Dear Dave

  Babies or Bahamas?

Dear Dave,

Personally, I don't really fancy going to a school reunion - well done for surviving yours. It's bad enough having to deal with odd reactions about being a housedad from strangers. Coping with them from a string of old enemies and acquaintances would be tiresome. Then again, I went to a school that was only for boys - unlike you, I wouldn't get to meet up with a load of women who found me hugely more attractive than they did when I was seventeen. It would all be blokes going, 'You do what?', 'Rather you than me', 'You enjoy that then?', 'What else do you do?', 'I wouldn't mind staying home all day and sending the wife out to work', 'Did you lose your job?', 'Does your wife earn lots?', 'I couldn't stick it myself' and 'What are you going to do once the kids are at school?'.

It would be worth pretending to be an accountant just for a little peace and quiet.

As you mention, though, it's the people who are envious that are hardest to talk to. The people who say, 'I wish I could spend more time with my children but I can't afford it.'

I'm never sure how to answer. I know people who are desperate to spend more time with their kids but simply can't for all kinds of reasons, some of them financial, such as a large mortgage or child support payments, others practical, such as a career which involves lots of travel or a partner who isn't well. Changing their lives would be serious upheaval; it would involve risk and real sacrifice. These people deserve sympathy. Conversely, there are people I talk to who claim to want to spend more time with their kids but, in reality, don't want to give up their fortnight in the Bahamas every year. A few basic sums and they'd see that with a little belt-tightening (combined with diminished childcare costs, reduced commuting and increased tax credits), more time with their kids would be perfectly possible. Nevertheless, both partners continue to work full-time and complain about how stressful it all is. These people deserve less sympathy.

I had one of those conversations the other day:

"I wouldn't mind being a housedad myself," said Derek.

"Uh-huh," I grunted.

"Yeah," he continued. "My daughter's eighteen months and I barely see her during the week."

I was distracted. "Mmmm?"

"It was so great getting to spend some quality time with her when we went to the Bahamas this year but it's not the same as being around her all day. I'm missing out on watching her grow up."

I was becoming very distracted. "Ungh!?"

"The childminder got to see her first steps and hear her first words. If we could afford to... Are you all right?"

"Not... so... good... I think I'm going to fa - Arghhh!"

I finally lost my grip on the rock-face and fell straight down, plummeting feet-first into the raging torrent below.

Everything went grey and wet and cold. I flailed about. The direction of up became debatable and finding something other than water to breathe suddenly became a consuming issue. There was shouting, muffled but frantic. My life flashed before my eyes.

It was a very short experience. This was initially quite gratifying, since it seemed to suggest that I'm not as old as I often feel. Then I remembered that having children has addled my brain so completely that I can never recall anything much from before a week past Thursday. I got thirty-four years edited into an instant of highlights and then a several second montage of school-runs and CSI from the last ten days. It was followed by a brief recap of a long journey in a minibus full of blokes called Rick, getting mildly drunk in a chalet with (possibly) twice as many blokes called Rick and then losing badly at go-karting to Rob, Derek and some blokes in helmets. Even in my befuddled state, I hazarded a guess that these blokes were called Rick.

"Are you OK?" said Rick, fishing me out by my wetsuit.

"Uh?" I said but then put my feet down and discovered the water was actually only about waist-deep. "Oh... Yeah. I'm fine." My glasses were strapped on with elastic. I did my best to wipe them dry with wet fingers but I wasn't very successful. Squinting, I pulled myself back onto the rock and began inching my way along the side of the narrow ravine with the others.

"It was your idea to go gorge walking in Wales," Rob shouted from further behind, my muttered cursing obviously audible above the rushing of the river.

"No, it wasn't," I snapped. "I wanted to go for a drink and then eat some chips. You were the one who insisted on making a weekend of it."

"Got to make the most of it," he said. "It's not like I'll ever get another stag do."

"You'd better believe it," I said, my voice straining. "I'm not doing this again. More than that, if you walk out on Kate, then you won't get a second chance. Her mum will track you down and flower-arrange you to death and then come after me for encouraging the pair of you to get together in the first place."

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll stick with her for your sake. Now, will you get a move on? I've had about enough of this. We're all freezing back here." A couple of Ricks echoed agreement. "Can't wait to get to the chalet."

"OK. OK," I said, picking up my pace as we scrambled along the bank, sometimes climbing, sometimes walking. I was tired and cold and keen to get back too, even if I would have to share the shower with a whole load of blokes called Rick.

It was Saturday afternoon and Rob's stag weekend had started the day before. Sarah had taken some holiday to look after the children and they waved me off with plenty of instructions to be careful. Marie gave me a cuddly rabbit to keep me company on the adventure.

I met the others at the minibus hire place. It was me, Rob and his friends from work, whom I didn't know very well. Most of them had had a drink already and I was the only one with experience of driving a minibus. I reluctantly took the wheel. I haven't driven much of anything in ten years. Launching into central Edinburgh was 'entertaining'. There were some screams, both from inside and outside the vehicle, but it mostly came back to me in between my passengers asking me what I do and whether I enjoy it. In turn, I asked them what the road signs meant and which way to go round roundabouts. They thought I was joking until we reached a double roundabout at the bypass and even they weren't certain. Fortunately, the minibus was built like a tank and other traffic got out of our way on the occasions when I had to change lane in a hurry.

We headed off down the motorway to a secluded corner of Wales, making only a minor detour to stock up on beer, crisps and Cornflakes. We arrived at the chalet and the others set to work on the beer. I had a couple of cans and then went to bed, the road stretching out ahead of me whenever I closed my eyes.

I woke in the morning to find a Rick passed out in the bed next to me and a sheep in the kitchen, munching on a washing-up bowl full of Cornflakes. I let it out, cleaned up and served everyone crisps for breakfast. They moaned and groaned. I chivvied them along and out the door. It was scarily reminiscent of my normal mornings but we had go-karting to get to rather than school.

Not that I was that keen myself, you understand, but as Rob's best man, I'd had to put a fair amount of effort into organising it and it was all paid for, so we were flipping well going to go. (Which reminds me, one of the Ricks still owes me money. If only I'd learnt to tell them apart...)

I'm not a speed freak. I have no grasp of racing lines or braking zones or even when the best time is to put my foot down coming out of a curve. My main aim at the go-karting was to try not to get lapped by absolutely everyone else... well, not twice, anyway.

You'd think I'd have picked something up from playing computer games but my usual technique in them is to accelerate insanely towards the first curve, skid into it sideways, take out half the competition in one fell swoop and bounce off them round the corner. I then zig-zag along the course at supersonic speeds, ricocheting off the advertising hoardings on either side of the track for most of the rest of the race.

This doesn't work so great in real life.

Dropping banana skins behind me on the apex of the bends isn't very effective either.

I pottered round the track and tried to stay out of the way as everyone else yelled abuse at each other and took it all very seriously. Then we had chips and went on our gorge walking expedition. I was extremely tired by the time we were finished but I insisted we stop at a supermarket and buy some proper food. I counted out five portions of fruit and vegetables for each of us.

Somehow I ended up cooking it all with help from Rob and Derek. We were the only ones with children and we were beginning to wilt. We were glad of some peace in the kitchen before joining the Ricks for beer and curry in front of The Eurovision Song Contest.

My alcohol consumption pattern has changed considerably since I became a housedad. I used to have two or three pints on a Friday night and a glass of wine now and then. Now I have a small can of beer almost every evening but I can't cope with much more in one go. A little reward at the end of the day is what I'm looking for. Binging just makes me feel unwell.

I wasn't that much older than the others but I felt like a dad surrounded by teenagers. It turned out I had twice as many years of marriage behind me as all of them put together. I had a couple of beers and went to bed.

I was woken in the morning by a sheep licking my face, demanding its bowl of Cornflakes.

I needed three mugs of coffee before I was prepared for paintballing. I dragged the others into the minibus, gave them a slice of toast each and headed off. Most of them fell asleep again, their breakfast still clutched in their hand or clamped in their teeth. One Rick slumped sideways against the window, his toast acting as a pillow.

We reached the field of battle and staggered into the sunlight. We were not an imposing sight. We were bedraggled, barely able to walk and one of us had a slice of toast stuck to his ear. Fortunately, our opposition consisted of a motley band of teenagers and a group similar to our own. In fact, the other stag party looked in a worse state than us - they possibly hadn't slept at all, two of them were handcuffed together and one of them had trouser pockets full of baked beans.

We got our guns and equipment and hoped for the best. I still had a ring-shaped bruise in a sensitive location from my previous paintballing trip, so I was particularly nervous. It went fine, though. The play area was only a hundred metres across, so each game was very short and we didn't spend hours skulking through undergrowth or running through woods. There were fences, sheds, walkways and barrels littered about to hide behind in order to stop the whole thing turning into an instant paintbath but each match seldom lasted more than five minutes. Even so, my legs began to complain from the strain of having to crouch behind low cover. I opted for sprinting suicidally at the opposition, shooting anyone that got in my path, getting shot myself and then going for a sit down before the next game.

I was one of our more effective team members. The Ricks' reactions were not at peak performance. They mostly shot each other.

Afterwards, we wiped ourselves down and went and bought some sandwiches and a couple of crates of bottled water. I wasn't feeling too bad and the others started coming round. We drove to our final activity - whitewater rafting...

"The boat only takes six people," said Rob, peering anxiously at the small dinghy that was pulled up next to a shed by the side of a surprisingly fast flowing and angry looking river.

"Your point?" I said. The Ricks and Derek were already eagerly pulling wetsuits on again.

"There are eight of us."

"You think I'm going in there?" I said. "I'm tired, I'm aching and I've got to drive us all home in a couple of hours. Besides, I have a young family - I don't think they'd appreciate me risking my life in a dubious dinghy crewed by your hapless, hung over mates. There's no way that thing isn't going to capsize. Can you be bothered bobbing along for a couple of miles, trying to get the thing the right way up again while they all blame each other for tipping it upside down?"

"See what you mean..." said Rob, sagging. "I haven't had a decent night's kip since Luke was born. I'm knackered. Shall we wave them off and go sit in the minibus?"

"Yep. Then we can drive down to the finish and take bets on which one of them washes up first. It'll be like Pooh Sticks but with IT contractors rather than twigs. My money's on Rick."

"Which one?"

"The loud, annoying one who thinks he's funny and keeps referring to me facetiously as 'mum'."

"That doesn't narrow it down," said Rob.

"Once again: your point?" I said, rather more forcibly than I'd intended.

"Fair enough. You are tired, aren't you? Thanks for organising this, though. It's been fun."

"Yeah, that's OK. Glad you enjoyed it and I hope you and Kate have many happy years together."

There was a pause. "That's just 'cos you really don't want to have to do this again, isn't it?"

"Not entirely but... yeah. Come on. Let's go."

We got to doze in the minibus for half an hour before the first Rick floated into sight, closely followed by the rest of the group and the upturned dinghy. The cold and wet had revitalised them. There was plenty of jocular recrimination. After they'd dried themselves off, we began the journey home with singing and laughter.

The weather was turning horrible and I had to drive some of the way along a twisting mountain road in the fog. At least, we were fairly sure it was mountain road - there was a wall of rock to one side of us and a low barrier and a drop to the other. The mist made it impossible to tell how high or low the hillside reached. None of us could remember the stretch of road from the outward journey and Rob had lost the map.

We were discussing whether we were lost, when a cow fell on us.

It came from nowhere, bounced off the bonnet of the minibus with a plaintive moo and then hurtled over the barrier and out of sight. It looked quite startled. I probably looked quite startled as well. I slammed on the brakes and we came to a halt. Rob and I looked at each other, each checking the other had seen the flying bovine too.

"Should we go back?" he said.

"And do what?" I replied. "Stop on a narrow road in the fog and lean over a precipice to see if we can see beefburger?"

"You think we should phone someone?"

I shrugged, put the minibus back into first and gingerly moved off. "We don't know where we are, we're on a stag weekend and we'd be reporting a sky-diving heifer. You can give it a go if you like but I don't think they're going to believe you." Nothing juddered or thunked. The steering seemed to be fine. We'd got off remarkably lightly.

"There's a cow-shaped dent on the bonnet," said Rob. "The rental people aren't going to be happy."

I nodded. "We should report the accident at the next town we come to, to cover ourselves. Not much we can do just now."

The singing in the back of the minibus had stopped and it was deathly quiet apart from the noise of the engine. Everyone was shocked by how close we'd come to unforeseen total disaster. My life had flashed before my eyes again but I'd been concentrating too hard on the road to notice. Besides, I'd only added a paintballing trip and Eurovision since the last time I'd watched it - I had the basic gist. The experience did remind me of a conversation I hadn't finished, however.

"Derek!" I yelled over my shoulder.

"Yeah?" he said from a couple of rows back.

"If you really want to look after your kid more," I said, "you should do something about it."

He mumbled a reply but I didn't catch it and I left it at that. Sometimes people simply need to be reminded that they're able to make choices...

The singing started back up eventually and the rest of the journey went smoothly.

The children were in bed by the time I stumbled in the front door. I kissed Lewis and Marie in their sleep and snuggled Marie's rabbit into the bed beside her. Fraser was still awake reading. I gave him a hug. "You smell horrible, Daddy," he said, pulling a face.

It was good to be home.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: blokesnight

 
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  Three words

Dear Dave,

It's amazing how quickly things change when small children are around. They're constantly getting bigger, developing new skills and requiring different care and attention. Just when you think you've got it sussed, they learn a new trick that turns your world upside down. Whether it's rolling over, eating solid food or knackering the lock on the front door so you have to climb in and out a window (been there...), you adapt to their behaviour. Within days, strapping them down, carrying a spoon and hiding your keys are second nature. Shortly after that, it becomes difficult to remember what life was like beforehand. Besides, there's never time to reminisce - you're already having to deal with the next change.

Do you recall what it was like having only one child? I suspect the memories are hazy now that it's been six months or so since Daisy's arrival. (Sorry to hear she's not coping well with teeth, by the way.) As for not having any children at all, that must seem like a half-forgotten dream. Isn't it weird going to visit people and discovering that their cupboards don't require a special trick to open and their kitchen chairs don't have plastic covers? It's like a strange alternate universe where kids aren't in charge. Freaky.

A couple of years ago, when the guys came round to shoot each other in computer games, I always lost because I was permanently distracted. It's not easy keeping a bottle in a baby's mouth when you need both hands to hold a controller. I kept ending up using my chin in some fashion or other but none of the possibilities really did wonders for my aim. Having to frequently leave the room to get more milk or wipes or a fresh nappy didn't help either. I always returned to find Rob grinning and my virtual self replaced by a pair of smoking boots.

Last year, things were different. All the kids were tucked up in bed by the time Mike and Rob arrived. We normally got to shoot each other in peace. I still tended to get blown to bits on a regular basis but it was much more relaxing without having to juggle an infant.

Now, it's all gone and changed again. The other night, we had to wait our turn for the telly. Marie gets to listen to some music at bed-time but she shares a room with Lewis and he doesn't like the music. Somehow he's managed to negotiate to be allowed to sit in the lounge and watch a Sonic the Hedgehog cartoon while her tape is on. We couldn't get going on our game until Dr Robotnik had suffered his usual 'hilarious' comeuppance. Even then, we had to keep relatively quiet so he got to sleep and so that Fraser didn't emerge to complain that we were disturbing his obsessive reading of Harry Potter.

All the interactive fitness gizmos I'd been mucking about with the other day were still lying around, so I thought we'd have a go on those, drink a beer and then see if our scores improved. I was looking forward to watching Steve flail about in front of the EyeToy. (That's another change - Useless Dad is now a regular at our little gatherings. Shockingly, perhaps that name isn't even accurate any more. I think the time has come to acknowledge his hard work and perseverance in the field of childcare, while still recognising his reluctance, insensitivity and lack of initiative. He is hereby promoted to Mostly Useless Dad.)

Things didn't go entirely to plan. We ended up playing Burnout with the music turned off.

"This is harder than it looks," said Rob, as he smacked his gleaming sports car into the front of a bus at a hundred miles an hour. Metal crumpled, other vehicles swerved, an HGV jack-knifed and a wheel bounced off down the street.

"Told you so," I said, steering my own car round the mayhem and claiming the lead.

"What was that thing you did with your chin?"

The race through city streets packed with traffic was moving too fast for me risk taking my eyes off the screen and check how he was doing with feeding baby Luke. The light splatter on the side of my neck suggested that all was not going well, however. Steve, meanwhile, was busy discouraging Josquin from chewing on a dance mat. The poor kid had some teeth coming through and had barely slept for days. (He's eighteen months or so. You've got a long way to go yet. Sorry.)

"He's looking tired," Steve said, prodding Josquin in the hope he'd fall over and pass out from exhaustion. "I think it's working. Drive faster, you two!"

I was already driving at such speed that my eyes were watering from squinting at the blur of polygons in my half of the screen, but I did my best. Engines roared, headlights flashed and obstacles swished past.

Josquin watched the screen. The sights and sounds became mesmerising. His eyelids drooped, the plastic slipped from his mouth and slowly, so very slowly, he keeled over sideways and started snoring.

At the same moment, I took the final corner at supersonic speed, spun out of control and crossed the line going backwards. It wasn't pretty but it was a win, nonetheless. I did a little victory dance - quietly and without moving much. It was more an excited toe-waggle than anything else.

"Luke's nodded off, too," whispered Rob. "Turn the sound down."

"I thought the little horrors were never going to stop crying," said Steve, slumping onto the sofa. He reached for the universal remote before I could stop him and failed completely in his efforts to work it. He proceeded to switch the TV to a repeat of Only Fools and Horses, turn on the surround sound and pump up the volume to maximum.

"You plonker!" yelled me, Rob and Del Boy in unison. A deafening roar of noise shook the walls, the subwoofer sent a seismic ripple through the carpet, Josquin stirred and Luke's eyes opened in shock. I grabbed the remote and pressed my specially-programmed emergency button. The surround sound went off, the VCR spluttered to life, the TV changed channel and the Teletubbies started to splash around in a puddle. We all held our breath. Luke looked at Laa-Laa blearily, smiled and fell back to sleep. Josquin rolled over but didn't wake. We all let out a sigh of relief.

"What did I miss?" said Mike, returning from a trip to the toilet.

"Shhh!" We all made the noise so loudly that it nearly woke the children again.

"Fine," he whispered. "Does this mean we can shoot things now?"

I nodded. "If you get me a beer."

"Right you are," he said and was back before I'd finished setting up the PlayStation. I was the only one drinking. Steve and Rob required their wits about them in case the kids tried anything. Mike had had all he wanted already. Unlike me, he's somehow able to hold a controller and a Guinness at the same time without mishap or impairment. I'd had to hold off because, up until that point, putting a can down would just have been an invitation for Josquin to try and eat it.

We settled to blasting each other with shotguns. I took a big swig of my beer so I could handle what I knew was coming.

"So, Ed," said Mike, "have you worked out who you are since last time?"

"Not really," I replied. You'll recall that Mike is concerned about me and how I'm adjusting to my ever-increasing obsolescence now the kids are getting older. As my friend, he's taken it upon himself to make me think a little harder about where I'm headed. Since he's also the minister at our church, he's been trained to a professional level of persistence that's wearing down my defenses. This was his third or fourth attempt to get me to talk in a couple of months. Pretty soon, I'm actually going to have to do it. "I'm still a housedad..."

Even as I said it, it felt unlike it had ever done before. Things have changed. I looked over at Steve, who had the pasty, grey complexion of a dad who really knew the meaning of full-time. He had dozed off himself, doubled over and with his controller acting as a makeshift pillow on his knees. The analogue sticks were creating little dents in his forehead. Every so often, the controller gave a faint rumble in a hopeless attempt to wake him.

Seeing him, I realised that describing myself as a housedad means a very different thing from what it did a couple of years ago. Even being a dad has changed:

Rob was still cradling Luke, afraid to put him down and cause another bout of screaming. The constant shifting about to maintain grip, avoid over-heating and stay comfortable was affecting his aim. I, however, had the kids in bed until morning. I was missing out on a stack of cuddles but I had the freedom to have a drink (or maybe two!) and relax for whole hours at a time.

Theoretically, anyway. After years of rushing round all day and being on call all night, it's hard to relax. I keep thinking, 'Time to myself and some semblance of energy to go with it - I must get things done!' Marie's started nursery but I feel like I'm getting less rest than I did before. Maybe it's good that I've got enthusiasm for other projects or maybe it's avoidance of Mike's question. I don't know.

"What three words would you use to describe yourself as a dad?" said Mike, pressing me further.

Since the kind of dad you are is really just an extension of who you are, that was simply another way of getting me to describe myself. Unfortunately, there was only one answer I could think of straight off. "Efficient," I said. "There's food in the fridge, the kids are ready for school on time and the house gets cleaned on schedule."

"Sounds fun," said Rob.

"I try to be fun as well," I said hurriedly. 'Efficient' - was that the best I could do? "And, er, sympathetic. I like to think I'm sympathetic."

"Are you?" asked Mike.

"I'm more sympathetic than I am fun, to be honest. Sarah's the fun parent. She's the one who comes home and plays with them before bed and takes them on trips at the weekend. I'm the one who has to make sure they get dressed on time, do what they're told and eat their vegetables."

"So you get things done and it's dull but you listen when the kids complain?" said Rob.

"That's not what I said."

"What did you say?" asked Mike.

"Hey! Stop ganging up on me!" Mike was serious but Rob was merely trying to distract me while he crept up behind me with a bazooka. I let him have it with a very large gun.

Before I could say anything else, Fraser appeared at the door. He was almost crying. "I've had a bad dream," he said.

I frowned. "Your light's only been out for ten minutes. You can't have been asleep."

"OK," he sniffed, "bad thoughts then."

"That was very sympathetic," muttered Rob.

"All right, all right," I said. "Back into bed Fraser. I'll come through and talk to you."

Once we were in his room, I asked him what the problem was.

Through tears, he said, "I was thinking about when we die and go to Heaven and we're with God. It'll go on forever and it'll never stop and that will be bad."

"Er, why?"

"Because we won't die and it will just go on forever," he said. Considering he has an aversion to change that stretches as far as never wanting the laminate floor in the kitchen replaced, this fear of eternity was perplexing.

"Not exactly," I said. "God is outside time and space and without time there can't be forever. Yes, Heaven won't end but that's not the same as..." I trailed off. Fraser was looking at me blankly. I cursed my natural propensity to mix physics and theology. I decided to go for a different approach. "We don't know what Heaven's going to be like. It's going to be so different from here that it's hard to describe, but Jesus promised that it will be good. Do you think he keeps his promises?"

Fraser smiled and nodded.

"Right, then don't worry about it. Lie down, close your eyes and think about Pokémon." I gave him a hug and he nestled back under his duvet. I returned to the lounge.

"Everything OK?" asked Mike, as I took my seat.

"Yes..." I said. I'd dealt with the issue sympathetically and efficiently and I'd managed to raise a smile in the process. It was a pleasing outcome. Maybe my self-analysis had been accurate after all. It was certainly something to think about.

"Good," said Mike. "Rob shot you fifteen times while you were gone."

Rob grinned. "It was an accident - honest."

"That's fine," I said. "I'm guessing from the smell that you're going to have to leave the room soon to change a nappy. I'll take the opportunity to be careless with a sniper rifle."

"Hey!" said Rob. "No fair!"

"You started it..."

"I suppose." He began to get up but the movement caused Steve to tip forwards and land kneeling on the floor, his face buried in the carpet. He continued to snore. "What do you reckon? Should we wake him up?"

"Let him sleep while he can," said Mike.

Rob sniggered as an idea struck him. "How about we shave off one of his eyebrows?"

It was tempting but I shook my head. "A couple of years ago, that was me. Another few months and it could be you. Leave him be. Go change that nappy and bring me another beer on the way back."

"As long as you don't shoot me while I'm gone."

"In your dreams."

"All right," he said, "as long as you don't shoot me much while I'm gone."

"Deal."

And so it was. The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly...

* * *

Good luck coping with whatever the kids throw at you this week. It will probably be unexpected. It may well be pointy. It will almost certainly be different from last week.

That's part of the fun.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: blokesnight, Useless Dad

 
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  Coffee

Dear Dave,

Thanks for the congratulations. I'm still somewhat confused by the whole situation, though. It's kind of hard to explain. I tried to explain it to Rob yesterday but, between his new phone, the curtains and the... No, hang on, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll just tell you what happened:

Rob looked around suspiciously. "When you suggested meeting up for coffee, I was thinking Starbucks or Waterstone's. I would have settled for the Debenhams cafeteria or even that dodgy place at the end of your road that does all-day breakfasts. This is... What is this place?"

"It's very cheap," I said, pointing to a chalk board with the prices on. "I thought you were broke."

"Well, you know, wedding and baby and stuff, but doesn't mean I can't drink proper coffee." Rob squinted. "Flip, that is cheap!"

"Exactly. Now quit complaining."

We were in a little community centre housed in a converted Anglican church. It was still all stone pillars, stained-glass and gravestones set into the floor, but the pews had been removed to make way for a cafe, a gift shop and a lounge area where some elderly people were sitting dozing in a selection of tired old armchairs. At the far end, the altar was still intact and the area around it had been left as a chapel. The cafe was empty apart from a couple of mums who were sitting at a table with hot drinks and cake, while their small children played with some battered toys from a tub in the corner.

Rob had the day off work to get organised for the imminent arrival of his first child but, with only a week to go, he was still in denial and more than happy to meet up with me rather than buy nappies. It was ten o'clock in the morning. I had two children at school and one at nursery. I had no children with me. It was strange. I felt liberated and oddly exposed. I was able to leave the house on my own but, on the other hand, I had no young children with me to explain my disheveled appearance, the bags under my eyes, my permanent manic grin nor why I kept inadvertently humming Old MacDonald.

"Would you stop that?" said Rob.

"Was I doing it again?"

"Yes."

"Sorry. It's in my head. Particularly the verse about subsidies. You know, 'With a ching-ching here, and a ching-ching there. Here ching, there a ching, everywhere a...'"

Rob looked at me sadly. "You've finally lost it."

"I'm not sure you're wrong." I sighed and tried to shake the nonsense out of my head. "What are you having?"

"A cup of tea and a doughnut." He looked at the price list again. "Actually, make that two doughnuts and a scone. These prices are just mad."

"Yeah, that sign over there says this place costs £1200 a week to run but I don't know whether we're supporting them, or they're subsidising us. Maybe if you eat enough doughnuts, it'll cost them £1400 this week."

"I'll give it a go."

We went up to the counter and ordered. I had a black coffee and a scone. The man found a mug and immediately put some milk in it. "Ah, you said black, didn't you?" he muttered. I nodded. He found another mug, held it ready to pour water into and then hesitated. "It was tea, wasn't it?"

"Coffee."

"Oh, right, right." He put a spoonful of instant coffee in the mug and then filled it until it overflowed and he had to mop it up with a tissue. He put the mug on a saucer and then had a similar level of success with Rob's tea. He put the doughnuts on a plate and told us the scones would be brought to our table once they had jam on. We picked our way through the sleeping old people and found a table that, according to the inscriptions on the floor, was situated above a particularly large concentration of dead people.

"I think I know why this place is so cheap," said Rob.

"Well, when you're buying, we can go to Starbucks, Mr Two-Incomes-And-Not-Quite-Any-Kids-Yet."

"I do have an iPhone to support."

"Seriously?"

He whipped it out and took a photo of me looking incredulous. Then he uploaded the picture to Facebook.

"Honestly, you have more money than... than... Oh, I don't know..." I grabbed it from him for a quick play. "Than is probably good for you."

"Cool, though, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, well, I doubt this will survive being tumble-dried as well as my brick-like one did."

"I'm not going to let the kid near it."

"Not even if it turns out to be the only thing that stops him or her crying?" I asked.

"No," said Rob definitely.

"Yeah," I said, trying to make my derision clear, "whatever..."

At that point, the manager arrived with one scone and informed us that our order had been mis-read but assured us that the other was on its way. Her large and conspicuous name badge was on upside down.

After she'd left, Rob gave me a look. "Don't be too hard on them," I said, handing back his phone, "I'm assuming they're all volunteers."

"Next time - Starbucks," he mumbled through a mouthful of doughnut.

I changed the subject. "You got the bag packed yet?"

"Bag?"

"Kate's bag for the hospital."

"It's on my list," he said.

I couldn't believe it. "Please tell me you're joking."

"What?" Rob said, defensively. "I've been busy. Some of us have work to go to, you know. The weekends are taken up with buying things like cots and buggies and cottonwool, and I've been spending evenings eBaying my stuff after you told your wife to tell Kate to tell me to get on with it."

"You still need to get the bag packed. If you have to do it at the last minute, who knows what you'll end up throwing in. You'll get to the hospital with your Game Boy, two Star Wars action figures and a packet of biscuits but without the TENS machine. It won't go well."

"I..." He stopped as a text message arrived for him. "It's probably Kate. I saw a set of four matching bridesmaid dresses in a charity shop this morning - only a tenner each. I sent her a photo." He showed it to me. The dresses had a muted, floral pattern and an excess of pink ribbon.

"My sister used to have curtains like that twenty years ago," I said. "I always wondered what happened to them."

"Wearing curtains didn't do the girl in Enchanted any harm..." He read Kate's message. "Oh."

"Let me guess," I said. "She wasn't thrilled?"

He pulled a face. "That's an understatement."

The other scone arrived and we tucked in. "How are you doing now Marie's at nursery?" Rob asked. "I bet you don't know what to do with yourself."

I resisted the urge to slap him. "Everybody keeps saying that but it's only a couple of hours a day and I've got plenty of things to do."

He chuckled, as if humoring me. "Still," he said, "you must be enjoying the chance to put your feet up."

"That's another thing people keep saying. It's driving me mad. If you ask if I miss the children really, and then argue when I say, 'No,' I'm afraid I will have to kill you with..." I grabbed the first item which came to hand. "...this!"

"Don't be stupid," said Rob, chuckling some more. "You can't kill someone with a sachet of sugar."

"Want to bet?" I said, waving the sachet at him menacingly. "It's amazing what can be achieved with seemingly limited resources. Remember the time I saved your career with a packet of Polos?"

He rolled his eyes. "How can I forget? I had to hide the flipping things from a Dell service technician only the other week."

"They're still there?" I flicked the sachet at him in irritation. "That was supposed to be a temporary fix. I told you to get it sorted. Haven't you managed to replace one pack of mints in eight years?"

"It's not just the one pack now."

"What?"

He looked sheepish. "It's possible I might have got drunk one night with the hardware support guys and told them about it. They actually thought it was a pretty clever solution I'd come up with and they liked it so much..."

"You came up with? I... No, hang on, I don't think I want to know where this is going. I still have a pension with LBO. My future financial security depends on the IT equipment not dying in a super-heated eruption of breath-freshening caramel."

"Yeah, well," he said, "the hardware guys liked the solution so much..."

"I'm not listening! I'm not listening!"

"...they've gone and used it all over. Every time we get a new server we have to send a trainee to the newsagents to buy some mints. The last guy was useless. He came back with Extra Strong rather than Polos."

I took my fingers out of my ears and stopped humming. "How was that going to work?"

"Exactly!" said Rob. "Too big, too thick and no hole. Never going happen."

We both clicked our tongues and shook our heads. There was silence for a few moments as, in mutual despair, we contemplated the incompetence involved.

"Seriously," said Rob eventually. "How's it going?"

I stared into my coffee. "It's all a bit weird. I had lots of plans as to how I was going to celebrate when Marie started properly but I haven't really done any of them. I guess this is it." I gave a quick sweep of my hand to take in everything from the dubious coffee to the comatose octogenarians. "Not exactly wild, is it? I just got thrown on Friday and I haven't quite recovered. I was expecting to have to hang around in the building in case the girl had a strop. I even took along a pen and some paper to write to Dave while I waited. I wasn't prepared when they said that, since she'd settled so well on Thursday, I could just leave her. They took my number and I got to wander off."

"Except I had to go back to the house," I said, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes. "I couldn't remember my mobile number off-hand so I gave the nursery my home number. I spent a couple of hours sitting in the kitchen, feeling confused and slightly ill."

Rob smirked. "See! You do miss them really."

"Right, that's it!" I grabbed a handful of sachets and made to lunge.

"Woh!" He threw up his hands to ward me off. "Sorry! Sorry! Calm down. You were the one who spent the whole walk here going on about how exposed you felt without them."

I slumped back down. "I suppose I hadn't thought about it that way. Maybe you're right. Maybe I do miss them a little. But it's certainly not like I get to the middle of the morning and hanker after a long, complicated explanation of the life-cycle of the monsters living in my child's elbow."

Rob raised his eyebrows.

"Don't ask," I said. "If you want the full story, I'll send Lewis round to explain."

"He's the one that spent two hours telling me about Wario World, isn't he? I'll pass, thanks."

"Good call - I'm glad of the break myself. It's just... I don't know." I drank some of my coffee and tried to think how to explain. "Have you ever lost your ID badge from work?"

Rob nodded. "Yeah, dropped it in a shredder once."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Don't ask," he said. "If you want the full story, I'll send Gerald from Corporate Regulations round to explain."

It was my turn to pass. "Anyway, as I was saying, not having the kids about is like having lost my work ID badge. It makes me feel the need to explain who I am, what I'm doing and why I don't have my ID."

"Yeah, know what you mean," said Rob. "Must be odd not being able to wave them in the right direction and have doors open for you automatically, either."

"That's maybe taking the analogy a little far..." I said.

"Maybe." He leant back and munched on his scone. "So did you do anything exciting on your first day of freedom then?"

"I killed an Action Man in a freak death-slide accident."

"Er..." Before he managed any further questioning, his phone went again. He checked the message.

All the colour drained from his face.

"You OK?" I said.

"I've got to get home." There was panic in his voice.

"Is everything all right, though?"

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, "I've got to get that bag packed."

"Yep," I said, standing to leave. "You'd better go."

"Uh-huh." He didn't move. He continued to stare wide-eyed at his phone.

"Do you want me to call a taxi?" I offered.

"No... No... I'll flag one. I, er... Do you want some Mars Mission Lego?"

"Excuse me?"

"I haven't got round to eBaying it yet," he said, sounding far away. "I haven't sorted through my books, either. Or painted the spare room. Or bought any nappies. Or completed Tomb Raider Anniversary. I can't do them all this afternoon."

Having recently convinced myself that I really wouldn't like some space Lego, even though, in some sense, I really would, this put me in a quandary. Suddenly, there I was, being offered some for free. Being free is always a big plus. Also, Rob has the deluxe set. I was tempted.

Still, really, really...

Ach, I don't need any and I didn't want to take advantage of Rob in his deranged state. Besides, I felt he could do with a happy thought to hold onto.

I made a difficult decision.

"You should probably save the Lego for Squirtle," I said. "He or she might want to play with it eventually. It'll be a few years but I'm sure you can find some storage space somewhere."

"Oh... Oh, yeah. That's a thought. Yeah, we could play with it together. I..." He wasn't entirely in his right mind.

I hauled him out of his seat. "I tell you what, let's go flag that taxi together." I dragged him across the room. He stumbled along in a daze, a doughnut in one hand and a half-eaten scone in the other. Once we were outside, I bundled him into a taxi, wished him luck and sent him on his way.

I made sure to remind him where he lived first.

Hopefully, he'll be OK and didn't try to pay with the doughnut. I haven't heard any news yet; I'll let you know when I do.

Regards to Liz and the kids.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Marie's at nursery just now and I'm still feeling quite strange.

Labels: blokesnight, nursery

 
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  eBay comes to us all

Dear Dave,

"They want fireworks?"

"Yep," said Rob, sitting across the table from me. "And not just a couple of rockets and a sparkler. They want our names written in flame."

"Oh, goodness." As his best man, I'd gone round to his flat for the evening to chat about the impending celebrations while his fiancee, Kate, was at my house, receiving wedding wisdom from Sarah. "Are you going to arrive in a vintage car to the sound of bagpipes and then be ushered in for caviar nibbles and the gentle melody of a string quartet?"

"Something like that. Kate's parents have pretty much given up on her brother ever settling down, so this is their one chance at wedding glory. Money's no object and it's all going crazy. Have a look at this catalogue."

He handed me a glossy brochure which was at least half an inch thick and I began to flick through it.

I glanced at my stopwatch. "You've only got a minute left, by the way."

"I'm thinking."

"Don't think too long," I said, "or I'll rip your arms off and feed them to you."

"OK, OK, I'm a little out-numbered here. You won't be laughing so hard when it's my turn to play the Genestealers."

"We'll see. Forty-five seconds."

Well, we told the women-folk we were going to chat about the wedding but the table wasn't exactly spread with seating planners. It was covered with squared, cardboard tiles representing the interior layout of a derelict spaceship. Up one corner, a handful of little plastic figures marked where Rob's space marines were cowering in fear from an imminent assault by my encroaching horde of four-armed, slobbering aliens. We were playing Space Hulk. Littered amongst the bits of board were counters, dice, snacks and beer.

I didn't feel too bad, though. We'd mentioned the wedding on occasion and at least I was looking at a catalogue. It appeared to be entirely full of outlandish cakes, however. Each was oddly evocative of a three-way collision between a fairground ride, a flower arrangement and a confectionery shop.

"Gah," said Rob in frustration. "I'll move this guy here and put him on overwatch. And move flamer guy along..."

"Thirty seconds."

"And then my last guy will panic and shoot blindly down this corridor while swearing loudly."

"Fine," I said, handing him some dice. "You need a six."

He rolled a five. "Do I get any bonuses for the swearing?"

"No, but you've got two more shots and fifteen seconds to take them."

"OK," he said. "Give me the dice."

"I just gave you the dice."

"No, you didn't. Give me the dice."

"You just rolled one of them. Look. Here." I picked two dice off the table where he'd put them and handed them to him again. "Three seconds." He flung them down and they ricocheted off a tub of Pringles, bounced and flew up in the air. One landed in a jar of salsa dip and the other danced off the table and disappeared under the sofa.

The stopwatch beeped.

We looked at each other and then both leaned forward and peered into the jar. "Chunky," I said. The dice was beginning to sink but it clearly showed a two. "Better go find the other one. You need a four."

"You were rushing me," he muttered as he got down on his hands and knees and started poking around under the furniture. "Did you see where it went?"

"The dice are your responsibility during your go." I turned my attention back to the catalogue. "There really isn't anything in here but cakes... Oh, my mistake, here are some swans."

"Technically, it's now your go," he said, his voice somewhat muffled from beneath the table. "Want to come help me look under here?"

I munched on some Pringles and sucked spicy tomato from a numbered cube. "It's not my go until that shot is resolved. Is there anything in this catalogue other than cakes and swans?"

"The swans are cakes, too," Rob said, emerging somewhat dustily from his search and handing me another, even glossier, brochure. "THIS catalogue is for the nuptial livestock."

"You're kidding..." I took the book from him. "You're not kidding. Tell me you're not planning a release of live butterflies."

"Nah. I was thinking more along the lines of some white doves. Someone lets a couple go every so often and that's our cue to pull out a pair of Uzis and shoot at each other in slow motion while various bits of scenery explode."

"A John Woo theme," I said, rubbing my chin. "Interesting. How's that sitting with Kate's parents?"

"They're not so keen. Mike's up for it, though."

"He's just humouring you. When it comes to the actual day, you'd better be taking things seriously. You've picked the wrong minister to mess with. Any sign of doves and he'd whip a shotgun out of his robes and fill them with buckshot before we got a chance to move. Then he'd get on with the service as if nothing had happened. You know it's true."

Rob considered this for a moment. "It is, isn't it?" he said, slightly nervously.

"Uh-huh," I nodded. "And don't think you're done when the wedding's over. He'll grab you by the shoulder every few months, look you in the eye and ask you if you're keeping your vows. It's part of the on-going customer service."

"He'll get on well with my future mother-in-law... Are you going to have your turn?"

"Oh, yeah." I'd forgotten about the game. Rob's under-the-sofa shot had hit (allegedly) but I was still in a strong position. As the alien player, I also didn't have to race against the clock. I took my time. "I'm going to move this slavering monster with big teeth up the corridor while your guy shoots at it..." Rob rolled some dice and then swore. "...until his gun jams. Then these other slavering monsters with big teeth..." I moved a counter into his marine's line of sight, flipped it over and replaced it with three plastic figures. "...are going to use their enormous claws to turn him into mince." I rolled some dice. Rob rolled some dice. I banged my head on the table.

Rob smirked as he removed my three Genestealers from the board. "What are the chances of you rolling a total of eleven on nine six-sided dice?"

"I don't want to think about it," I said, in between bangs. "Tell me what you're expecting me to do for the wedding."

"You're best man. You've got to organise the stag night for starters."

I moved some more little plastic aliens. They all got shot or flambeed. "Are you sure that's wise?" I replied. "My idea of a good evening is going to the cinema, having a couple of drinks and then grabbing a bag of chips on the way home."

"I was thinking more of a weekend than an evening," said Rob, starting his go. I reset the stopwatch.

"See. I'm just bound to get it wrong. If I'm in charge of a weekend, we'll end up knitting."

Rob wasn't having any of it. "Take us go-karting, or something. Come on. A weekend away from the kids! Must be tempting."

I contemplated a couple of days with a group of younger, salaried blokes whom I didn't know very well. It's the kind of situation I cope with much better if I have my three small human shields running round me. I couldn't really say no, though. "OK, I'll look into it," I sighed. "When's the wedding going to be, anyway?"

Rob shrugged. "Not sure. After the baby's born, definitely. Kate's getting big already and she doesn't want to look like a fairy that's swallowed a blimp in the photos." He paused in the middle of moving one of his pieces and looked worried. "Just don't tell her I put it like that, all right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it..."

My mobile rang and I answered it. "No, this isn't Kevin... Nope, I don't know anyone called Kevin. You've got the wrong number." I hung up. "That's the third time today. It's different people phoning up to offer this guy job interviews. I've had a couple of texts as well."

"Don't think I'd hire someone who got his phone number wrong on his CV," said Rob without glancing up from the board.

"Tell me about it. Two minutes left." He continued dithering over his marines. My eyes wandered around the room. The walls were stacked floor to ceiling with books, games and objects of geeky desire. It was like a rift in space and time had opened and half the stock of the local Forbidden Planet had fallen through. "It's a shame your study's going to have to go," I said. "What are you going to do with all this stuff?"

Rob looked at me blankly.

"Er..." I said. "This flat currently only has one bedroom. You're going to need two bedrooms. You have four available options: the kitchen, the bathroom, the lounge and this room. I would advise against the kitchen or the bathroom and your big telly is in the lounge. If, however, you were to replace the desk over there that's covered in computer equipment with a bed, this room would make quite a nice bedroom."

"Don't be daft," he said, concentrating once more on his marines. "A bed wouldn't fit in that space."

"True. You'd need to move the bookcase full of Deep Space Nine videos, the Lego Star Destroyer and the life-size cut-out of Lara Croft to fit a bed in, but you wouldn't need quite so much space for a cot. You might want to leave a decent splatter radius, though. Cleaning vomit out of Lego is a real pain - you have to use a toothbrush. One minute."

I was hoping I'd distracted him enough but he made sure to finish moving before he replied. His surviving marines had almost escaped and had thrown up a wall of flame behind them. My remaining Genestealer turned into a pile of ash and teeth.

"Hadn't really thought about it," he said. "Won't the cot be in our room?"

"For six months or so. Maybe longer. Depends whether you ever want a sound night's sleep again... or if you're planning any more."

Rob choked on his beer. "Give us a chance. It's months before the first one arrives."

"Three months. Might be less. It'll take you that long to off-load all this stuff on eBay." He looked horrified but I pressed on. "You could always move house instead but that's going to take time as well and, if you're faffing with mortgages, you're going to need to consider how much of the next few years Kate is going to be on limited pay. Or if she's going to be off for as little time as possible and you're going to be home. Or if you're both going to work and you have a wadge of nursery fees to find. How many children you're intending to have will affect all the calculations. Better start thinking."

The shutters of denial went down behind Rob's eyes. "I thought we were supposed to be discussing the wedding. Your go."

I shook my head for any number of reasons. "You've as good as won," I said. "Set things up for a re-match while I go to the toilet. We can talk kilts when I get back. But just because you can fob me off, don't think you can do the same with Squirtle. He, she or it isn't going to go back in for a few days while you get round to auctioning off your Magic: The Gathering cards and Bobba Fett lunchbox."

Rob grinned. "You're just jealous I have them."

"Well, yeah," I said, heading out the door, "but that's not the point."

I left him to it. As I was washing my hands, I caught the distant but unmistakeable sound of an electronic rendition of The Ride of the Valkyries turned up loud enough to hear above traffic and three wittering children.

"Did my phone go?" I asked when I returned to the room.

"Yeah," said Rob, putting the last of the plastic figures into place. "It was for Kevin. I told the woman I was his parole officer and that I was wondering where he'd got to, too. I don't think she'll be bothering you again."

"Cheers." I sat down and reached for my beer and a pile of dice. "Now it's time to snack on fiery death, big-teethed alien scum." I went for a warm-up roll. I got five ones and a splattering of salsa.

"Or maybe not..." I added.

* * *

Hope you're keeping well, Dave. Everyone I meet at the moment seems to be suffering from something. Lewis is croaky from a sore throat, Fraser has an infection (don't ask where), Marie's been exposed to chickenpox and Sarah has come into contact with scarlet fever.

I'm just feeling nervous.

If we all get through this week without seeing a doctor, I'll be amazed...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: blokesnight, marriage, sickness, stuff

 
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  Blunt, farce and trauma

Dear Dave,

My timing is as impeccable as ever.

As you'll recall, I am under obligation to encourage Sarah's manager, Steve, to be a more involved dad and it hasn't been going that well. He's too caught up in work and impressing his manager to really get the message. I think it's got to the point where I'm just not blunt enough for the task. Sure, I can nurture his parenting skills and bring him closer to his inner housedad, but he's going to have to want these things first. He needs to stop seeing his kids as an infestation of little people that his wife is dealing with. He needs a revelation.

Engineering those is notoriously difficult.

I considered various options from subliminal messaging on his iPod to fake memos from senior management. I even devised an overly-complicated plan involving a papier-mache angel, a searchlight and a burning PDA. These all seemed underhand, however (and too much like effort, to be honest). That said, I was tempted by the idea of giving him a near-death experience. Very tempted.

In the end, I decided my best bet was inviting Steve to one of the games nights at my house so he could meet my friend Mike. Mike is good at being blunt.

Unfortunately, I organised the get-together for last night. The big meeting at LBO where they're going to announce the redundancies is today. Obviously, I was somewhat tense about Sarah's job situation and when Rob turned up he was in a similar state over his own.

"You OK?" I said, showing him in and leading him up to the lounge.

"Nervous about tomorrow."

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"They fire me, I never work again, Kate dumps me, I have to live in a wheelie-bin and the Child Support Agency hunts me down with a pack of rabid dogs."

"You've been sitting in your cubicle thinking about that all week, haven't you?"

"Yep, it's not like they've given me any work to do. I've be... Aghh!" We were going upstairs and he gave a little shriek as a mouse nearly landed on his head, did a triple backflip with reverse twist and landed running in the hall. I pulled out some numerical fridge magnets from my back pocket and held up a 9.6. "What the...?"

I shrugged. "We have mice. I think they're practising for some kind of Festival performance. Just keep your shoes on and don't accept if anyone offers you any toast."

He nodded but looked even more nervous than he had before.

"Anyway," I said. "I thought you were trying to look busy completing a project that's already been cancelled."

"They out-sourced it to India."

"Er..."

"It's kind of like a trial run. They're testing communications and structures while making sure these guys can actually code. Time's cheaper over there, so LBO can waste more of it for less money."

"Yep, you're screwed," I said as we entered the lounge and I handed him a beer. "If it's any consolation, I'll look after your HD telly and PS3 to free up some space in that wheelie-bin."

"Not funny. How are Sarah's prospects?"

"The last time I saw her Head of Division, he was bright orange and swearing revenge."

"He can't hold losing at paintball against Sarah. She wasn't even playing."

"Scary Karen tied him to a tree and used a roller. He may not be entirely reasonable about things."

Rob grinned. "I'll find a really big wheelie-bin and you can share it with me."

"Thanks."

The doorbell rang. I left Rob setting up the Wii and hurried back downstairs. It was Steve.

The situation was somewhat awkward. Being head of Sarah's department, he knew whether she was going to be made redundant. Sarah had gone to her sister's for the evening to avoid him. I wittered as I took his coat and ushered him up to the lounge. I knew that he knew. He wasn't as abrupt as he usually is, which meant that he knew that I knew that he knew. Then he saw my quizzical expression, his face twitched and I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew. And my eyebrows must have raised because it looked like he knew that I...

"So is Sarah getting the sack, then?" asked Rob, as soon as we entered the room.

This refreshingly direct approach almost worked. "Ah, well, all the details are going to be announced tomorrow but I..." Then he recognised Rob. "You work in IT, don't you? You were one of the people that re-did the data analysis thingies last year. Bob, isn't it?"

"That's me," said Rob. "Are all the, er, thingies going OK?"

"Oh, yes. There are a couple of guys I know at a major insurance firm who are very jealous of the inverse customer retainment index calculator. The analysts still seem very pleased as well. It took them no time at all to get to grips with all the new bits and pieces. They just got on with the job as normal."

"Oh," I said, knowingly. "I'd forgotten you did that project for Steve."

Rob looked shifty. "Yeah. I had no end of problems, remember? I don't want to talk about it."

I nodded. Steve had read in a magazine about some 'amazing' software that had all kinds of functionality that sounded useful and had put in a request for extra options to be coded into the LBO marketing analysis tools. There were plenty of meetings but none of the people who actually used the tools wanted the new stuff. Sarah told Rob on the sly to just change the colour scheme and move some of the menus around. It was enough to convince Steve that Rob had done a years work in an afternoon and had the added bonus of not breaking any of the code in the process.

The doorbell rang again and I hurried to answer it. Steve was busy asking Rob if he still mentioned Star Wars at inappropriate times as I left the room.

"Steve here?" said Mike as I let him in. I'd already primed him with most of the details of my situation.

"Yep."

"Good." He headed up the stairs. A mouse flew past his ear and he blatted it out of the air with the back of his hand as it was performing a complicated figure-of-eight spin. It careened off the wall, hit the coat hooks and slid down into Rob's jacket pocket.

"You killed Boris!" I said in the middle of pulling out some numbers.

"He might just be stunned," said Mike. "If you want to take a look."

I thought about it. "Nah..." I said, shaking my head, and we continued to the lounge.

I did the introductions. "What do you do?" Steve asked Mike, clearly excited by the chance to network.

"You'd be surprised," said Mike. "It's usually a mixture of public speaking, management, social work, counselling and teaching."

"Really? Who do you work for?"

"Jesus," said Mike, offering Steve a beer.

"Oh." Steve looked at me and Rob to confirm that Mike wasn't having him on. Then he realised that he was trapped in a room with a computer geek, a housedad and a minister of religion. He took a couple of involuntary steps backwards.

I decided to make him feel at home. "Golf?" I said and handed him a wiimote. He looked at me like I was on drugs.

"I'll show him how to do it," said Mike, grabbing the controller.

"Make sure you've got the strap on tight," I said anxiously. "I've rearranged the room so you shouldn't be able to hit anything, but short, sharp movements are just as good as..." I was forced to duck as he took an enormous back swing and then dive out the way as he clubbed his virtual ball halfway to Mars. "...lethal arm-waving..." I muttered.

Steve was entranced, however. The prospect of being able to play golf without leaving the house had him hooked. He wanted to know all about the Wii and couldn't wait for a shot. I had visions of him running out first thing in the morning and buying one with a copy of Tiger Woods and then him never interacting with his family ever again. I'd made yet another error. My only hope was that he wouldn't be able to find the SCART socket on his telly.

As we played, we filled Mike in on the turmoil at LBO. At least, Rob and I did. Steve kept fairly quiet, interjecting only to occasionally defend senior management and their bold plan for the future. Even he didn't seem entirely clear what the plan was, though. Rob had a couple of beers and seemed to relax. He finally began to see the bright side...

"It's not as if I actually like the job, is it? I mean, it's OK, and everything. I get left alone to get on with stuff and the benefits are great but... What if there's something better? I haven't looked. There might be something I could really enjoy."

I nodded. "I hear Britney Spears is looking for a pet."

He appeared momentarily interested and then realised I was joking. "Seriously," he said. "I need to think about it now before... before..."

Mike sank a lengthy putt. "Before you become a dad, you forget what sleep is, you have no energy for change, risk begins to seem more risky and you start to smell slightly of used nappies?"

"Something like that," said Rob.

"Ach, get over it," said Mike. "There's always the possibility for change."

"It would be easier now, though," I added.

"I'm not denying that," said Mike, "but it's always worth working out what you'd do if you lost your job tomorrow - you never know when you might come up with a plan which is worth doing anyway. What are you going to do if they make you redundant, Steve?"

Steve gave a condescending smile as he tapped one in. "I've been assured that my position is safe."

"By your boss?" asked Mike.

"Yes. Scott and I have worked closely together on a number of projects," began Steve. "I feel that he values my contribution to..."

Mike cut him off. "Have you been completely straight with anyone who works for you?"

Steve grunted, shrugged, twitched and looked at me, all at the same time.

"Thought not," said Mike. "Best to at least consider the possibility, if I were you. Would getting fired make you happy or sad? Turn you numb or present you with an opportunity? What do you have outside work to hold onto. Where are you headed? Why are you going there in the first place? What's important? What's your purpose? Who are you and what do you want?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer.

"Heck," said Mike, "don't tell me. Do I look like I care?" He squared up for another big swing. "Tell your wife when you get home." He walloped the ball to within six inches of the hole. "And a fiver says I can beat you over the back nine."

Steve blinked and gaped and then remembered to breathe. Wisely, he declined the bet but he was somewhat shell-shocked for the rest of the evening. The conversation turned to lighter things - children, mice, incompetent plumbers and suitable pets for Britney Spears. We played golf a little longer, then moved on to some bowling. I made Rob and Mike toasties. Steve just had some toast. We finished off with a quick go at Mario Kart. I won (thanks to my many hours of being forced to play by Fraser) but Steve was surprisingly good despite his lack of gaming experience. Rob just kept complaining about the blue shells, as ever.

After that, people started to drift off, agreeing to meet up again soon. Steve went home looking pensive which, I guess, is about the best I could have hoped for. Rob left shortly after. I closed the door behind him and there was a muffled scream as he reached the end of the drive - doubtless at the moment he put his hands in his pockets.

Only Mike was left, seeming to take a while to put his coat on.

"Thanks," I said. "You gave Steve something to think about. I don't know if he will think about it, but it's better than I've done in several weeks."

Mike rubbed his chin and looked at me appraisingly. "What about you? I know your situation is different but what are you outside your job, Ed? You spend your whole time running around after small children. There's nothing more absorbing than that. What's going to happen when Marie starts nursery and you get some time to yourself?"

I started the mantra. "Not much - not in two hours a day, on weekdays, during term-time when all the kids are we..."

"You've told me that before," he said, frowning. "I'm not asking what you're going to do. I'm asking who you're going to be."

"I, er..."

"Yes, Steve is a pompous jerk but stick with him. He's going to be no more lost if he loses his job than you will be when all your kids are at school."

And with that, he was out the door. "See you on Sunday," he said and was gone.

It was my turn to be shell-shocked.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: blokesnight, computer games, corporate madness, housedad, mice, Useless Dad

 
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  Pub

Dear Dave,

I went to the pub the other night. It felt very odd. For starters, it was only about the second time I'd been to the pub since the smoking ban came in up here so it was a novelty to be able to breathe. Just leaving the house without children was peculiar, though. Doing so at night was even more weird. I occasionally get to escape during the day at the weekend but I'm usually too tired in the evening once the kids are in bed. The world looked strange. I probably looked strange too, bounding along the pavement unencumbered by buggies or changing bags or screaming children. I seemed to bounce along as if the lead weights had been removed from my boots. It was like walking on the moon (with the added advantage of my head not exploding from lack of air pressure, fortunately).

Rob wanted to talk away from the women-folk and I thought I'd better make the effort and go and meet him. He was panicking again about the prospect of fatherhood. (Remember Rob? He used to be my minion at LBO).

He was waiting at the bar when I arrived. He bought us drinks and we settled ourselves down in a dingy corner. At least I settled myself - he downed half his pint and then sat and fidgeted. I suddenly remembered to check that the kids hadn't wandered off. Equally suddenly, I remembered I didn't have any with me. I was out in the world as a person in my own right. I wasn't obviously a dad to everyone who looked at me. This made me unexpectedly nervous. People let you off with a lot if you've got small children to protect you. They're a distraction, an excuse and a talking point. I felt exposed without any.

I covered by checking my phone to make sure I hadn't missed any messages. "How's work?" I said, which is normally a safe bet - Rob's always keen to talk through his technical difficulties.

"They cancelled the project."

"What? How are they going to manage the new accounts without the IT systems?"

"No, that's not it. They decided that giving out scratchcards rather than interest was going to get them in trouble so they've canned the accounts. We're still working on the IT."

"What?" I'd been looking forward to the scratchcards. "You're still working on the software for a product that's never going to exist?"

"Yeah. What else are we going to do? There's rumours going round about redundancies across the whole department. We're just trying to look busy."

I nodded. It occurred to me, however, that if I was in charge, people who managed to look busy despite clearly having no useful work to achieve would be the first to find their names mysteriously removed from the organisation chart.

We stared at our pints for a bit. "How's the leak?" Rob asked eventually.

"Put it this way," I sighed, "whenever I go into the cupboard under the stairs now, I take a snorkel and harpoon-gun with me just in case. We've had four different plumbers out to look at it. Mario and Luigi checked the pipes, Mario2 checked the drains and Mario's Friend checked the guttering. Fraser's list of amusing names is getting desperate already but none of them can figure out where the water's coming from. We're talking major work to repair all the damage as well." Rob muttered condolences but he was obviously still caught up in his own problems. "How's Kate doing?" I asked.

"Fine, I think. It's hard to tell - she's just knackered the whole time. She comes home from work and goes to bed. Then she wakes up in the middle of the night and eats sausages."

"I take it she's not veggie any more, then?"

Rob ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. "She reckons vegetables have started looking at her funny. You know, like a nutter on a bus. She's avoiding them in case they try anything. Broccoli - she's sure the broccoli is out to get her. She knows it's planning something."

"O... K... She should get over that in a few weeks, though. Have you thought any more about getting married?"

"To the woman who's thinking about taking out a restraining order against cabbages?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of to the woman you love and who is carrying your child but that too. Hormones and lack of sleep are going to drive you both crazy at various points over the next year or three so you're just going to have to get on and make plans anyway. Is she going to go back to work after her maternity leave runs out? If she is, is it going to be full-time or part-time? And what about you?"

"Me?" He was starting to squeak.

"She's a solicitor. She earns a good wage working with people in a job she enjoys. You work in a cubicle and spend half your time emailing me funny stories you found on the internet while you were bored. Which of you would cope better staying home? If there are redundancies going round anyway, you could go voluntarily and escape with a load of free cash."

"And become a deviant like you?"

"I usually refer to myself as a housedad, but yeah. You asked me about it the other day; you must be thinking about it."

"That was the day after I found out," he said, chewing his nails. "I was panicking. I didn't know what I was saying. I don't even know how to change a nappy."

"Neither did I before Fraser was born. You get plenty of practice pretty quick, believe me. Imagine it as a computer game. You gradually gain experience by doing things such as fighting your way through the baby department at John Lewis, braving the terrors of parent and toddler and experimenting with stain removers. You also get to solve puzzles such as which pram to buy and how to get porridge out of your watch."

This analogy seemed to be going down well, so I continued with a small genre switch. "Every so often your pokemon level-up, too. They start off with the ability to eat, sleep and expel bodily waste. As time passes, they learn new skills, allowing them to smile, walk, jump, talk and embarrass you in public. Then they evolve into bigger monsters that take more persuading to do what they're told and require totally different discipline techniques."

I was on a roll. "Eventually you're a level sixty wizard with a highly trained menagerie capable of doing all the chores around the house and then going out into the world and bringing back treasure to support you in your old age. An old age in which you get to laugh evilly for no apparent reason while being wheeled round by devoted slaves." I stared wistfully into the distance.

"I don't know," said Rob. "Don't take it personally or anything but aren't women just better at looking after kids? You know, multi-tasking and all that."

"A man can prepare a meal in between doing the washing up while entertaining a baby at the same time as supervising a game of Snakes and Ladders. That's all multi-tasking is. A woman feels superior because she can do all these things and hold a conversation without being distracted. They're really doing the same number of things, though."

"No, they're not. She's talking as well."

"Yes, but the man's thinking about sex. It's the same number of things."

"OK," said Rob, "so if it's that simple, why aren't there more housedads around? How come you and that Dave bloke you write to are the only ones I've heard of?"

"Well, there are lots of reasons." I scratched my head. "I don't know. Some people find the whole concept odd. In lots of couples, both partners have to work. Then again, some men feel it's their duty to be out there winning the bread or don't want to have to go cap in hand to their partner if they want to buy a gadget. There are all kinds of reasons. The hours are long as well and I only get about five days holiday a year."

Rob shrugged. "That's not so bad. I get twenty-two."

"Ah... No, I don't think you're entirely understanding me here. You get a hundred and thirty-five days holiday a year."

"Don't be daft."

"I'm not being daft. What do you think I do with the kids on bank holidays and weekends? Put them into storage?"

His eyes widened. "Oh..."

"And I don't get sick days, either," I added. "If you became a housedad, there'd be no more rugby-related viruses forcing you to take long weekends in Dublin in order to recuperate."

"Hey! I went into work when I really had the flu to make up for that."

"I always have to go into work if I have the flu. Did I tell you about the time me and the boys managed to throw up twenty-five times between us in the space of eighteen hours?"

"You're not really selling this."

"True. I'm just giving you something to think about. You're going to do fine as a dad and you could be a great housedad..." I coughed. "...given a bit of training. I'm not going to tell you it's a sunshine world of domestic bliss and biscuits, though. It's low-stress, fun and rewarding but requires plenty of hard work, patience, diplomacy and organisational ability. A strong stomach is also handy."

"Yeah." Rob nodded but his eyes were starting to glaze over with information overload.

I changed the subject. "Played anything good recently?"

"MotorStorm rocks," he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"You bought a PS3?" I said, slightly too loudly.

"Yeah. I was walking home past GAME the other day and it just kind of happened. I needed something to take my mind off things. My credit card's smarting, what with the HDTV as well. Looks ace, though."

"Tell me you got a spare controller."

"It was part of the bundle."

"Then what the flip are we doing here?" I said, finishing off my pint. "Get your coat - you've pulled."

We headed out the door for a night of excellent but foolishly expensive gaming. As we left, however, Rob looked at me sideways, a thought coming back to him. "You actually think of them as pokemon, don't you?" he said.

"Maybe," I said. "Certainly, when people ask Marie her name, she says, 'Pikachu'."

Rob laughed. "I think I'll call mine Squirtle." He laughed again. This time, however, there was just the faintest hint of a cackle...

I wonder what I've started now.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Do your kids have any unlikely pet names?

Labels: blokesnight, children, favourite, housedad

 
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  Games night

Dear Dave,

I don't get out much. It's partly because it's an effort getting a babysitter and partly because by the time the kids are in bed I'm too tired to go out. Then again, it's not like I went out much before we had kids. I'd rather settle down in front of the TV anyway. Having kids is merely a handy excuse to surround the TV with gadgets.

This being the case, my social life is somewhat limited, but every so often a couple of friends, Mike and Rob, come round to play computer games and we blast each other to pieces while failing to talk about anything very significant. Mike's the minister at our church. He's around fifty and has two kids but they've left home. Rob lives round the corner. He works in the IT department at LBO. I did some of his training and he now has my old job, meaning I feel both sorry for him and somewhat responsible. He's not quite thirty yet.

Sarah has been having to work late again so I organised something for the other night. Rob arrived just after the kids were in bed and made straight for the beer. I asked him how his week was going and he launched into the details of a technical problem he was having trouble with. Vaguely familiar acronyms and jargon spewed forth from his mouth for several minutes. I nodded and smiled. It was like listening to Fraser witter on about Pokemon but I cared slightly less. I drank my own beer and then suggested to Rob that he replace the flux capacitor and then reverse the polarity of the neutron flow. He wasn't impressed.

Mike arrived. I asked him how his week was going. He shook his head. "Three funerals and a finance meeting," he said gruffly. "Let's shoot things."

I handed him a beer and ushered them both up to the lounge. "Watch out over there," I said, pointing to a discoloured section of carpet. "There's a damp patch." Rob began edging nervously round it. I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry - it's not radioactive or anything." He didn't seem reassured but found his way to a seat and we launched into a game of TimeSplitters 2. (We can't play Wii Sports anymore because Mike's been banned for breaking light fittings on two separate occasions. He kept taking it all a bit too seriously).

Everything went as normal for some time: we discussed the weather and football, we drank beer, we moaned about the news and every so often someone got shot. We briefly attempted to make sense of the Scottish election results but then turned our attention to inventing plausible explanations as to why Alex Salmond has a pair of slugs where his eyebrows should be. This kept us amused for a while but, when the ideas began to run low, Rob changed the subject in an unexpected direction.

"So what's being a housedad like?" he asked.

For the past seven years, Rob has been doing his best to ignore the fact that I'm a full-time parent. It's like I'm on some kind of indefinite holiday and he's always hopeful I'll be back at work on Monday. The closest he'd previously come to expressing interest was to say, without a hint of irony, "It must be nice to sit at home all day eating biscuits." I looked at him in astonishment.

Showing greater presence of mind, Mike took advantage of the distraction and fragged me at close range with a shotgun before asking, "Blue line, then?"

"Er, yeah," said Rob, turning to him in surprise. "How did you...?"

Mike shot him in the head with a missile-launcher. "Professional hunch," he said. "Are you still playing, Ed?"

"What?" I'd re-spawned and was standing around waiting for ballistic death to come find me. Oddly, I was no longer looking through my character's eyes but I could see him from a third-person perspective and he was getting larger.

Then I realised I was looking at Mike's corner of the screen.

It was my turn to get an explosion between the eyes. "Would you stop that?" I said.

"You can't talk and shoot at the same time?"

"Not when a friend is sharing about how his life has changed forever."

"What?" said Rob. "What do you mean my life has...?" I shoved an enormous gun between his shoulder-blades and pulled the trigger. "Hey!"

"So..." Mike let the pause linger as Rob's character re-appeared close at hand. Sensing what was coming, I charged over to get in range. Nonchalantly, Mike said, "Are you going to get married then?"

Rob stammered. "Er..." Mike and I both let rip at what seemed like the same moment and a hail of bullets turned Rob into sushi. Unfortunately, Mike was credited with the kill.

"That's not fair," I grumbled, banging the controller against my head in frustration. "And neither's that," I added as he shot me as well. "I'm annoyed now. I'm going to hunt you down and batter you to death with that shotgun."

"I want to see you try... What were you saying, Rob?"

"Er... I hadn't really thought about getting married. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

"What do you mean?" said Mike.

"It's a bit of a commitment."

I snorted. "You've bought a house together, you live together, you sleep together, you're going to have a baby together. You've merged your CD collections! Exactly how much more of a commitment do you think getting married would be?"

"There's a bit more to being married than that," said Rob defensively.

"I don't know..." I said and went postal with a flamethower. "There's a public declaration that you're going to make things last but there's actually quite a lot less denial."

"How do I know it's going to last?" said Rob, turning crispy.

"If the two of you decide that it's going to last and always work to achieve that, then there's a good chance that it will last," said Mike.

"It's got to be worth a shot, hasn't it?" I added. "Let's face it, you're married already, apart from the legal safe-guards in case it doesn't last. What have you got to lose?"

"I don't want to rush into anything," said Rob, running round a corner into proximity with a proximity mine I'd left lying around. He swore. He blew up.

I laughed for at least two good reasons. "At the point you two got a mortgage together, you were still playing Tomb Raider Chronicles - that's six years and an entire console generation ago! Think how long that's been. Glaciers get together and laugh at how slowly you move."

"Well," he muttered, "there's the expense as well."

"I'll waive my fee," said Mike.

"Sarah still has her dress. Wouldn't take much to make it fit Kate."

Mike nodded. "And the Millennium Centre is cheap to hire."

"I'll do the catering," I said. "I've had plenty of practice with birthday parties. Cocktail sausages and Hula Hoops for everyone. Fraser and Lewis can get a production line of cheese sandwiches going. Marie can help decorate the cake. You don't mind bright pink icing peppered with chocolate buttons and fingerprints do you?" Rob scowled at me. "What? It'd be a talking point."

Mike calmly sniped us both. "I think what Ed's trying to say is that the party doesn't have to be expensive and shouldn't stand in the way of the getting married part."

"Maybe... You still haven't answered my question, Ed. What's it like being a housedad?"

I thought for a moment. Mike took the opportunity to batter me to death with a brick. "Well," I said, re-spawning far away. "The hours are long, the holidays are rubbish, the pay's a joke and there's heavy exposure to toxic biological waste. On the plus side, there's plenty of fresh air, exercise and hugs, relatively little stress, strong job satisfaction and an army of amusing minions. You also get to play Hungry Hippos and call it work."

Rob perked up. "Really?"

"Yep," I grinned. "And Mario Kart."

He shot me a sideways glance. "Really!?"

"Yep."

He looked suddenly suspicious. "Is that why you're grinning?"

"No, I'm grinning 'cos I've stuck an explosive mine to your crotch and you haven't noticed."

He had just about enough time to say, "No way!" before his corner of the screen erupted.

I feigned a wince. "That's got to smart."

Time ran out and the game ended. Mike had won by an absolute mile but at least I'd beaten Rob by a point. I did a little dance to celebrate. Unfortunately, I stepped in the wet patch and had to go change my socks.

Rob cheered up a bit at that...

We had some more beer and the conversation returned to normal. It was a good evening. I don't think Rob knows what he's got himself into yet, though. I might let him look through some of these letters, if that's OK with you?

Hope you're well and staying sane. Marie's convinced that you live in this computer. Have you got any photos of you and the family I can show her?

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Slug suggestions welcome.

Labels: blokesnight, computer games, housedad, marriage

 
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