is probably a lot lower than the rest of the human race, what with me being grossly overweight and a complete lazy bugger. But there is no way that the guidebook is justified in describing the mountain we climbed as “gently rolling upland pastures”. Gently rolling my arse.

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Mushy wasn’t a fan of the hills either

Despite being lied to by the guide book once again we eventually made it to the top panting and heaving. Then, it being noon, we stopped for the lunch that we hadn’t brought. What’s more it was an exceptionally hot day (the hottest this year someone later told me) and many of us had run out of water.

It was at this point that Craig came out with the funniest gag of the whole trip. It probably won’t translate too well into the written word, but never the less I feel it needs to be recorded for posterity.

Picture the scene: there we are huddled in the only shade for miles around us, glumly contemplating the next five miles of walking in the baking heat with no water to quench our thirst when suddenly Craig exclaims excitedly -

“I’ve just remembered, I brought a load of drinks with me in my backpack!!”

Turning round we see him with about ten little packets of dry powder in his hands.

“Look, I’ve got instant coffee, hot chocolate, and teabags! Who wants one?”

Genius. Pure genius.

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Mr Kelly, I salute you (photo by Oli)

Fortune favors the foolish and as luck would have it just half an hour down the road we stumbled across an unlikely tearoom on the outskirts of a farmyard. Apparently the ice cream was absolutely fantastic. However I didn’t have much cash on me and so opted to prioritize in favor of a much needed injection of Diet Coke.

And then suddenly we were nearly there. A quick phonecall to Kerry to check our greeting party was ready and waiting and then onwards with a spring in our step (well, maybe a spring in our limp would be more accurate).

It’s difficult to describe the emotions as we walked down the hill to the finishing point. Relief certainly. But also a fair bit of pride and sadness that it was all over. I’ll reflect further on the walk as a whole on a subsequent post, but I will just say that the walk, while sometimes difficult, was never anything other than a fantastic experience. And I would do it again in a shot (although not just yet, my blisters have just healed and my toenail is still in the process of falling off).

Neil and Rachael were at the finish line to cheer us on, as were their daughters Lydia and Eve. Kerry was there too, and Caroline (Craig’s partner) and Nat (Lee’s wife). They gave us a resounding welcome and we even got presented with special Joseph Salmon Trust foot balm.

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That man will take a photo of anything

A quick pose for some pictures then it was off again down the hill to dabble our feet in the waters of Lake Windermere, the unofficial ceremonial end to the Dales Way. The hustle and bustle of tourist hotspot Bowness was quite a shock after the tranquility of the last six days. But we soon got over it, aided of course by a couple of cheeky pints in a nearby pub.

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Brooky exhibits his impressive six day beard growth

And then the fellowship was broken. Oli, Mushy and I went off with Kerry back to Huddersfield while Gav drove Rich and Brooky back to their homes. Lee and Nat drove back down the M6 to their home, while Craig, Dave and Caroline stopped on in Bowness for another couple of days for a bit of rest and relaxation.

The final total we have raised is yet to be calculated as money is still coming in from various places. But it looks like we have made well over £4000 ($8000), and we may have even hit £5000. That is going to make a big difference in a lot of peoples lives, and the people who read this blog have been a massive part of that. So thank you, your generosity has been overwhelming.

So, anyone up for a walk next year?

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I think it’s this way

Vital Statistics

Time set off: 9:30am
Time arrived: 2:30pm
Rough distance traveled: 10 miles
Big bloody bastard hills: 1

You can find more photo’s of the day here and you can still see the video for the final day over at the ITV local site. Neil has also kindly uploaded some of the day three footage to youtube:

I’d like to start by thanking my agent…

Published by
Dan
at August 17, 2008 in Memes. 11 Comments

James over at Luke, I Am Your Father (who incidentally wins my prize for best daddyblog name) has very graciously given me a Kick Ass Blogger award.

Kick Ass Award_200px

And it’s about time too damnit! For the past couple of days or so I’ve been watching my entire blogroll get this award. Whit, Ed, Xbox, Darren, VegasDad, Matthew, Brandon, PG, Jim; they’re all bloody at it.

For a while I got excited when I saw the name “Dan” on VegasDad’s list of nominees, only to discover it was for a blog called Daddy Dan. Daddy Dan? Who is this impostor? Oh… he’s a witty and engaging blogger (must be something about the name I guess). Still my point stands. Why haven’t I got one of these awards sooner?

After all, I think we can all agree I’m pretty much the dictionary definition of a kick ass blogger. Let’s consider the evidence:

  • I liberally interchange the words “their” and “there” freely and with reckless abandon, proving to everyone that I am a rebel with little regard for the so called “grammatical rules” laid out by The Man. (the same applies for my revolutionary and innovative use of the comma in it’s)
  • I set competitions on my blog and then forget to mail out the prizes to people, therefore lengthening indefinitely that delightful “I hope it comes today” sense of anticipation every time the winners check their mailboxes.
  • I pester my readers to give me money more often than any other blog on the internet.
  • I haven’t sorted out my blogroll yet, despite the fact that it has been several months since it disappeared after a wordpress upgrade. This gives me a sophisticated and tantalizing air of mystery. No one knows who I read and therefore my comments on other’s blogs come as if out of the ether. I am the Scarlet Pimpernel of the blogging world
  • I have yet to post a picture of my testicles on my blog.

A pretty compelling list of arguments I think you’ll agree.

So, in order to redress the balance I contemplated the option that instead of giving out Kick Ass Blogger awards to five other bloggers I should instead give them all to myself. After all, I’m worth it.

What’s more if I received five more Kick Ass Blogger awards that means I would have 25 further awards to hand out. If I gave those to myself too then I’d have a hunderd and twenty five awards. And if I repeated the process I’d get six hundred and twenty five, then three thousand one hundred and twenty five, then fifteen thousand six hundred and twenty five.

By my calculations, after thirty two award giving cycles I would own the entire internet. Tremble puny mortals beneath my might.

But I am a benign god, and so I shall forsake this opportunity to take over the world and instead show my magnanimity to the less fortunate. I therefore present the following people with an award.

  • Sam from Rabbit Confused with Raisins - Because he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother. And he happens to have a rather good blog too.
  • Rol from Sunset over Slawit - Because the very prospect of receiving something called a Kick Ass Blogger Award will probably make him physically nauseous.
  • Lee from Quit Your Day Job - Because everyone needs an antipodean pop culture guru.
  • Dan from Cafe Leone - Because he’s going through a bad time at the moment and us Dans have to stick together (you hear that Daddy Dan? You’re part of the fraternity now)
  • Jo from Jo Beaufoix - Because she’s a damn good writer, even if I can’t pronounce her surname.

Use your new found awards wisely.

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