tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159415913232214502024-02-19T09:40:05.540+00:00Father, Son and the Odd Blog Post...'or a Dad, a lad and too many words...onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-61454628755939640552012-02-01T11:58:00.000+00:002012-02-01T12:36:54.045+00:00Musical Yoof to a not so Old Grey Whistler!Funny
isn't it, but whatever my mood, be it happy or sad, up or down or
even just plain grumpy and fecked off. Apart from
writing there's only one thing that I can ever turn to, that without
fail, is guaranteed to lift my mood. The relief and buzz of it may only be temporary, but
just for that moment and in that precise moment it works for me. Some
may use drugs, alcohol or cigarettes as their crutch and to lighten
their mood or raise their spirits but for me it's so much more simple..
it's music!!<br />
<br />
I love music, always have and probably
always will. It is without doubt the single most wonderful thing I know.
Lyrics that tickle your mind or stir your thoughts, words that give
inspiration or invoke deep feelings of love or hate, happiness or
frustration. Tunes and rhythm’s that pump your veins, stir your soul and
make you want to dance, move or simply just smile. When I think about
it, I love all types of music, from Indie, to Pop, from Drum and Bass to
Jazz! The fact that my 'taste' dictates that I don't always listen to
them all, doesn't actually detract from the fact that music is truly
wonderful in any form and can inspire your mind and lift your spirits.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswApgW5r-Ca72aIPhpTJknWwu-snUudenunGytUaZFXPokDHUZaj00f8IFQs0dIbnNt0bPkAPx0KgA83BlkAgbwzsq-1rnRkLSpSjxrE23NLT3TSp52VRCE7CLpGTGL72kKcEGSORY8c/s1600/vinyl460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswApgW5r-Ca72aIPhpTJknWwu-snUudenunGytUaZFXPokDHUZaj00f8IFQs0dIbnNt0bPkAPx0KgA83BlkAgbwzsq-1rnRkLSpSjxrE23NLT3TSp52VRCE7CLpGTGL72kKcEGSORY8c/s200/vinyl460.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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From
an early age it's been like this, growing up in the seventies and with
the advent of Punk, the Mod revival, the emegerence of New Wave! My
first single was 'Into the Valley' by The Skids (well if you don't count,
‘Give a little whistle' by Jiminy Cricket), my first album 'Tonic for the
Troops' by Boomtown Rats. Sundays spent clued to the Top 40, fingers poised over the casette player, ready to hit record and trying hard to avoid the DJ's intro. As a child I was educated to the sounds of
Bowie during 'Art' lessons and saw The Jam and The Smiths live on
countless occasions. I remember well, rushing home from the music shop
(remember them, those real places where you actually bought vinyl?) to play Ian Dury's
'New Boots and Panties' and the look on my mum’s face when the stereo
exploded with the words... 'arseholes, barstards, fuckin, cunts and
pricks' ... so by fourteen, music was so etched upon and ingrained in my
very being, that for me there can never be anything else quite like
it. <br />
<br />
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This love has never faded, although the recipients of my
affections may have changed over the years, with many new beaus and
suitors having shared their souls, cast a smile in my direction and a
note in my ear. For most, as soon as they arrive, they are as quickly gone and only a few remain as long term friends. I know I've been blessed to
listen, read and appreciate many modern day lyrical poets, albeit it
there work is presented through music rather than book or
scripture. But their potency and poignancy is as inspirational, emotive
or controversial. Their words capture my mood; they reflect my thoughts
and almost transcribe my life. In a single twist of words, or the
painting of clever verbal imagery or even the twanging and jangling of chords do I
feel at peace, removed to a nicer place and at one with my inner self! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguilx6ZfJDtoQn-wXyUWhskDFQhPmK0ICETy3Oy0xK8mJHfqzXXFaMjnrfTcwkLUvKGgWKNDsMfYCCq0BbuMJfwkpdvKVXJ75xF_KMPISnPssIWT3tDRNLVLhyphenhyphen2mwfOMYP-Eq0ent49as/s1600/2012-02-01_1055.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguilx6ZfJDtoQn-wXyUWhskDFQhPmK0ICETy3Oy0xK8mJHfqzXXFaMjnrfTcwkLUvKGgWKNDsMfYCCq0BbuMJfwkpdvKVXJ75xF_KMPISnPssIWT3tDRNLVLhyphenhyphen2mwfOMYP-Eq0ent49as/s1600/2012-02-01_1055.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguilx6ZfJDtoQn-wXyUWhskDFQhPmK0ICETy3Oy0xK8mJHfqzXXFaMjnrfTcwkLUvKGgWKNDsMfYCCq0BbuMJfwkpdvKVXJ75xF_KMPISnPssIWT3tDRNLVLhyphenhyphen2mwfOMYP-Eq0ent49as/s200/2012-02-01_1055.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
It's
funny, but over the past couple of months I've been to a number of
gigs, varying from those in huge vacuous clinical arena's, to old
fashioned theatres and to the spit and sawdust and almost
claustrophobic feel of small academies. I've been asked by people whether I think I'm a
bit old for all this and whether I feel I should stop going, I mean,
feck me, the cheek of it, after all I'm still only reasonably young and I
even have my own teeth and hair? So occasionally I question myself
momentarily, but then as soon as I do, I get in and any self doubt is erased and
my conscience is again clear. For as the lights dim and the surge of the crowd
begins, the crackle of the amps ignite and 'piss and beer' filled
glasses are thrown upwards, crowd swaying, singing and bowing to the musical gods, I
realise that there is indeed no other feeling quite like this.<br />
<br />
So
as I sit here today, or in fact any day and whether I feel happy or sad,
lost or found, I know it doesn't matter really too much. I can turn
on my music, find the right song and for a moment, that sweet moment,
I'll be lost from the reality of daily life!<br />
<br />
You know, I think it was Shakespeare
that once said 'If music be the food of love.. play on' Well I
guess he may have a point, but for me it's more than just that, no for me
it's not just 'love' that music is the food of. No for me, instead it is my
'life' and my very soul that it feeds!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>So ... Let the band play on!!</b>onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-42020423892115490622012-01-23T11:40:00.001+00:002012-02-01T12:41:14.006+00:00To reality and beyond ... 9 'Toy's StoryYou may not think so but it’s been a busy kind of week for
me and blogging. I know, I know, I can see you looking around my blog to see
where all this hard work is being hidden (well apart from 80 words for <a href="http://sahdandproud.wordpress.com/2012/01/22/around-the-world-in-80-words/" target="_blank">SAHD's</a> new linky!) Has Fingers created a new secret tab
or section somewhere that contains some new work, or is it indeed cunningly
hidden behind that piece of cake on the table next to you? So
no you’re not mistaken, nothing new to see here... no all this hard work has
been for others, my blogging journey has seen me writing verses in the theme of
a wandering minstrel about cake and Buffy and a bit of ghost writing<br />
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So with all that done, my thoughts turned to me and what I
should write about next, I was tired and uninspired and lacking in any real
ideas. As I sat messing on my laptop, the 6<sup>th</sup> finger also sat
flicking through the dirge of television to find something to keep her
occupied. She flicked endlessly from channel to channel, reality show to soap
and back to reality shows (god I hate soaps and reality show). It was at that point I drifted slowly to a virtual
world somewhere else... at least I think it was virtual...</div>
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As my eyes focused again I saw the strangest of sights on
the TV... I rubbed them again but it was still there, it was true.....<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I found myself watching,</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> <b>Celebri-toy Big Brother</b>!!</span></span></div>
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Picture the scene .... the opening shot pans across Cambelwick Green
Locks and onto the newly updated Lego house, home of the Big Brother Toy House,
crowds of small toys gather out front and the voiceover man utters those somehow famous words </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The CTBB House</td></tr>
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<i>‘Good evening and welcome to Celebri-toy Big Brother ... as nine toys enter the house all competing to win this years star prize! </i><i><span lang="EN-GB">This year the top toy will win
the opportunity </span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB">of a lifetime </span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB"> to re-launch their flagging career with Disney
& Pixar creating the very latest 3D film featuring
the CTBB winner. With the film
due for an October 2012 release date, merchandising and sponsorship deals
are sure to be bountiful and the winner could easily become ‘Christmas
Toy ‘ of the year for 2012. ! For the lucky toy,winning CTBB will not
only change their life, it could actually ‘save’ their life (from being stuck in
the loft, or the indignity of being sold at a local car boot)!</span></i><i> So come with me and let’s meet
the toys competing this year as they arrive at the house’ </i></div>
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<i>Cue.. matchbox limosines pulling up and a stream of toy contestents making there way to the door of the house</i>... <br />
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<b> </b><b><i>(Sheriff) </i></b><i><b>Woody Pride</b> - </i>First into
the house is Woody, well know American movie star, ex alcoholic and drug
addict, convicted of reckless endangerment and illegal use of a gun. He’s
recently served 2 years behind bars and is currently tagged and under curfew. Woody
is now a scientologist and he says he’s entered the house to find his ‘inner
peace’ and to spread some ‘good’ love.<i><b> </b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>Ken Carson</b> - </i>The second housemate entering
the house is Ken Carson, famous for being ‘Superstar’ Ken back in the sixties.
This ex boyfriend of Barbie is now a fifty something ‘player’ who hit the headlines
a few years ago after a 6 day marriage to Barbie’s love rival Sindy. This marriage however, ended in scandal when
he was caught in a compromising situation with the bell boy and a small llama.
Now on his heels, he says he’s entering the house looking to restore some
personal pride and to earn enough money to pay for hair plug treatment.<b><i> </i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSc7JbKWWEGrabfv9GmN1fYTnaGdN9QUU76jz6Zp7hieTBXIFROrGB9ecVNesGn_ceQ3a1D0iJrvy_KqDSv1CZ4VISapJr3ZFn1LjToc5lyf_AqZ6bHL5zhckkHTQD9rzN_S6B6PsSch4/s1600/yup_ba.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSc7JbKWWEGrabfv9GmN1fYTnaGdN9QUU76jz6Zp7hieTBXIFROrGB9ecVNesGn_ceQ3a1D0iJrvy_KqDSv1CZ4VISapJr3ZFn1LjToc5lyf_AqZ6bHL5zhckkHTQD9rzN_S6B6PsSch4/s1600/yup_ba.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well Worn Lady </td></tr>
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<b><i>Barbie Roberts</i></b><i><b> </b>- </i>Next in is Barbie Roberts *enters to a chorus of
boos... now in her early fifties and the
former boyfriend of Ken Carson, Barbie found movie stardom early in life with
such classics as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Barbie Princess</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Barbie and Ken –the movie</i>. Following a
bad experience with the paparazzi and a series of failed marriages she’s turned
to porn to support her ‘horse tranquiliser addiction’ and has been recently
seen in such classics as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Barbie does
Darlington</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Barbie - Impossibly
Inflexible</i>. Mother of 14, Barbie
hopes to find a new love interest in the house.<i> </i></div>
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<i><b>Tiny Tears</b> -</i> Child prodigy Tiny has been a firm favourite of many children growing up. At an early age tiny got her big break in TV as a presenter on TBeebies. Rising quickly to fame she sought treatment for her irritable tear duct and was the first live patient on 'Celebrity Surgery'! Unfortunatley for her, Mr Potato head's first celebrity operation was not a success with him misplacing an arm just minutes before starting. As a result of this incident, Tiny has now not cried for over 10 years and can't even wink. A born again Christian she has taken a vow of celebacy.<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ladies Man</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><i>Action Man</i></b><i><b> </b>- </i>Renowned Falklands veteran and now an established TV star,
this ex marine has re-invented himself many times. Now a critically acclaimed survival
expert following his exploits in rescuing Prime Minister Slinky Dog from kidnap
during the Arabian nights conflict he is a well know household character. Controversy has surrounded AM though and
rumours abound about his involvement in the illegal trafficking of Russian
dolls and jelly babies throughout Europe. AM says he is looking forward
to his time in the house and to hopefully let people see the caring side of
him. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><b>Sindy</b> (no surname – bit like Sinitta)</i><i> - </i>48 year old self proclaimed cougar, Sindy is the next to join the house. Having rose to fame during the 70's she became one of the first true toy 'supermodels' off the back of her infamous relationship with Ken. Following their split and subsequent kiss and tell expose in the News of the World, Sindy moved into glamour modelling and has been responsible for numerous fitness videos. Recently hit the news when one of her 'enhanced assets' developed a leak during a live televised fitness session, leading to the PIP scandal along with a copious amount of sticky gloopeous mess on the studio floor. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6o4wQWerl5UJSw1lsIH95_8DznhRvzLeyc4erJPMctO9kihTxWvFcRmvu9mtfc9Gd8q8wG5KkYN-t0OnGuiVh7JM9yv3eHaSlQiGMjYZvtSwyy5rAPx5ykGzv23gf_qOceueZzdg3RHQ/s1600/nodddd.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6o4wQWerl5UJSw1lsIH95_8DznhRvzLeyc4erJPMctO9kihTxWvFcRmvu9mtfc9Gd8q8wG5KkYN-t0OnGuiVh7JM9yv3eHaSlQiGMjYZvtSwyy5rAPx5ykGzv23gf_qOceueZzdg3RHQ/s200/nodddd.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noddy Jetting In</td></tr>
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<b>Young Noddy</b> - Having shot to fame in the reality TV show, 'The only way.. is.. to make way for Noddy', young Noddy has enjoyed a sudden and impressive rise to fame. The son of former TV stars, Noddy Snr and Tessie Bear he was born after an 'on screen' accident during the filming of a love scene for the penultimate episode. Young, handsome and uber cool, we can expect young Noddy to add some spice to proceedings with a flagerent disregard for where and with who he rings his bell! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjWsKX7OSKqrT1HP_Op4LjCO7u7eeQrhsWGpKy3ztN7dDTgmelrWIxCewn1Ogai6TEY_ApKMzu41I5MleEy24WcB2oGpu9F2QQ8lNzTQUDfork_rQsMM0VqJQrN9NHyfFDxVm6X9an5U/s1600/Simon-flash-game.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjWsKX7OSKqrT1HP_Op4LjCO7u7eeQrhsWGpKy3ztN7dDTgmelrWIxCewn1Ogai6TEY_ApKMzu41I5MleEy24WcB2oGpu9F2QQ8lNzTQUDfork_rQsMM0VqJQrN9NHyfFDxVm6X9an5U/s1600/Simon-flash-game.jpg" /></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><b>Simon </b>- </i>Welcome our penultimate housemate Simon, former light
and sound game. Simon was born severely
paralysed and is now wheelchair bound and unable to communicate except through
sounds and light recognition software. A scientist, astrologer and genius with
an IQ of 200, he was the 2007 winner of the Buzz Lightyear Prize for Science.
Simon says he’s looking forward to the challenge of being with normal toys and
dumbing down for a few weeks. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><b>Great Uncle Bulgaria</b> - </i>Finally joining the other housemates in the house is Great Uncle Bulgaria (GUB), former politician and leader of the Green Party. It's expected that he'll bring a sense calm and dignity to the house along with a propensity to tidy the garden. A champion of the 'common' people he is also a strong advocate of porridge. GUB says his best qualities are his quick feet and fast hands, GUB is a also a keen crossword and suduko expert<b><i>. </i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Camera follows Great Uncle Bulgaria down the stairs to the house... he greets his fellow housemates, grabs a beer and heads for the garden. Meanwhile, over in the corner of the houser, Action man scans the room from his 'eagle eyes' and makes his way towards his first target Sindy, keen to get her in his grippable hands. Meanwhile, over in the kitchen Tiny Tears is making tea for her and Woody. While accross the room, Simon is in full and frank conversation with the Diary Room Door light and Young Noddy is already skinny dipping in the pool ... looks loke it's gonna be a long night in the house!</i><br />
<br />
<b><i></i></b><br />
It's at that point that my eyes slowly open and I stare around my room, all seems normal. The TV is on in the corner but only the test card remains, the lights are dim and all feels as it should be. Kind of relieved but also a touch sad, eyes drifting again... I head back to the house... maybe, just maybe, those magic mushrooms earlier weren't such a good idea !! <br />
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
</span><br /> </i></b></div>onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-86575555200252968202012-01-22T14:35:00.000+00:002012-01-22T15:36:20.143+00:00Around The World in 80 Words - VeniceOk so having seen <a href="http://sahdandproud.wordpress.com/2012/01/22/around-the-world-in-80-words/" target="_blank">SAHD</a>'s new linky challenging us to write a post in less than 80 words I was intriuged. Not intrigued because of the subject but to see if I could actually write anything in less than 80 words. So here we go .. my attempt to for once to be succinct and meaningful, in a handfull rather than a bucketful of words... <br />
<br />
So here you go, my brief guide to... <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Venice</b>:</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venice - Take your Wellies</td></tr>
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<b>Venice, great as there's no roads but not great if you get
sea sick or in heavy rain or storms. Piazza San Marco, beautiful Basilica and expensive
coffee, pretty if you look up but literally shit if you look down. Sigh at the Bridge of Sighs and buy just one costly Corneto
from a singing grumpy gondolier or get taken for an absolute ride by water
taxi. Birthplace of Vivaldi and place of
romance, take the OH and enjoy a ride!</b></div>
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Ok, so it was brief, quick and maybe a bit rough but then I guess that was my challenge.. !! So come on why don't you have a go and see if you can do it?<br />
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<br />onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-4209190243078513782012-01-18T15:22:00.000+00:002012-01-20T18:15:08.891+00:00Vintage Threads...Ok so as a new blogger I may be naive, but the reality is
that before the past couple of days, I had no idea what tagging was. For me it
was something that lightweight criminals got instead of a prison sentence and something
that involved some kind of weird bondage appliance strapped firmly to one leg
that set off an alarm if you were out in the dark.<br />
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Then, all of a sudden, there was I minding my own business,
finishing off my next blog and wammo... unbeknown to me I get tagged by the
lovely <a href="http://ahellofawoman.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Last Slayer</a> along with <a href="http://margot-and-barbara.com/" target="_blank">Margot and Barbara</a> and <a href="http://dorkymum.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Dorky Mum</a>!!! That’s ok I
hear you shout, it’s not like you don’t do this sort of this for fun anyway,
but here’s the rub! It couldn’t just have been a nice topic, you know one that
I could easily think up, write and post ... something up my street! Oh no, it had to be on the one thing I know
very little about, yep vintage clothes. Now I ask you, is there more of a
challenge that you could set a bloke, let alone one that’s actually just a hand,
other than to ask them to write about what’s in their wardrobe.</div>
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Ok so being one who’s never afraid of a challenge (well
maybe... possibly... ok probably then.. depending on what it is) here is my tale of
my Vintage ‘Handy’ Wardrobe!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> #1 – The Paisley
Romancers</b></div>
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<b> </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRARA4WNUdwetUXNC2S-lir56UNQjVS-VHfgWuuWf6TRK98X-32SKA5CLdU4A9-YBzbqzfjTUaC6pvydFu4_SwHBiaZj3XjtbQGgJGyN1oEnemNUE_6rr6BfBR6kCekEAu4rPtCTYiX_U/s1600/703+glove.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRARA4WNUdwetUXNC2S-lir56UNQjVS-VHfgWuuWf6TRK98X-32SKA5CLdU4A9-YBzbqzfjTUaC6pvydFu4_SwHBiaZj3XjtbQGgJGyN1oEnemNUE_6rr6BfBR6kCekEAu4rPtCTYiX_U/s200/703+glove.gif" width="150" /></a></div>
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So yep it’s true, I was born in the sixties albeit at the
very end of the sixties. A decade of free love; Mods and Rockers, Jimmy
Hendrix, 1966 and of course paisley patterns. Now these little beauts above are
Father Fingers romancing gloves, it was with these gorgeous finger fettlers
that he managed to snare Mother Fingers back in the day. It was a match made in heaven; he was a right
hand and she the left... and these gloves brought them together to a point of togetherness
that saw little old me enter this world. Who’d have realised that such a simple
act of unity, such as clapping hands at the final whistle of a victorious world
cup win would have ‘climaxed’ (and I do
obviously mean climaxed) in 9 months later the birth of ‘onlyfivefingers’. To
this day we keep them unwashed and festering in their loving embrace as a sign of my
beginning (for H&S purposes they are obviously in a Tupperware box now!). </div>
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<b>#2 – My Wedding Glove</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVEqapeY8yQD-GTDtdLPnhnONKYjceV7e_tvYSdUR0doLxYE_0CS0qPXA3o2BSIHbflLEwTMIjvzOB2Q715dkQwxXT-mpgh0VZrW4oFWNCYE-XrLnz5CRxGQYIAexlwlU9jsTnFp5BFQ/s1600/tungstenwolf_knight_gauntlet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVEqapeY8yQD-GTDtdLPnhnONKYjceV7e_tvYSdUR0doLxYE_0CS0qPXA3o2BSIHbflLEwTMIjvzOB2Q715dkQwxXT-mpgh0VZrW4oFWNCYE-XrLnz5CRxGQYIAexlwlU9jsTnFp5BFQ/s200/tungstenwolf_knight_gauntlet.jpg" width="200" /></a>Fashionable, functional and feisty, I present you my wedding
glove (or gauntlet as you may see), pretty apt thinking about it as I’ve been running
the gauntlet in my marriage ever since.
I came across these hanging amongst the many gloves in my wardrobe while
looking to see what to include in this post. They epitomise everything about
me.. as you can see they are strong, reliable, fashionable and functional... ok, so you're right that’s nothing like me, but then in reality they were only bought
with one thing in mind and that was to stop Mrs Fingers from squeezing that
little bit tight when I was asked the vital question on my wedding day (so as
you can see they don’t work) but hey I still like them and they do come in
handy sometimes ;-) </div>
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<b>#3 – Fingers in
the movies (and no that's not a euphanism)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMA1Zovt8Do1WEDCUc2Odpy7hyphenhyphen_HGi9zcXc1rpsunV7tZpHsj4DldmxjgTX3wUCYDGXE7PuQXL_7VgnfbPKo_RCKXykRb8tLydY1rC8IW5v5pRvUgmPXYpCoWpM6k-krKfDcgOrdCQ6hw/s1600/1970%2527s+driving+glove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMA1Zovt8Do1WEDCUc2Odpy7hyphenhyphen_HGi9zcXc1rpsunV7tZpHsj4DldmxjgTX3wUCYDGXE7PuQXL_7VgnfbPKo_RCKXykRb8tLydY1rC8IW5v5pRvUgmPXYpCoWpM6k-krKfDcgOrdCQ6hw/s200/1970%2527s+driving+glove.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Now many of you may not be aware that I have actually quite
a famous father. Those of you that are
old enough to recall The Adams Family will have seen my own father in his all
naked glory as the character ‘Thing’.
Now it’s true to say that ‘father fingers’ was a keen thespian and happy
to perform au natural in the name of his art but he was also a shy and
conservative type away from the cameras.
In his quiet time he could always be found in his comfy gloves as he
called them, these delicious ‘drivers’, all comfy a delectable moleskin/ fabric
combination these were indeed his perfect relaxing partner as he drove his car
for endless hours (I should probably point out that this was a scalextric
car... I mean come on weren’t seriously expecting a single hand to drive a
proper car were you?). So it was with
great happiness then, that as he left my mother for hand No2, he also left his
pride and joys with me for safe keeping.</div>
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<b>#4 – Boxing Gloves</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzI6YZIcAfJsgQSuxBZIKUMvC5FkFJ15X9vO5_Yp8ulrUjpcTACeUB6xo7JoRZa-0cfSf89DsBM8JM8-zeUJ-jkGR3pekeBVjRCm5eQyQ1vyCwWr0hmxDGcPNbsLnseqcpLG466USRvyc/s1600/boxing+gloves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzI6YZIcAfJsgQSuxBZIKUMvC5FkFJ15X9vO5_Yp8ulrUjpcTACeUB6xo7JoRZa-0cfSf89DsBM8JM8-zeUJ-jkGR3pekeBVjRCm5eQyQ1vyCwWr0hmxDGcPNbsLnseqcpLG466USRvyc/s200/boxing+gloves.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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My final offering is these vintage boxing gloves which are
actually quite personal to me. I think it’s fair to say that I spent a quite a
significant part of my growing up tightly bound in these beauties. Dark brown, well worn and so very
comfortable, it’s true to say that they were involved in many of my recreational
pursuits over a number of years. Now you
may think that this means I was a champion boxer or keen trainer, but no, the
reality is that my mother insisted that I wear these to bed each night once I
reached the age of 10. To this day I’m still not sure of the reason for this protection,
maybe it was to stop me sucking my thumb?.. and it’s fair to say that I have never posed
the question to her to find out. So this mystery
shall remain forever. But as I look back now I am surely thankful for my now perfect
20/20 vision. </div>
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Ok so I guess I should apologise for not actually giving you
a glimpse into my actual wardrobe but hey after all I am just a mere man. My
wardrobe is as you’d expect, it’s nothing special... Fred Perry’s, Levis Jeans,
the odd shirt and an assortment of hoodies and nothing over 2 years old (apart
from my old Harrington Jacket). </div>
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I suppose I could have cheated and moved instead into Mrs 6<sup>th</sup>
Fingers wardrobe but as anyone who knows my fetishes will testify, this
wouldn’t have not offered any reward either, as I have a constant and
irrepressible need to prune her wardrobe contents for her without her knowledge
(you can read about that <a href="http://fathersonandtheoddblogpost.blogspot.com/2011/12/man-with-no-resolve.html" target="_blank">Here</a>). </div>
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So there you have it, apologies if it wasn’t what you hoped
but now having completed my first tagging.... albeit in a slightly cheating
style.. I bid you adieu and pass the baton <a href="http://writeanovelin10minutesflat.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Cathy at writeanovelin10minutesflat</a> and <a href="http://threegirlsandapen.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mandy at threegirlsandapen</a> as I reckon they may well have some interesting things lurking in their corners!!<br />
<br /></div>onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-58227313062270778712012-01-10T21:12:00.001+00:002012-01-11T06:00:19.548+00:00Go straight to hell, do not pass 'Go' ...do not lose 200 lbsJanuary, oh feckin January, a month of good intentions, false hopes and faint optimism! Most of which are in reality just bollox and only verbalised by us because we feel that we should try to say that we're going to do something different or better in our lives that year. <br />
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So should I pack in booze? Err no (how else would I remain sane?) should I eat better, well I can try but the reality is that the crisps and pork scratching’s that accompany the booze will put paid to that idea. I mean, so what if it was Christmas and then the New Year, so what if you’ve put on a few pounds of cake and turkey or just aren't as fit as you were before the festive period? Why does January have to lay the guilt on so heavy? Pressure mounting, I finally succumb; you know maybe, just maybe, I could go for something straight forward?? I know I'll go back to the Gym; after all I may as well actually use that membership card that now lies dog-eared on the floor, its sole purpose to stop the table from rocking. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghytR0o2NpWcfg5qPdIuoMp0MbAzgftTXzdbZlbpARLOoFDYmPjFsxp7MMRM0unw_jPHJhk14pFbT4xpIcx7xxuWhbh7GL9vAri55zzx7pFAX4TmifnletIsvHAHYaJjnQCL6HZfUWhz4/s1600/gym.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghytR0o2NpWcfg5qPdIuoMp0MbAzgftTXzdbZlbpARLOoFDYmPjFsxp7MMRM0unw_jPHJhk14pFbT4xpIcx7xxuWhbh7GL9vAri55zzx7pFAX4TmifnletIsvHAHYaJjnQCL6HZfUWhz4/s200/gym.jpg" width="200" /></a>So with this moment of madness in mind, I got to thinking about the ‘gym’, the ‘studio’, the ‘workout zone’! So come on, who ever thought these were a good idea? What possesses people to spend good time and money at these pain delivery centres? Now me, I say I go for medical reasons, because I have a bad knee, well in fact two bad knees, oh and maybe a pound or two extra... and ok... some may even say that I have a fat head? but in all honesty, why do we really bother, for what purpose, it’s certainly not for fun? <br />
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Now gyms, they are funny places when you think about it, there can be no argument with that, they come in all shapes and sizes, all with their own personalities, some big and brash, some small and select, some with a reputation for being hard and some that would plain scare the shit out of you! Funny really, it’s a bit like their clients; they too come in all sizes and all types, all trying to find their niche, all trying to look special!! They all have one common goal though, to entice you with images of the body beautiful, the special deal and a shot at releasing your inner Adonis!! <br />
<br />So there you are, you’ve bitten the bullet, signed your DD, now it’s time to take the first steps on the path to the body beautiful. You enter the ‘house of pain’ and suddenly you realise that the reality is far removed from pictures on the adverts. The glamour that once enticed you, the one where a nubile young lady exercises with a grin that would light up the room! Or a perfectly muscled man lifts weights without effort or even breaking a sweat. No, all of this has gone now and been replaced with a stark reality. The reality that bites now, is a room of extremes, of cliques, of stereotypes, of lycra clad people and banging music, a room from Hades, a room that strikes fear into your already strained and pumping heart. <br />
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At first glance, the room is split three ways, the cardio equipment, the weights machines and the ‘free weights’. Now your induction may have taught you how to use them and provided you a programme, but it won’t have primed you for your first experience of 'real' Gym life! So armed with your water bottle, head phones and newly purchased gear, you turn up like a virgin at a sacrifice. Full of hope and expectation but soon to be vanquished and left bloodied, battered and ruined. You vow to carry on and as you begin your warm up, you look around to familiarise yourself with your environment and fellow gym goers and suddenly realise how far you are from the sporting idyll of what had been promised. <br />
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The cardio crew are cracking on, middle aged women who’ve been shoehorned into a size 12 lycra suit clearly with the use of goose fat and vasoline, funny lumps and bumps bouncing gently as they enter their forced march, speed walking cycle. The amateur pro’s in running shirts and shorts, these fanatics who, stick thin, gaunt and muscled, pound the treadmill with monotonous ease, barely breaking a sweat while occupying that precious piece of equipment that you’ll need next, and so they will continue, for hour after tedious hour!! Then there are the young ladies, the gym bunnies, all style and smart gear, happy to spend their time gently easing through a cross trainer session whilst looking casually over at the mirror or typing endlessly into their Iphone... you can almost hear them, how do I look, who’s watching.....does my bum look big in this? You see them day after day, no sweat, no pain and no fat! ... just how can that be? <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw5Cdj1sBZNBDVX-0yp-8FKefj5M6jqgIXI0LJv9pkiMD4oo0B0FU_CQADGZ3IISHKho9bNtucUFOvfmk28tL1hW2lcv0CyEcxtn9JS_Jpn1-is0a76Xeq-Pls5V-1J2i5jIro5m4lxc/s1600/body-builders-colour-picture-colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw5Cdj1sBZNBDVX-0yp-8FKefj5M6jqgIXI0LJv9pkiMD4oo0B0FU_CQADGZ3IISHKho9bNtucUFOvfmk28tL1hW2lcv0CyEcxtn9JS_Jpn1-is0a76Xeq-Pls5V-1J2i5jIro5m4lxc/s200/body-builders-colour-picture-colour.jpg" width="200" /></a>But the gym also hides a secret, over in a distant corner, there’s the dark side, a place, a home for the free weights. Now this is not a place for the faint hearted and certainly not a place for the uninvited. This is a place where the alpha male finds his home, the testosterone filled, supplement soaked, steroid riddled pack make their mark. Their uniform is simple, vest tops, ‘Everlast’ trackies and boxer boots signify that you belong, the sound of chaffing thighs and unnatural grunting is the norm here...There’s no place here for the weak, the smart or the old, this is the powerhouse of the gym. A place filled with meat heads, operating in groups, hunting in packs, biceps bulging and eyes on stalks they crash out set upon set of ridiculous weights, their only goal to be, a bloated, big necked gorilla. <br />
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And then there’s me and the middle aged massive, old tee shirts and footy shorts, manky trainers and a sweaty brow, pounding the machine like elephant’s in a grape farm. Close to breaking we push on through the pain barrier, hope dissipating as we carry on, trying to distract ourselves from the pain by watching the TV.. can’t focus.. the pain is too much! So we begin the countdown ...just two minutes left... pound, pound, pound... ninety seconds... pound, pound, pound... thirty seconds pound, pound, pound... that’s it.. thank feck.!!... And relax..tortured and tired and moments away from the next 5 minutes on the rower. <br />
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So you’ve finally made it, session done, a wave of euphoria passes over you. But just when you think you’re safe and it’s time to head off home, well that’s where the real trauma starts!! Now if you’re like me, you take the chance to have a shower while there!! Well why wouldn’t you?? After all, it’s the only time these days that you can have one without being forced to wipe it down after use. So come on, pray tell when did all this start, what is it with showers these days?? back in the day you could lather up, shower down and rinse and get out, now you enter like a naked window cleaner, squeegee in hand and shower clean on standby !!<br />
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So with a deep breath and a sense of nervousness I enter the changing rooms. Now this is a really surreal place, these places have many quirks and almost as many strange customs. This is the place where some men are most at home; here they are at their posing, self obsessed best! Prancing around literally like a ‘cock’ hen, happy to stand proud and to chat to all and sundry in their newborn glory, their toned bodies kissed by the orange glow of a stand up tan and the dull odour of Lynx Africa. These are the people that even when the place is empty, choose to change right next to you, almost in a subliminal attempt to put you in your place. They pose and chat and get too close, seemingly happy to bend and stretch as they talk about bench pressing and squats while picking the fluff from every orifice! <br />
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...but then, over in the far corner, the slightly pale tubby men try to blend into the background, sweaty and red from an almost cardiac inducing session, for them there is no chatter, no they sit panting and waiting for an opportune moment to shuffle uncomfortably to the shower. For them there’s no prancing about, no public displays, but instead the largest towel they can find to hide the love handles, beer belly and sweat covered hairy body. For them the trauma is almost complete, their escape almost accomplished, clear in the understanding that their sweating will remain for many hours yet! and so they leave red and ruddied like a Ribena advert, to return to normal lives and maybe a pork pie for lunch...oh and a beer or two for tea!! <br />
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So fun it is not, but continue I may, this could just be through sheer stupidity, maybe it’s vanity and maybe I still think that maybe, just one day, I can uncover my inner six pack!!! <br />
<br />onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-86502187387613427552012-01-04T11:51:00.002+00:002012-01-28T16:02:55.465+00:00And now for something completley different !!!Now this is a first for me, never did I think when I started
blogging that I would write anything that wasn’t based even slightly on
observation or humour, but that was sensible and heartfelt. A tale of beauty,
amazement and unconditional love... but hey, have pen, will write (or in fact, have
keyboard will type, to be more accurate). Anyway, this is for me rather than
for anyone else, so indulge me if you will and once done I’ll return to my usual
irreverence again.<br />
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<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Three
Hearts – One Love</span></i></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OduF-R76_SMfk68cukDKSQl4wfBpeH7MIR-TT-9nEfWY5Mz-iVGABkdlXc3Cxgy9u0s6RU-GgAh_UejZNs6MHRN9Ig0MXrHuMH8pTy9-r0H7_-QizvUc-gs5gvIno3Q04wsiNCKxsKU/s1600/free_1891436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OduF-R76_SMfk68cukDKSQl4wfBpeH7MIR-TT-9nEfWY5Mz-iVGABkdlXc3Cxgy9u0s6RU-GgAh_UejZNs6MHRN9Ig0MXrHuMH8pTy9-r0H7_-QizvUc-gs5gvIno3Q04wsiNCKxsKU/s200/free_1891436.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><i><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i></b></div>
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So here we are again... it’s January, for most people that’s
a time of getting over Christmas, fighting to keep resolutions, strained
waistbands, frazzled forelocks and probably just that feeling of being a bit
down in the dumps after the festive season.
But in the ‘Fingers’ house it’s very much a case of no rest for the wicked,
instead it’s straight from one celebration into another and then yet another,
without even time to dust the mantelpiece or a chance to straighten the debris
from the floor (well leave it to me, what do you expect?) or even for me to get
paid again. </div>
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Anyway, as you know, today is January 4<sup>th</sup> 2012
and 8 years ago on this very evening, a truly remarkable thing happened for me,
(no not that before you start, that’s annually in April! But we’ll come onto
that later ;-). ..) Yes, on that night, I welcomed into this world my second
daughter to join her sister, two years her junior. Now, there’s nothing remarkable in how it
happened, no great tales of good fortune or emergency delivery just that it
did. For me and the sixth finger it was
a straight forward birth (I suspect more so for me), contractions in the
afternoon, despatch to hospital delayed until after I’d managed to get through my
Sunday roast dinner, well it might have been a long night? (oh and I hadn’t
packed the picnic that the midwife had suggested, so always better safe than
sorry) However, it was a short labour, one spent mainly on a bouncy ball, not so
sure how that helped, but I enjoyed it all the same and then out she popped, good
as gold and as beautiful a sight as I’d ever seen ! That was it for me, my
family complete, I had two gorgeous girls for me to adore and look after!
People have often asked me if I’d have wanted boys, given that I play football,
ride motorbikes and can be pretty laddish, but never once to this day have I
ever wished I had. In fact, I wouldn’t change them one iota!</div>
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So here I am, thinking how quickly life moves on, as I sit
here typing now with both girls at school, youngest 8yrs old today and her
sister’s 10<sup>th</sup> Birthday on the horizon in a couple of weeks. I look
back at how fast time has passed and those days and night I spent with them,
changing nappies, cuddling and feeding them. How the four hourly routine for feeding was
like a military operation (I now realise why they were bottle fed, it’s good to
share eh .. hey at least my boobs haven’t sagged!), how a 6am Saturday feed
after a Friday night out with the boys was both a challenge and a delight (as
the fumes of the alcohol slowly soothed us all back to the land of nod) and how they would sit in their bouncy chairs
glued to Super League on the TV on my premise that the bright, fast moving
colours stimulated them and their development. I recall how I sat and read with them and told
them stories, how I taught them to stumble forward on their first unsteady
steps, I think back to how blessed I was to work shifts and spend time with
them as they grew and the bond that developed between us that remains today.
They are without doubt, daddy’s girls, of that there is no question.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5sHvXseJDQ3n1DBV4f_6htI_uTzQ-ozNicYMmz7KKWGtS3YrcW4vFpFBG1HzXTdczNcFHtPzffbO45aBcH1we3coIFKxyUn3gvVrba-yvC1qXHKEHNE_UrY3f1Phr7r1jkZMdaKMdsw/s1600/10628672-two-lovely-little-girls-cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5sHvXseJDQ3n1DBV4f_6htI_uTzQ-ozNicYMmz7KKWGtS3YrcW4vFpFBG1HzXTdczNcFHtPzffbO45aBcH1we3coIFKxyUn3gvVrba-yvC1qXHKEHNE_UrY3f1Phr7r1jkZMdaKMdsw/s1600/10628672-two-lovely-little-girls-cartoon.jpg" /></a>So throughout the years they’ve grown, they’ve become very
different in character and both have unique skills and natural ability and
beauty (spoken like a true father), I’ve
been very lucky to have a flexible job that’s allowed me to help on pre-school
runs, see school plays and to drop off and pick up from school. Them being here,
coupled with me being able to be so close to them, has brought me together with
many new people, some who I like and some who I just simply
can’t stand, but such is life at the school gates. </div>
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Anyway, throughout the 10 years of my girls so far, I have
without doubt been taxed and challenged by their upbringing; we’ve had
everything from tantrums to tooth fairies, tears and triumphs, highs and lows.
My eldest has always breezed through life, happy, clever and confident (oh
apart from not wearing jeans without tantrums, what’s that about?), even so,
life has a way of testing you and checking you’re on your mettle, a couple of
months back she suffered a fit after bedtime, she was out for a long while and the paramedics and ambulances called.. this was without doubt possibly the scariest moment of my life, as I held
her motionless in my arms. Thankfully she recovered quickly and she’s been ok since, but it just serves to
remind you how precious things can be and how cherished loved ones are. </div>
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Whereas the younger one has always been more of a challenge,
she struggled with undiagnosed issues with her hearing for her initial three
years, which was later fixed but which has led to the late development of
certain skills and visual and memory processing actions. Even now at eight I’ve
spent many hours over the past two years, pushing for referrals to optometrists,
support and resources. Don’t get me wrong she’s a smart, clever and savvy cookie
and will do well, but could quite easily get left behind if the initial delays weren’t
addressed. So day in day out I champion her with school and local authority to
make sure she gets what’s best. I
sometimes envy parents whose multiple children breeze through school and early
life without challenge or effort, but then I soon bring myself back to the fact
that she wouldn’t be the same girl that I adore if she was anything other than
her.</div>
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So in reflection of my first 10 years of fatherhood (just
corrected a typo there that said tears of fatherhood..maybe, sometimes??) I
realise that I may not always be the best parent, I may sometimes get things
wrong, I may lose my temper and sometimes scream and shout. They often deserve
it, they’re children and like to test us out. But also sometimes they don’t,
but the one thing that I’ve realised is that because of our bond they always forgive
me with absolute certainty and pure belief in me as their dad!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5SbUTsrG7GWE74T1PAzFjg2r2S28depFK3GSzaP-yMN2QAlvofyZsS4e0cXpvCGndfnQOluXdQ-FATJhr4Ke4XxGz_Ci5VrvhHN7zsapo-Mneyc7hMsSJaFFao698gNpspQ1xCjLmVw/s1600/nclock-05-30_33924_th.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5SbUTsrG7GWE74T1PAzFjg2r2S28depFK3GSzaP-yMN2QAlvofyZsS4e0cXpvCGndfnQOluXdQ-FATJhr4Ke4XxGz_Ci5VrvhHN7zsapo-Mneyc7hMsSJaFFao698gNpspQ1xCjLmVw/s1600/nclock-05-30_33924_th.gif" /></a>So as I lay there with
my youngest at 5:30 this morning, on her birthday, after she’d come in and
snuggled up with me (‘cause we were told it was too early for her presents..!)
we just lay there cheek by cheek, her breathing her sweet breath in my ear (she does have the most incredibly sweet breath) and us
tickling fingers together in a stifled quiet way , my thoughts moved to writing
this post about both my girls and the joy they bring me.</div>
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It’s true that we’ve laughed and cried together, we cuddle
and read each night, we scream and shout at each other but we’ve grown a bond
that can never be broken. It’s funny but from two so young I have learnt what
the true meaning of unconditional love is and how rare and precious a gift
that is!</div>
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<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Three
Hearts – One Love... FOREVER !!!</span></i></b></div>
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Oh and the annually in April thing... come on surely you’ve worked it out... two
girls born in January.. so what did I
used to get for my birthday?</div>
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<br />
<br /></div>onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-928650261194048492011-12-29T12:20:00.000+00:002012-01-02T16:27:31.632+00:00A man with no resolve ...So Christmas is almost done, presents are opened, waistbands
expanded and the dust has started to settle. Floors are once again clear of
discarded wrapping paper (and those plastic tags that seem to be on every
corner of every toy?) and the sound of children bickering fills the air. So in
this haze of relief and sadness at the passing of Christmas, our head’s start to
clear and we move onto New Year unabated.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiii62XkDB9emAqrQWcvlm-XqpwE192zoKCIcRI4h187cCBh2fUSVZlpa_EY50DNRksUzjqnMSuLGIOfu3ezY_XVLRrW1HpJwBVfp3gFeTZSDWw7M0sGZxT4v2qWSoqhuWngT28ONfR32k/s1600/new-year-s-resolution-pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiii62XkDB9emAqrQWcvlm-XqpwE192zoKCIcRI4h187cCBh2fUSVZlpa_EY50DNRksUzjqnMSuLGIOfu3ezY_XVLRrW1HpJwBVfp3gFeTZSDWw7M0sGZxT4v2qWSoqhuWngT28ONfR32k/s200/new-year-s-resolution-pic1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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And so, there I was, lay in bed this morning, thinking about the New
Year and about what resolutions I may be considering. What would be the good
intentions that I would / could / maybe set off with into 2012.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So here they are ... but for a man with no resolve, what’s the odds of any of the following happening??</i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">F</span></b>arts
and burps – so apparently it’s not good practice to break wind loudly in front
of the kids or teach them to burp ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas’ on demand?? Now I see these as essential life skills and
ones that should be actively encouraged during their formative years, however
now that they’ve been trained I suppose there’s no problem with trying to stop
it myself. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOF63BYJT-JJDRd3pMTKoX3w8r6QxxXzbDDF9ON3noy9bR3hw7u0fznmLQFbqe2CTg-74phuURs9L1zjpeFKpShUCl6Tko12d4Z3R3Xm2WQNCI_6l5FIx0iFzvwlLy8cJOzaz3YUbmyA/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOF63BYJT-JJDRd3pMTKoX3w8r6QxxXzbDDF9ON3noy9bR3hw7u0fznmLQFbqe2CTg-74phuURs9L1zjpeFKpShUCl6Tko12d4Z3R3Xm2WQNCI_6l5FIx0iFzvwlLy8cJOzaz3YUbmyA/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span></b>bstinence
– ha ha… I may say this while drunk at midnight on the 31<sup>st</sup>
December, but in reality, as if this is possible. The best intentions of a ‘dry
January’ will be sadly thrown out of the window by the time I arrive for a
family New Year Dinner and have spent 10 minutes in a world of ‘outlaw’ madness.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">T</span></b>elevision
– this year I may reclaim the TV!!! Ah..
I remember a time, a time before children (yes I have a good memory) it was a
lovely time, one where I could get up and read the papers while casually
sipping on coffee and watching the news in peace and tranquillity. Then along
came my two gorgeous girls and since then my world has moved from Cbeebies
through to Nick Jnr and with it my disengagement with my own TV. Now, I did try to solve this last year with an
new extension and a shiny new televsion, but instead now I have two rooms with two different kids
channels on.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">C</span></b>lean
the car – Every week I set out with the express intention of 'maybe' cleaning my
car and every week it rains just enough (well I am up North) to take away <i>just
</i>enough of the grime for me to rest easy for another week. People keep telling me that it’s not self-cleaning
like hair is, but I’m not so sure. </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">H</span></b>ousekeeping
– I will attempt to avoid any further use of the kitchen scissors to perform some downstairs housekeeping..
but hey, we all know you need to trim every now and then and to be fair you
don't want them to have to plait it like 'willy nelson' just to get better
access or to avoid any uncomfortable ‘hairy moments’!!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span></b>nswer
the phone – next year I may make a slight effort to answer the phone when it
rings and without screening it or deciding that I’m to busy to lean over from
the chair and pick it up. My only exception to this rule is for overseas calls,
which I answer with relish to discuss how <i>they </i>feel ‘Eastenders’ is going or how their day has been? or even what error messages my PC has allegedly picked up this week! Oh, please just give me back the days of snotty teenagers who’d barely grunt at you from their
call centre hell. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wUsNNdJyDxaLCQM99xfvDlTAPlLhEpYw9xwWSDl_NWeeVujMfb8baaitNKJETBnvaSjl-5H-BK6ZpAG3Nk2B0yiNt5naJ3eU141Odt7yCyif6dEaCTTmXKvH9hu4_B6hpczhJUehYV8/s1600/wardrobe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wUsNNdJyDxaLCQM99xfvDlTAPlLhEpYw9xwWSDl_NWeeVujMfb8baaitNKJETBnvaSjl-5H-BK6ZpAG3Nk2B0yiNt5naJ3eU141Odt7yCyif6dEaCTTmXKvH9hu4_B6hpczhJUehYV8/s200/wardrobe.jpg" width="200" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">N</span></b>o
secret pruning – Ok so I admit that I have a tendency to prune the wife's
wardrobe contents without her knowing! Anything I hate or hasn't been worn for
ages may happen to go missing... but of course I know nothing?? Now my
resolution is definitely <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">not</b> to
stop, but maybe this year to re-cycle… well little steps and all that!! ... oh and please don't tell her !!!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">C</span></b>rying
– So it’s fair to admit that I'm a proper big softy and nearly always cry at
the end of sad films, however, I prefer to think and refer to it as an irritable tear duct. Thing is, it really
does need to stop now as I recall I even shed a tear at the end of Toy Story
3. Now that’s really not any good for my girls credibility during a birthday treat with friends!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">E</span></b>njoy
the Gym – Guess we’ve all made resolutions to try to get fit, to lose weight or
even get toned. Now I go the gym ‘cause I have to, not because I like it or
want to. Every minute spent there is sheer torture and like sticking pins in my
eyes but this year I intend to enjoy it or stop altogether and seize up completely!!</div>
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Ok, so the likelihood is that once again this year, like
many others, I won’t promise myself that I’ll try to do any of the above.
Instead of these words and false promises, I’ll probably just try to make a
deal with myself to relish life, the people I love and to be true to myself and
them. I can’t put rules around what that means, how I live or what I do. People
that I care about know me for who and what I am, not what others want or
believe I should be and so shall it continue…!!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Happy New Year… One and All !!!</b></span><br />
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<br /></div>onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315941591323221450.post-90840802422792428612011-12-22T12:33:00.000+00:002011-12-29T12:22:20.952+00:00All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.. or maybe a Nintendo, or a dog or a doll??<div class="MsoNormal">
So here we are, just three more short days until my
favourite day of the year...Christmas Day!!! Now I’m thinking that as normal I should be
really excited about the impending festivities. But instead, as I type this, I
am without doubt in a state of confusion and dysfunctional chaos while trying
to determine what to do next and also how to never let this sorry situation happen
again. So, as my act of attrition, I write this as a cautionary
tale for parents everywhere, for those relaxed folk who think, like I did, hey
it’ll be ok ! or it’s a bit early for that ! we can do that whenever.. .. this
is my tale ... a tale of .... ‘The
Christmas List’</div>
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Ok, in order to give this a little context and because this
is my first proper blog, I’m a dad of two lovely little girls, daughter 1 is almost
10yrs old and daughter 2 is nearly 8yrs.
Both are gorgeous and both are very different in character...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkriHaU1YvSaVH7hlB9cNf2Tz3gBazOLFbEmTerirk6zug4KLaYv6i9bBWVdY3O4uA-_4ou1rgzCvpsvRBNNfiSMnyOl4Nfofy0kXpKUqTOC0Ay59xh1SJEn6R9TPVAdVKuMQIOKNwUY/s1600/1christmas-time-guestbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkriHaU1YvSaVH7hlB9cNf2Tz3gBazOLFbEmTerirk6zug4KLaYv6i9bBWVdY3O4uA-_4ou1rgzCvpsvRBNNfiSMnyOl4Nfofy0kXpKUqTOC0Ay59xh1SJEn6R9TPVAdVKuMQIOKNwUY/s1600/1christmas-time-guestbook.jpg" /></a>Now, given that daughter 1 is nearing her final year of
junior school, it’s fair to say that her belief in the ‘bloke in red’ is at
best tested at this time of year... she
has friends with older siblings and those that are just that bit more sceptical
and those that just plain know. Now I know for a fact, that she knows that he
doesn’t exist and that she knows that I know that she knows, but bless her she won’t actually
say it out loud!! ... It’s almost that thing that an admission of knowing may
actually ruin it for her and that somehow she wouldn’t get any presents. So, instead
whenever the subject of sending a letter to Santa comes up, or a very dodgy
looking Santa arrives on our doorstep then she just casts her head towards me
and gives me a knowing wink.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKN6CfAcX0alhCT3UpviOKDNyNWPDvCXKoEzr598VOM5AQxs5iO1qWUtZegqtyiOHE56GoKZo2L3X05_VBVZAoR0Z7IhdXdHqPZ-LgtV4PwXovKQ2rqQxSxIADYhq0GXAGKsA4VkqR9FE/s1600/santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKN6CfAcX0alhCT3UpviOKDNyNWPDvCXKoEzr598VOM5AQxs5iO1qWUtZegqtyiOHE56GoKZo2L3X05_VBVZAoR0Z7IhdXdHqPZ-LgtV4PwXovKQ2rqQxSxIADYhq0GXAGKsA4VkqR9FE/s200/santa.jpg" width="200" /></a>Oh and talking of strange Santa's on your doorstep, what is it with the Round Table
Santa’s? I realise it’s for a good cause
but surely sending a young farmer in a dog eared outfit, fake wig and with a
cushion protruding carelessly from his waistband is enough to cause concern for
all small children and parents alike. This coupled with a sleigh formed from a farm trailer being pulled by a 4x4 while dressed in tinsel and with
a crackly PA version of silent night, it just doesn’t exactly hit
the mark. Even the offer of a crumpled mini bounty from a plastic bag is really
no recompense from the trauma they cause and the likelihood that they’ll
actually destroy the myth rather than confirm it. </div>
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So back to the story, well daughter 2 is still very much in the firm
believer category, she’s sweet and very innocent and believes what you tell
her, unless it’s that it’s ‘time for bed’ or that she has to ‘behave herself ’ in which case she looks at you with disbelief.
So for her, Christmas is a time of lists; excitement, reindeers and of course wishes.
In fact when it comes to writing her Christmas List then for her that’s the be
all and end all of her Christmas, in fact it’s the rock around which her day is
built.</div>
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With all that said, you’d probably expect that me and the ‘6<sup>th</sup>
finger’ would take this letter writing activity a little more seriously. However, as the years
have passed and as daughter 1 has lost interest in documenting her wishes ...we
too have taken our eye of the ball with this task. So this year, when the
subject of a Christmas list first came up, daughter 2 was dismissed with a
casual ‘it’s too early for all that’ and ‘we’ll do it next week’... and so as
the weeks have gone by, the list (in many forms) has been created and left casually on the side in the kitchen
awaiting it’s departure to the North Pole.</div>
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Now I’m pretty
relaxed, most of the time, so knowing what was on the list I’ve set about my ‘elf
duties’ of procuring most of what she asked for (although I have put my foot
down when it comes to a dog). Daughter 2
keeps asking when she can post her letter and I keep telling her ...'we'll do it tomorrow'. Hey
what's the rush, it's all’s in hand ...isn’t it? </div>
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<b><i>Right, so this is where the plan starts to go wrong...</i></b></div>
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For the past couple
of weeks, in my role as 'Father Fingers’
I’ve been busy in my task of
granting the wishes, I’ve spent many an
hour trawling the t’interweb, visiting stores and generally striking things off
my copy of her list, all exactly to daughter 2’s specification! My visits to electrical supermarkets have been
so frequent that my friends have commented on whether I have an ‘iron’ addiction
(story for another day). I’ve also taken to wearing a purple shirt just so I
can pop into the canteen there for a coffee, during the endless hours of research and shopping. </div>
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Now, all this shopping and endeavour has been nothing more that my ‘cunning plan ‘to ensure successful
delivery of said presents, well it would be if it was not for a little spanner
in the works that I discovered only today, an error on my part, so monumental
that it could ruin everything. In fact so organised have I been that all presents have been wrapped and placed in their hidey holes until the big day. </div>
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Now I don't know about you, but finding places to hide presents can be a challange, when the girls were little this wasn't an issue, I used to leave presents in carrier bags in the spare room with just a towel over them and like Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility they'd be protected. Miraculously, it seemed the more obvious the hiding place, the less likely my two interpid explorers were to find them. As they've got older however, things have become more tricky and this year is no exception especially with losing the garage to my new office. So this year presents are stored in the cupboard above the stairs on a shelf or three at the back and again with towels, old curtains and odds and sods in front to try to fool prying eyes. The only saving grace of this storage place is that this, like the cupboard in the utility room , it's the cupboard that everything falls out of whenever you open the door, no matter how carefully you do it (come on admit it, we all have one of those don't we??) ...so while it may not be the carefully concealed, the prospect of iminent maiming or serious injury from falling boxes is enough to keep kiddy fingers at bay. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizrj7-3jfj8N5jA2OzELDGr1plt2-J1KzmiXBiZaiOi0NR8K9qeP0mlmRsimP_qFfkQyH8AV-1ztxCdLTROC09Ebuwke0RB0LVyE47KIqtSUH_U0QbYB_Pg2w5-T94929rxSycEjCRzcI/s1600/Christmas+List.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizrj7-3jfj8N5jA2OzELDGr1plt2-J1KzmiXBiZaiOi0NR8K9qeP0mlmRsimP_qFfkQyH8AV-1ztxCdLTROC09Ebuwke0RB0LVyE47KIqtSUH_U0QbYB_Pg2w5-T94929rxSycEjCRzcI/s200/Christmas+List.jpg" width="151" /></a>So yep, you’ve probably by now already guessed my dilema. My list, the one I've been working from was the
original, the un-submitted, un-baselined version. One that wasn’t frozen and
what’s more, one that had been left next to a pencil and very much within the
reach of tiny hands... So on deciding that I’d better actually send it to the ‘big
man’ I opened it one last time to gaze with a smug smile on all the items that
I’d collected. To my horror, the sight that greeted me was a letter that barely
resembled the original, pencil etchings and rubber marks adorned this piece of
paper and where once my list had been, there was a new, refined and updated
list. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_3-vDrSVAtSCidnjl188n2sKzVeeymJK4m9bI45-cEyAStmUsUOv_SuDj_p798MYPpCU-Vv07SOsJvJwhPLo3rvyeV1Sy20owWMSB3Y2hLe1X3L8qTOfRvE4QPysqIQklFUdW7FRbCs/s1600/DS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_3-vDrSVAtSCidnjl188n2sKzVeeymJK4m9bI45-cEyAStmUsUOv_SuDj_p798MYPpCU-Vv07SOsJvJwhPLo3rvyeV1Sy20owWMSB3Y2hLe1X3L8qTOfRvE4QPysqIQklFUdW7FRbCs/s1600/DS.jpg" /></a>So that’s where I am now...
where once stood a ‘blue DSi XL’ now sits a ‘Yellow DSi XL’ .. and for
scooter read La La Loopsy... in fact it’s safe to say that’s there’s as much common
ground between the two as between Santa and Guy Fawkes! Why did no-one decide that there should be a
cut off date for lists, we have days for everything else (in fact I’m surprised
that the card shops haven’t created one?)
so why not for this... a time where requests are documented and only
subject to change with the express agreement by Santa himself. We could make it November 31<sup>st</sup> ..
all lists produced and submitted... let the shopping begin and we could all calmly go about our festive duties!! But no not me, now for me I need to come up with a plan to address this act of kidotage!!</div>
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So what will I do? Well I’m not sure for this year.... I’ve
already tried the ... ‘well he is magic ,I’m sure Santa saw the list when you
wrote, so you can’t change it’ ...however that was greeted with ‘well if he’s
that magic then surely he saw me change it too’ ... can’t really argue with
that I guess!! <br />
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So for me it’ll be the
usual last minute race around the shops for something off the new list to take
her mind off it, oh and maybe see if I can find that elusive glove with 6
fingers for the missus, the one that I’ve been searching for so long. It’s funny, but
not matter how well I plan I always end up doing a last minute dash around the
shops, bumping into other frantic parents who too have left it too late. The sweaty masses all clambering for the last
Nintendo DS, the last ‘Moshie Monsters doll’ and a nice bit of shortbread for Nan..</div>
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So while I can’t save this year completely, I can make sure
that I’m not in this place next year and neither are you...!! So as the dust settles
on 2011 and the presents have been discarded and disappointments forgotten, I
will be sat, paper in hand on January 1<sup>st</sup> starting the Christmas
list for 2012!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year !! X </b></span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>onlyfivefingershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11065000330046182249noreply@blogger.com2