The Things You Find.....

......when you go looking through the wife's camera. This tickled me......

Get Ready
We're off.....

Nah. Sod it! I think I'll pose for the camera instead.

Miraculous Powers of Recovery

You might think I'm being cynical (as if), but bear with me.......


.....you may have read on Porkie's blog that my last two contact visits with SS have been less that straightforward. It seems that her sick cycle is perfectly synchronised with our contact cycle. Amazing that, isn't it?


Two weeks ago, she was apparently sick. Too sick to come to dad's house. At least her mother had the forethought to tell me the day before. All this not withstanding the fact that when I spoke to her, she was bright as a button and told me about her trip to the cinema that very same weekend. Ho hum....


Of course, her mother was never going to agree to an additional weekend. Heaven forbid the lass actually has some QT with her dad. So that takes us right up to this weekend. SS apparently had a headache, and couldn't got to school on Friday. The headache developed in a fever and flu all within the space of 6 hours. That's right, influenza!

Not content with keeping her away because of this mystery illness, my ex didn't think it worthwhile to tell me this before I see off on a 3 hour round trip. Not for the first time, I found my visit cancelled about 20 mins from her front door. I was half expecting this turn of events (she does rather telegraph the pass in football speak), so I took it all in my stride as one does. Let's face it, there's not much you can do when she gets the child to phone and explain why she can't come.

Having got there, and not seen my daughter for 7 weeks, I thought I'd try and see her if even for an hour or two. Alas no, she was too ill. Not to worry says dad, I'll call tomorrow, if she's ok, I'll come and pick her up then. One night is better than no nights, and what's another 120 mile trip between father and daughter.

Imagine my surprise when I get a text telling me she is hunky dory A ok, asking me when am I picking her up! Before 10 am too. Amazing! This tale only gets better from here.....keep reading.

Off I trots, this time not telling BB where I'm going for fear of further disappointment. Out comes SS from her house, skipping merrily to the car, whilst her mother tells me to watch out, that she was sick last night. Oh, she was that much better was she?

In the car SS tells me that she went to youth club this morning. As is normal, a trip to the chippy for lunch came after. "What did you have darling?" asks me in a very interested kind of way. Battered sausage and chips comes the reply. I can only assume she is feeling much better. Washed down with Pepsi too.....

So, in summary, SS has been laid low with a flu bug that has (rather conveniently) cost her another day with dad. But her remarkable powers of recovery have seen her beat it inside 24 hours. Amazing. On top of that, she has polished off a sausage supper less than 12 hours after (allegedly) being up sick. Not to mention the cartwheels at youth club.

She really must be a chip off the old block. Either that, or her mother is a deceitful, lying, manipulating bitch.


You choose.

But all's well that ends well. BB was very pleased to see his sister and greeted her with his biggest bestest bear hug!





Then we got just a wee bit carried away with the rugby.

I Blame Channel 4

Potty training abandoned, for the time being at least, it's back to the grind of humiliating the Mrs.....

Not entirely unexpectedly, we're a little blase about pregnancy number 3. Let's face it, we're old hands at this now. What's to get worked up about? MPLST pretty much breezed through the first two pregnancies, though it is fair to say the deliveries themselves were far from simple.

Whilst she was growing BB and LL, it would be fair to say that MPLST was not the complaining type. I recall she laid a carpet in BB's bedroom about 4 days before she gave birth. She never flinched from a days hard graft either (if you can call sitting on your hoop at a desk all day hard graft!)

So why is it all of a sudden on hitting week 30 I find myself trapped in the house with the ultimate Drama Queen? Has the cumulative effect of carrying two bruisers broken her body beyond repair? Or has she lost her supply of Toughen Up pills? Or, is there a more sinister ploy to get her money's worth out of yours truly during this third (and very final) pregnancy?

Personally, I think the answer lies elsewhere. It lies firmly at the door of Channel 4's latest fly on the wall program One Born Every Minute. See, my theory is that having seen all these whining, whinging, moaning groaning melodramatic nut jobs, MPLST has realised that she could really be milking this mum to be stuff a little bit more than she has done in the past.

To illustrate my point, I shared this revelation with her this morning. It must be more than a co-incidence that about 4 hours later I received a call saying she "needed" (midwife's word, not hers) to go to hospital.

And to prove my point, we were sent home about an hour later, and everything was ok!

Operation PT

Not quite sure it would have working in Andy Gray's day, but the modern day dad cops for potty training too. That's maybe because my track record was impressive - but I fear I should have quit when I was ahead.

So, as MPLST has said, I banished her and BB for a day to get kicked off. Against our better judgement, this is an attempt at potty training, because a) neither of us are convinced he's good to go but b) he'll probably just be ready when Bambino 3 comes along. Hardly ideal.

So here we are 3 days in. LL is taking the proverbial P out of me. Today I got brave and took him along to the leisure centre whilst BB played footie for a hour. Things were going pretty well, a few toilet checks, no Jimmy Riddles, but hey ho what more can you ask for. Then, 10 mins before the end, he decided to play with a couple of bins. After I told him not to, and explained they were dirty, he promptly howled and pissed his pants on the spot.

The Curse of the Shite Shift

Happy New Year! So it's a bit late, but what the hell. I didn't get back from work until the 11th, and since then my broken body refuses to swing back and join the hours everyone else seems to find acceptable.


On the bright side, I suppose I can't complain about not finding time to blog. I thought I had cracked it, sleeping until after 8 yesterday, but alas no, at twenty to three this morning, my body assured me that sleep was no longer required. So what did I do with myself.......?


I did what any ruffy tuffy, self respecting North Sea Tiger would do in such circumstances. I dragged my sorry arse downstairs and baked some cakes. Not just any cakes. No, proper girly cakes. If my boys can mince, then why can't I? (see MPLST's blog, all will become apparent).


The kitchen door creaked open about half 6. It would seem the fact that something was cooking brought MPLST down with an inquisitive smile this morning. Note to self: must bake more often. You see, she doesn't do mornings, and she especially doesn't do mornings with smiles. Oh, and of course there is the growing bump to consider as well. You can work out where it goes from here all by yourself....

So, in she comes, just as I am testing my cakes to find out they are still pretty much raw, and 2 are toppled on the worktop. I have to call it a worktop, because MPLST didn't use the word bunker when she was a quine (bloody Tuechters!) It seems the moment was funny, for her at least, as she toddled back up to bed, no doubt to fall straight back to sleep (bitch!) again.

I probably need to work on those decorating skills, but I bet the boys will love them anyways....