Dear Dave

  Old gadgets never die...

Dear Dave,

We achieved a new record in my household yesterday. Fraser was playing Peggle on the Xbox, Sarah was playing on my iPod, Marie was using the old laptop to buy furniture for a virtual bear, Lewis was tending to the needs of his pet monster on the desktop machine and I was in the kitchen hiding from all the bleepy noises while surfing the web on the 'new' laptop. All five of us were online at once.

This was a freaky realisation. We may well have reached a turning point in the history of human society. From here on in, cyberspace is going to take over. Another six months and we'll all be brains in jars, happily interacting via our avatars as they fly around electronic worlds in their personal hover cars while wearing tinfoil jumpsuits...

Or maybe not. The freakiest thing was actually discovering we had enough internet-enabled gadgets to make this possible. Not only that but we could have had several friends round and got them logged on in some fashion as well (provided our flaky wireless router didn't melt). That's quite a lot of gizmos, many of which will probably be out of date by a week on Thursday, if they're not already.

This got me to thinking. We already have a pile of ageing technology that we don't use very much anymore - Leapsters, an N64, three varieties of Game Boy, a tangled nest of headphones, an entire box of various cables that will probably come in useful one day, another box of cables that probably won't, two printers, a tub of floppy disks, speakers, keyboards, controllers, goodness knows what. Most of it still sort of works. Some of it is very handy on occasion. A lot of it is irreplaceable and yet much of it no one would take if we were giving it away. None of it can be legally binned.

It sits in cupboards and on shelves. At some point, it will end up in the loft. Once the loft is full, I'll have to start making furniture out of it.

You know how old people have random ornaments and photos everywhere? Things that are not worth selling but are too good to hand in at the charity shop? Stuff they inherited, stuff with sentimental value, stuff that their friends have secretly been hiding amongst all the clutter since 1987 in order to clear some space in their own homes?

Our generation will be different. We're not going to have display cabinets full of crystal and porcelain, we're going to have plastic crates full of power adapters and chargers. My kids will dread the thought of anything happening to me simply because it will mean they'll have to deal with my sofa made of inkjet printers and then poke around under the stairs where old Xboxes run wild and have strung up a web of USB wires to snare the unwary.

I don't think your lot will be fooled by your senile ramblings about how collectible your 1st generation iPad is either. We should maybe look into our recycling options.

Then again, if Great Aunt Edith spots a space in my house, she might try and palm off her wedding china on me. Perhaps it would be best just to arrange the technology in a tasteful display. I'll go do that now...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: stuff

 
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11:00 AM - Permanent Link - 2 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Jumble sale

Dear Dave,

The jumble sale was in full swing. Dozens of people were milling past the stalls laid out round the edges of the Millennium Centre's main hall and dozens more were sitting at the tables in the middle, sampling the tea and scones. Everywhere was noise and bustle in a world of bric-a-brac, cakes and craft items. Thankfully the fire-breather had had to cancel, though. Kids were being entertained by the local community police officer and his racially-diverse, drug-free, stranger-fearing sock puppets instead. It wasn't quite the same but at least there were fewer health-and-safety issues.

Mike was there, wearing his dog-collar and representing the church. "How did you persuade the children to part with all that?" he said, pointing to the vast collection of toys, books, tapes and clothing on the trestle in front of me.

"In the end, I told them they wouldn't get any Christmas presents unless they had a clear out of their stuff."

"A combination of threats and bribery? Hmmm, I'll have to start trying that on the church elders."

"I take it they're still not up for buying an overhead projector?"

He grimaced. "They want to hold on to the money for a rainy day."

"To be fair, the church roof does leak a little so I can see where they're coming from."

"Once the roof is fixed, the steeple will start falling down. Then the heating will break. After that the wiring will need replaced. By the time that's approved, the roof will be leaking again." He shook his head in exasperation. "There's always rain. Sometimes we need to concentrate on where the boat is going not just on stopping it from sinking."

"I'm with you," I said, shrugging. "If the elders are anything like my kids, though, don't rely too hard on coercion. Fraser figured that computer games don't take up a lot of space so he wouldn't have to get rid of much to make room, and Lewis claimed he didn't want any Christmas presents anyway. Marie transferred ownership of all her possessions to her favourite doll and then started thinking of things to go on her list for Santa. I had to work rather hard to convince them they were in serious danger of missing out. There's probably a sermon in that."

"There's a sermon in almost everything."

"I suppose..." I realised the morning was half over and I hadn't sold very much. I picked up the first thing which came to hand. "Want to buy a xylophone?"

"No."

"Hey, grandchild on the way. You should stock up on toys and Teletubbies videos now. Speaking of which..." I reached towards the collection of tapes at the end of the stall but Mike waved his hand to stop me.

"Not a chance."

"How about...?"

"No." He was polite but firm.

I gave up. "Some use you are. You'd better help me round to the charity shop later with whatever's left over, that's all I can say."

"That can be arranged." He paused long enough to put me off my guard and then added, "How's life?"

I wasn't fooled by his offhand manner. He was checking up on me again. "You mean, 'how's life now that Marie's at school?'"

"I mean, 'how's life?'. If Marie being at school is on your mind, then..." He let the words trail off and waited for me to respond. As always, I found myself telling him what he wanted to know. I think it must be some special sage-like interrogation technique they teach at minister school.

"I'm still adjusting," I said. "It doesn't really feel like it's happened yet. I've helped out on a couple of school trips and the kids have had some days off sick and now they're on holiday for a week. So far, my extra freedom hasn't amounted to much - I've had a few hours of rest and done some cleaning. Maybe in a month or so things will have settled down and I'll have time to devote to the huge list of projects I thought I might be able to get round to once Marie started full-time."

"Sounds like bailing when you should be steering. Want to become a church elder?"

I snorted. "Yeah, funny."

"Serious question actually."

"Oh, er..." I was taken aback and, while he had me staggered, he pressed home the advantage.

"Think about it. First things first, anyway: There's a family service coming up next month - I'd like it if you and Sarah and the kids could help lead it. Read the readings, make up a prayer, look young. That'll do to begin with."

"So let me get this straight," I said, my brow furrowing as I tried to gather my wits, "you're warning me not to hastily commit myself to whatever comes along while simultaneously giving me other things to do?"

"You don't have to do them."

I rubbed my forehead as I felt another migraine coming on. "Is this some kind of test?"

"Not intentionally."

"What does that mean?"

Mike grinned. "It means I could do with some help and ministers can be just as human and illogical as everyone else."

"Oh, right. There's definitely a sermon in that."

"Very true."

At that moment, I was distracted by the boys running over.

"Can we have another go on the tombola?" asked Fraser.

"Yes," chipped in Lewis. "We've won three prizes already!"

I perused the winnings they were waving around. They had two tins of mushy peas and a colouring set, all of which I'd handed in to the tombola in the first place. The peas had been in the hamper which Marie won in the nursery Christmas raffle. I'd been very much hoping to never see them again.

"What prizes are left?" I asked.

"Soap!" said Lewis, hopping from one foot to the other.

"There's an elephant statue as well," said Fraser, "and a book about fairies."

I wasn't convinced. "Do you really want an elephant statue or a book about fairies?"

"No, but Marie might. It's only a pound for five tickets."

Lewis hopped even harder. "And the soap's green!"

"Well, that makes all the difference..." Personally, I didn't feel the brief excitement of unfolding a handful of tickets was worth the financial outlay if the best loot on offer was unusually-coloured hygiene products. Nonetheless, it was an opportunity to vainly attempt to teach them the value of money. "You're welcome to have a go but I'm not giving you the cash. You'll have to pay with your own."

They were delighted and immediately went off to blow an entire week's pocket money on a quick thrill and the chance of soap.

I maybe need to work on my fiscal prudence lessons.

Scary Karen shouted over from where she was helping serve the refreshments. "Tell Trevor we need more hot water."

Trevor was only a few feet away from her, standing on a step-ladder to re-attach some bunting to one of the ceiling beams. "He's just there," I shouted back, thinking she hadn't seen him.

"Well, tell him we need more hot water."

"But..." I began to argue, then withered under the full force of one of her glares. She was busy and stressed and I didn't want to take the brunt of it. "Er... OK."

I walked over to the foot of the ladder and spoke to her boyfriend. "Karen says she needs more hot water for the teas."

He took out the tack he'd been holding between his lips. "Tell her I'll get to it in a minute."

"I, er..." I said, beginning to explain that Karen was almost next to him, but then I realised he already knew that. With horror, it dawned on me that they were having a quarrel and that somehow I'd become part of it. I turned to Karen. "Trevor says he'll get to it in a minute."

"Tell him to hurry up. We're almost out."

I turned back to Trevor, becoming acutely aware for the first time in a while that he's short, squat, made of bricks and has tattoos of automatic weapons. "Karen says they're almost out."

"And that he's to get a flaming move on," added Karen sharply.

"She'd also like me to stress that it's quite urgent."

Trevor grunted as he stretched up and hammered in tacks with his bare knuckles. "Tell her I'll be done when I'm done. If that's not good enough, she'll have to get it herself."

"Er..." I really didn't fancy telling that to Scary Karen.

Luckily, she didn't wait for me to relay the message. "Tell him to get down off that flaming ladder and get into the kitchen before I get you to give him a piece of my mind."

I began backing away. "How about I just go and get the water and..."

"Right," said Trevor, the step-ladder wobbling with irritation, "tell her to tell you to let me get on with the job she already told some other person to tell me to do."

Karen slammed down a cup in rage. "That does it, nobody tells you to talk to me like that. Tell him I don't want to talk to you anymore and I don't want you to tell me what he tells you to tell me about that. He'll just have to find someone else to tell. I'm going to get the hot water myself." She stormed off.

Everyone in the surrounding area had gone quiet and it was a few moments before the clink of tea spoons and the murmur of chatter returned. I took a couple of deep breaths and checked I still had all my limbs. "She's not in the best of moods today," I muttered to myself.

"Tell me about it," said a voice above my head through a mouthful of tacks...

I went back to my stall. Sarah and Marie were there. Marie had a butterfly painted on her face and Sarah had a bag of books and clothing.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"I have no idea and, right now, I don't dare ask. Did you find anything interesting?"

"This and that. It's mainly for the kids. Marie had a go at guessing the name of the teddy bear."

I looked over to the table where Karen's friend Tess was being dwarfed by a virtually life-size cuddly polar bear. People were guessing the thing's name for fifty pence a shot. At the end of the day, the person closest to the correct answer would get to carry home half a ton of Arctic-themed stuffing.

"I hope Marie chose something unlikely. We'd need to build an extension just for the bear."

"Yap-Wap. I think we're safe."

"Good."

The boys returned with some green soap and a book about fairies. Lewis was pretty pleased with the soap and was happily wittering away about where best to put it on display in his room. Fraser, meanwhile, seemed disappointed he hadn't won anything better. I suggested he put the book on the stall and try to sell it.

He did...

...and Marie immediately insisted on buying it. Then we all went for a cup of tea and a scone.

There's maybe a sermon in that too.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: Scary Karen, stuff

 
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9:30 AM - Permanent Link - 0 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  The hoarding horde

Dear Dave,

The pile was impressive.

It dominated the lounge, a tangled mass of play-things heaped together as if someone had rearranged a toy department using a JCB. Remember the big sculpture of the mountain that Richard Dreyfuss makes in Close Encounters? It was like that... but made of colourful plastic tat and pop-up books.

We stood there, transfixed. Somewhere deep in the middle of the mound, something settled onto the switch of a rubber Homer Simpson equipped with dying batteries. Its electronics warbled hauntingly. "Dee - di - doe - d'oh - daaaa!" Lights flashed. My children gazed up in wide-eyed awe.

Then the Jack-in-the-box on the top of the heap went sproing, dislodged itself and tumbled down in a landslide of bouncy balls and pull-and-go tractors, laughing evilly as it went.

We all leapt out of our skins.

Once the screaming had died down, I realised that Marie had run off and hidden under her bed covers. It took me five minutes to convince her that the scary clown wasn't going to leap out anymore. By that time, the boys had got bored and gone back to playing their computer games. It was another ten minutes after that before they'd found save points and switched off. Then I had to find Marie again...

Eventually we were assembled in the lounge once more and ready for the matter in hand.

"OK," I said, "I've spent the entire day going round the house collecting up all the stuff which you're either too old for or you never play with. In a minute, I'm going to put it in boxes and take it across the road to the Millennium Centre ready for the jumble sale Karen's organising. If there's anything you feel you absolutely have to keep, this is your chance to say so."

"I really love this," said Marie, holding up the Jack-in-the-box.

"A quarter of an hour ago, you thought it was going to eat you."

"I love it now. It's my friend."

"You're a bit old for Jack-in-the-boxes. We got it for Fraser for, like, his first birthday or something. He'd only had it a couple of days before he threw up into it and it still smells a bit funny. The tune doesn't even play properly."

She ignored me and hugged it to her chest. "I really, really want to keep it."

I sighed. "Er..."

"I want to keep this," said Lewis, grabbing a set of Shrek dominoes from the pile and setting off another avalanche of badges, Slinkies and miniature farmyard animals.

"You've had them a year and a half and the shrink-wrap is still on. Besides, we have at least three lots of dominoes that are already open." Since I felt it might confuse the issue, I didn't mention that two of those sets were also on the pile.

"But these are green and glow in the dark!"

I shook my head. "You could say the same for radioactive waste but we're not keeping any of that."

Marie took Lewis' side. "Let's go play dominoes in the dark!"

"It's day time," I pointed out.

"We can play in the bathroom," said Lewis. "It doesn't have any windows."

"Er..." I began but Fraser interrupted.

"I want to keep this."

It was a souvenir snow globe from somewhere we'd never been. The model inside was of the world's most sinister snowman and the liquid had all evaporated over the years to leave only a crusty layer of glitter on the inner surface of the dome. I'd found it in a storage tub, buried beneath a couple of years worth of discarded trinkets. "You want to keep that? Really?"

Fraser nodded. "I like it."

"It's ugly and broken," I snapped. "If you want to keep that, what else are you going to want to keep? We just don't have room in the house for all this stuff that no one ever looks at, let alone plays with. You're all going to have to agree to get rid of something."

Of course, it was never going to be that easy...

"I want to get rid of the Jack-in-the-box then," said Fraser.

"No!" shrieked Marie, clutching it tight.

"It was my birthday present. I can get rid of it if I want."

I felt a migraine coming on and rubbed my forehead. "Er..."

"It's mine now," said Marie. "I am the youngest, you know." She hugged it even tighter and then rescued a tiny kaleidoscope from the scree at her feet. "This is mine, too."

"No, it's not," whined Lewis. "It's mine."

"No! You're wrong! It was in my party bag from my birthday party."

He tried to take it from her. "I got it in a party bag ages ago."

"That was a different one," said Marie, fighting back. "This one's mine."

I cleared my throat nervously. Technically, they were both right. In an environmentally-friendly effort to save money and clear some space, I bulked out the goodie-bags at Marie's recent birthday bash with items from our drawer of novelties. That's the place where I put the contents of Christmas crackers, party bags, lucky dips and Kinder Eggs whenever they're abandoned on the kitchen table for more than a day or two. When I first started filling it, I imagined the drawer as an Aladdin's Cave of entertainment which the kids would investigate on occasion in order to pull out sufficient treasure to spend a few hours gaily solving sliding-block puzzles and fooling around with X-ray specs. They've never gone near it, though. It's become a holding location for stuff that I'd feel too guilty simply binning but that's too small and cheap to be worth handing in at a charity shop.

The drawer is very full, even after jamming in a scoop seventeen times to remove enough yo-yos, key-rings and whistles to palm off on all Marie's friends. Somehow, I doubt the children would find this much of a consolation if they were to discover the truth, however. The trauma of learning they only have a dozen spinning tops to never play with, instead of a score, might be too much for them...

Keen to avoid my dark secret being revealed, I took the kaleidoscope and used it to start a collection of stuff to save. "How about you share that one," I said, "and we can recycle the other one if we find it?"

They reluctantly agreed and we returned to sifting through the clutter. It took us nearly two hours of arguing, bargaining and wrestling to divide it all into two piles - one to go and one to keep. Then we stepped back to examine our handy work, hungry for tea and struggling to see in the gathering twilight.

To my despair, the pile to keep was bigger than the pile we'd started with. Outside, UFOs were circling, preparing to use the sickly glow of Shrek dominoes as a landing beacon. On the pile to go, Homer warbled his last few tones and then expired, surrounded by a handful of shells and a single red sock.

After a few moments of silence, I shook my head and went and rustled up some food. While the kids were eating, I crammed as much junk as possible back into the cupboards and draped a rug over the rest to disguise it as best I could. It didn't quite block the view of the telly from the sofa so the children happily ignored it when they returned and, somewhat predictably, went back to playing with the things they normally play with.

The 'pile' to go took rather less time to deal with. I threw the sock out because it had a hole in it despite no one remembering ever having worn it. Then, when Sarah got home, she insisted on keeping the shells for sentimental reasons.

I was left to put Homer in a box and phone Scary Karen to let her know I wouldn't be needing a particularly large table at the jumble sale...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: stuff

 
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9:30 AM - Permanent Link - 0 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Another reason to walk

Dear Dave,

We don't have a car. We live in the middle of a city and don't like driving, so there's no point really. The closest guaranteed parking space to most places we want to go is our own driveway. We might get soaked walking to the sports centre if it's raining but when we get there, we've had enough exercise to allow us to turn around and come straight home - thus saving both time and money. We can also look annoyingly smug on any occasion someone starts talking about carbon footprints.

Not having a car does reduce out shopping options, however. When buying groceries, I like to go in person to squeeze the produce and spot the weekly bargains. Whenever I've tried ordering food online, I've found it time-consuming, frustrating and strangely unsatisfactory. This means that, without a car, I'm limited to a selection of small, local supermarkets. They stock everything we could possibly need but their merchandise isn't hugely varied. Pasta comes in three shapes, two sizes of packet and one colour. The main choice involved with fish is whether it's coated in batter or breadcrumbs. Pears are available in two varieties - 'Take It' or 'Leave It'.

That said, having grown up on a diet of the sort of dubious stew reserved for those families with a cattle herd and a desire to cut down on veterinary bills, I'm not too fussed. Besides, even after fifteen years of living in town, having any shops at all within walking distance is still something of a novelty.

I did have a glimpse of how much more is possible the other day, though. Since the school holidays have been dragging on a while now, I made an effort to get the kids out of the house. I decided we'd go for a long hike and investigate the huge superstore that lies just beyond the normal reaches of our travels.

The children weren't thrilled at the prospect, complaining for most of the way. It was too hot and too far. Why were we going anyway? Where was it? What did we need? Why couldn't I go on my own once Mummy was home? What was...?

All at once the whining stopped. It was a long time since we'd been and, as we entered, we were transfixed. It wasn't merely huge, it was enormous - a veritable cathedral of consumerism. The aisles were so long that the curvature of the Earth meant we couldn't see the far ends. Every inch was crammed with brightly coloured packets of tastiness. There were 503 types of pasta and I couldn't find the pears amongst all the tubs of fruits so exotic that I didn't know their names.

There was choice beyond the bounds of my imagination.

Oh, and as an added bonus, every so often the stacks of delicious treats were interrupted by a shelf of toys or electronics.

We wanted to buy everything. It was like we'd peeked from behind the Iron Curtain and found ourselves staring into the window of McDonald's. Ronald himself was beckoning to us, holding out a heaped tray of Big Macs and the biggest cup of fizzy nectar we'd ever seen...

I couldn't help wishing the store was closer to home or perhaps even that we had a car. Then I could have stocked up any time on any number of delicacies from jellied Bolivian fruit bats to spiced Malaysian crab bites. My eyes glazed over and I stumbled forward like a zombie, mesmerised by the bounty laid before me.

Then I stopped. For some reason, I wasn't going anywhere. I looked down. My basket was already too full to lift. The kids had taken advantage of my distraction to pile the thing high with sweets, chocolate biscuits and small, plastic effigies of Dora the Explorer.

I was suddenly very glad we don't have a car. I've always thought that the maintenance costs and lack of exercise would make me poor and fat. I was wrong. It's the amount of luxury shopping we could fit in the boot that would do it. Witnessing the basket at my feet made me see the truth of that. I didn't dare think what value of fattening foodstuffs we could have packed into a trolley and then stuffed into the back of a people carrier.

I forced the children to return all their finds to the shelves and we settled on a single bag of pear-flavoured spaghetti (in breadcrumbs) as a souvenir of our trip. Then we walked home.

It rained...

...but I didn't get wet. The water merely evaporated the moment it touched my happy, righteous glow...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: diet, stuff

 
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10:00 PM - Permanent Link - 2 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Forward to the past

Dear Dave,

It was brought to my attention recently that it's ten years since The Matrix was released.

My first reaction was that it can't possibly have been that long. It simply can't. Thinking about it more carefully, however, I remembered going to see the movie at the cinema with Sarah and then sitting outside a café in the sunshine with a beer, discussing why the machines had been foolish enough to use humans as batteries rather than cows. The peculiar thing about this memory is that at the time, the most extraordinary part of these events was the sunshine. Going to the cinema with my wife without having to rush home afterwards didn't seem in any way unusual. That hasn't been the case since Fraser was born.

Given that he's nearly nine, I was suddenly glad that it's only been ten years.

Actually, I'm more scared by how long it's been since Back to the Future came out. In 1985 Marty McFly took a trip back in time thirty years to the other world that was 1955. Now 1985 is almost twenty-five years ago. It was kind of weird watching the film with my kids at the weekend - if anything, the parts referring to the 'present' made less sense to them than the bits set in the 'past'. Watching the sequel set in the 'future' will just be bizarre. (In Edinburgh in 2015 we're not going to have flying cars and hoverboards, we're going to have a brand new tram system. You know, like in 1885.)

Still, they're going to have to sit through the whole trilogy whether they like it or not. We're trying to get them to watch some of the classics from our youth so they don't keep looking at us like idiots when we make jokes about flux capacitors and being slimed.

OK, maybe that's too much to ask for... but at least they'll know what we're talking about while they look at us like idiots.

So far we've had more problems with this scheme than we were expecting. The kids enjoyed watching Ghostbusters, for instance, but it had more swearing than we remembered (as did Back to the Future!). Since they liked that, we talked up Gremlins, only to discover it's a 15. There must be a whole load of gore I've forgotten about. It's going to be eleven years before Marie really appreciates why I refuse to feed her after midnight.

Then there was the dilemma over which order to show the Star Wars films...

Fraser got to go watch E.T. at a special outdoor showing at the Film Festival last year. It rained. Both boys have seen the Indiana Jones films but Lewis was maybe a little young. Never mind The Matrix being a decade old - by the time any of my kids are old enough to watch The Terminator, Skynet will already control the world.

Ho well, we recorded Groundhog Day off the telly at the weekend. That will have to do instead...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS We may not have flying cars but advances in technology mean that John Lewis have done away with the old ticket dispenser they used to have in the kid's shoe department. Rather than take a number, I now get to enter the age and gender of all my children on a touchscreen and receive an Estimated Service Time in return.

Normally I get given an E.S.T. that's half an hour or so in the future and yet if I sit down with the children and look in the mood to buy shoes, I'm served within five minutes.

The machine excelled itself the other day. Entering Marie's details at 5:28, I was given this:



The shop closes at 6:30.

Personally, I'd rather have the hoverboards...

Labels: stuff

 
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9:15 AM - Permanent Link - 0 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Sex, cake and direction of travel

Dear Dave,

I was thinking the other day that it must be time to have another rant about a survey to do with parenting. I didn't have a particular survey in mind but, you know, it's been a while. I considered hunting around for one, then I decided not to bother. Poorly reported pieces of research are like health scares - there's bound to be one before long.

Sure enough, three have been brought to my attention in the last week or so. At least one of them is also a health scare. Yeh!

I had to laugh when I saw a tagline asking 'Is there too much sex in videogames?' because sex barely features in games at all. On investigation, I found the related article cites a recent YouGov survey as finding 74% of parents are worried about sexual content in games. It then goes on to list the ten most sexually explicit games ever in an effort to show that, really, there's not much to worry about. Sadly, that's all very well, but the survey actually found that 74% of parents are concerned about the content in general of some videogames. To be honest, this is only right and proper - there are plenty of games out there that children shouldn't have access to. Parents ought to be keeping an eye on what they're kids are playing. Even the game companies are quick to encourage this, since parents exerting more control over their childrens' habits is really the only way to stop the kids encountering inappropriate material. The big news here is, in fact, that 26% of parents don't know or don't care about the content of any videogames. Let's just hope their kids don't play them...

Meanwhile, in England, the government is running a health campaign trying to persuade parents that getting their kids to do some exercise and eat healthier food is good for them and will help them live longer. Allegedly, feeding children cake the whole time simply isn't good parenting:



Obvious? Er, yeah. Unfortunately, the games industry hasn't been too pleased with some of the adverts:



There have been loud rumblings that it's unfair to single out computer games, since there's no definitive evidence linking them with obesity and surely everything from books to cars are blame. What about the exercise people get from playing the Wii? How dare the government denigrate such an important and creative industry!? Sony should sue!

Unfortunately, this makes games industry spokespeople sound like tobacco execs from the 1970s. Clearly, sitting around playing computer games every day while eating cakes isn't going to do wonders for anyone's health. Better to admit it and move on. Computer games aren't being singled out as an easy target, they're simply top of the list of sedentary pastimes favoured by kids. The adverts aren't claiming computer games are evil, they're encouraging parents to exert more control over their kids' habits to make sure they get some exercise. This is exactly the same kind of control the games industry is constantly trying to encourage in an effort to shift onto parents the responsibility for controlling access to violent games. Videogames already have age restrictions and scary warnings about taking regular breaks in order to avoid photosensitive seizures. Including some suggestions to go and play outside every so often to avoid turning into a tub of lard wouldn't be hard.

Of course, it should be noted that parents can get too concerned about controlling what experiences their children encounter. I stumbled across the whole forwards/backwards buggy thing again this week as well. The University of Dundee did some research into whether it makes a difference which way toddlers face while riding around. Apparently, those facing the world tend to have a slightly higher heart rate, while those facing their parent get talked to more, laugh more, cry more and are more likely to fall asleep. Somewhere along the line these results got interpreted by the papers to show that forward-facing buggies produce stressed kids with poor communication skills. This certainly isn't a justified conclusion, however. Kids facing out-the-way see lots of stuff to get excited about and those facing in-the-way get more of a chat. Who knows which is 'better' in the long-run?

Although I frequently had my kids in our forward-facing buggy for a couple of hours a day when they were small, there were only three normal scenarios:

• They were asleep, so chatting wouldn't have been hugely worthwhile.
• I was trying to get them to sleep, so I was avoiding chatting to them.
• I was desperately trying to keep them awake, so I was chatting to them for all I was worth or getting them to do the actions to a rousing chorus of If you're happy and you know it as we manoeuvred round Tesco.

With a rear-facing buggy I wouldn't have had to shout and I might have frightened fewer little old ladies at the shops with my singing but that would have been the only major difference. It's probably safe to say that any child with a parent concerned enough for their well-being to be worried about the effects of buggy-facing, isn't going to be lacking in attention or stimulation, whichever option is eventually picked. If I ever have to buy another buggy, it will be easily reclinable and foldable, and come with high enough handles, a wipe-clean cover and good storage space underneath. Only after dealing with these issues will I think about whether I want the vomit, coughs and sneezes to travel towards or away from me...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: computer games, statistics, stuff

 
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10:30 AM - Permanent Link - 0 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Unexpected unplugging

Dear Dave,

I spoke too soon - the snow is back. There's almost an inch this time. Another two or three days like this and Tesco could run low on supplies of bananas. I hardly dare contemplate the chaos that that will cause and, in preparation for the end of civilisation, I've nipped to the shops to stock up on canned goods, bottled water, bin-liners, candles and shotguns.

There's every chance the whole lot will have melted by tomorrow but it's best to be prepared - having grown up in the country, heavy snow is irrevocably linked in my head with power cuts. When I was a kid, the sky would turn grey, the snow would fall and the lights would go out. I don't know why.* My family was compelled to huddle around the fire and actually talk to each other until the telly came back on. It wasn't right. I had to sneak off somewhere and hide under a blanket with a torch and a book.

Having moved to the city, the scenario is unlikely to repeat itself now I have a family of my own. Which is fortunate, since we don't have a fireplace. I'd have to gather round a roaring fondue set with the kids.

When I was a teenager, I had a teacher who claimed that my class wouldn't be able to cope if the power went down. We wouldn't know what to do with ourselves without our music and TV and computer games. I was quite offended. Give me a pen and paper and I can entertain myself for hours. A power cut has to have exceptionally bad timing to throw me.

You know, like if I'm wet and naked.

Er, maybe I should explain that one... To fully set the scene, though, I'm going to have to tell you about my hall of residence at university. You see, Andrew Melville Hall is built to resemble two colliding concrete battleships.

No, really:



Inside, it's strangely reminiscent of a cross-channel ferry. This effect is heightened by the heating system. Originally, the building had underfloor heating but there was subsidence and one of the ships sank somewhat faster than the other, knackering the scheme. Radiators were installed, along with all the pipes to feed them. Descend to the windowless corridors of the lower decks and the place feels like a submarine.

To give you an idea of the haphazard fitting of the remedial plumbing, four pipes ran along the ceiling of the shower cupboard in the virtually subterranean section I inhabited. Two of the pipes had kinks in them above the shower-tray to move them just far enough apart to allow anyone over six feet tall to stand upright while taking a shower.

There I was, getting clean one day, my head wedged between some pipes, and a swan hit the power lines. The lights went out. Everything was suddenly pitch dark and cold in a very confined space. When I managed to feel my way out into the corridor, everything was pitch dark and cold in a slightly less confined space which had other people in it.

Not the best start to the day.

So, yes, a power cut can be inconvenient but I've never been left aimless. More recently, of course, they've become a whole new adventure:

A couple of years ago, as tea-time approached, we had a power cut while I was in the lounge with the children. It being winter in Scotland, the sun had already gone down and we were plunged into total darkness.

For added dramatic effect, I'd just uttered the words, "Marie, why are your trousers damp?"

Once the initial screams had died down, I got the kids to sit exactly where they were until I'd found flashlights that actually had batteries in them. Then we had tea by candlelight. Afterwards, I gave them a bath to pass the time, illuminated by a selection of toy light-sabres and sparkly wands. That way, although they were wet and naked, at least I knew where they all were.

It's been a while since they all fitted in the one tub, though. Not sure what I'd do these days. Then again, now they're older, they're less prone to carelessly toddling off and falling down the stairs. Marie is rather fond of playing in the dark, in fact, and she sometimes manages to persuade Lewis to join her. On a few occasions recently, I've found them lurking in our internal bathroom with the lights out, attempting a hand of UNO while holding torches. I'm sure they'd both manage to get by for an hour or two without mains electricity and possibly even find the experience exciting.

I'm not so certain about Fraser. Give him a pen and paper and he's liable to hand it to me and then insist that I find some way to entertain him. He might go and hide under a blanket with a book but, bereft of computer games, he's just as likely to want me to play Scrabble.

I can keep myself busy without power; making sure the kids are occupied is much more like effort. I should probably go charge up all the portable electronics in the house to be on the safe side.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

*I suspect a load of plump robins over-stressed the cables by all turning up and posing for Christmas cards at the same time. I was never able to confirm this, however...

Labels: children (vol.5), stuff, town

 
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9:30 AM - Permanent Link - 2 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  It's not just me that's worn out

Dear Dave,

Nice try but I really, REALLY don't want a load of old baby clothes. Please don't send them here. Find another victim. Move along. I mean it. We're done.

Guess you're not planning any more either, if you're having a clear out. Good luck freeing up some space. Daisy's a year now, so you can palm off the steriliser to someone else and she'll have already outgrown the crib, the big pram, the baby bouncer and that crate of babygros you so kindly and 'amusingly' offered.

Honestly, don't even joke about it. If Sarah and I got cracking right now, Sprog4 would more than likely arrive on Marie's first day at school. Rather than getting to lie down for a well deserved rest, I'd be back to Nappy One. I don't have the energy for that. Merely contemplating the possibility is enough to trouble my sanity. Excuse me one moment while I pretend to be a turkey...

...

... gobble-gobble ...

...

It's probably best if I go back to thinking about stuff:

Yep, there are plenty of bits and bobs you can dispose off. If you're ruthless, you might be able to reclaim half a room. In contrast, I'm trying to work out which items I can eke out for another few months until Marie's through her current development spurt.

Take the buggy, for instance. It's been folded up for a month but I don't want to retire it completely because there may still be days where the weather is wet and cold and we have some distance to go. If Marie's tired on such an occasion, the buggy will come in handy... as long as the wheels don't fall off. Like so many things, we're not quite done with it yet but it's old and nearly spent. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it will hold out.

It's the same with paint. The boys stopped wanting to paint at home around the time they turned five and so I'm loathe to buy any new bottles, knowing that Marie might not use them much. Unfortunately, we've finished up several colours recently and we're now left with black, red, light red, blue, greeny blue, bronze, gold and evil purple.

This is not a particularly useful palette and the mixing potential is limited. It's hard to believe but she wanted some brown paint the other day and the closest I got was dark purple with metallic flecks. How is that possible? I always thought you could mix pretty much any selection of colours together and get brown. It certainly worked with the plasticine I had as a kid.

Which reminds me, all Marie's Play-Doh is decidedly dubious. It's kind of rubbery and a murky shade of green. She hasn't shown any interest in it since May, though. She's unlikely to play with it much now unless I get fresh tubs. There's no saying that she'll play with it much even if I do get fresh tubs, however. I might be as well giving up on the stuff entirely. We can always make biscuits if she wants to use cutters.

I've already given up on the large sheets of coloured paper she used to paint on. They were expensive and she's a prolific producer of works of art which could all be entitled Pink Spludge. It didn't seem worth it in the end. Worse still, she went through a monochrome phase where I would hand her a sheet of blue paper and she'd then proceed to paint every inch green (or, indeed, blue). Now she has to make do with cheap printer paper.

Out in the shed, we've got half a bag of sand left. Hopefully that's enough to bolster the muddy residue at the bottom of the sandpit and keep it in service one last summer. If not, I'll just empty the thing out and turn it into a water tray rather than cart a sack of powdered rock home from the shops simply to entertain the girl for three-quarters of an hour on the one sunny day next August.

When it comes to toys, I have no idea what we're going to get Marie for Christmas. The house is full of a huge accumulation of preschool stimulation as it is. Most of it she may never touch again. She'd rather make things with beads, play board games or take digital photographs of her brothers' ears. With a little careful rotation, the toys we have at the moment should keep her amused until she moves on to the next stage. What do school age girls covet anyway?

Bratz and make-up probably. Oh, great...

It's not all bad news, though. There are a few items in the household inventory we're not going to run out of any time soon. Chalk is one. We have several boxes of coloured chalk lying around but the kids have barely used three sticks worth. The problem is, once they've drawn a picture on the blackboard, they want to keep it. Forever. After six months, I can usually rub it off without them noticing, ready for another, but it doesn't exactly use up the chalk quickly.

We're also drowning in wax crayons. Every time we go to a restaurant, we seem to return home with three more little boxes of them. I'm thinking we should take a handful with us next time and leave them as part of the tip.

Oh, and if you want any stickers, we might be able to do you a deal. Goodness knows where they all come from.

When I was young, stickers were special. I maybe got a sheet of twenty every other birthday. I remember using them sparingly and then cutting up the bits of edging left on the sheet to salvage whatever I could. Now stickers come in boxes of a thousand and my kids simply don't know what to do with them. More than that, there's barely a day that goes by without one of them coming home from school with a sticker proudly stuck to their jumper for 'sitting nicely' or 'playing well' or 'working hard'. None of them has yet received a sticker for 'excellent work with stickers' but I'm sure it's only a matter of time...

Some supplies are running out slightly too fast, others will still be going strong when my grandchildren are done with them. There are a few things that are somewhere in between. For example, we have loads of felt-tips but hardly any of them work. It's the same with glue-sticks. I bought a stack of them not long ago but I can't ever seem to find one that has more than a millimetre of glue left and that isn't stained pink and encrusted with glitter. It's worrying. What have the kids been sticking?

Ho well, one day soon I'll be able to have a big clear out, pass plenty of stuff on and get the house back.

Then again, I used to dream blissfully about Marie getting older and not needing constant supervision at the swing-park. I imagined taking all three children along, setting them loose and then settling down on a bench to play my PSP while they entertained themselves. Unfortunately, Marie isn't quite at that stage yet and Fraser is already old enough to be easily bored by climbing frames. Now I suspect that I'll maybe manage to sneak five minutes of Lemmings some time next July. After that, I'll need to be playing catch or football with the boys whenever Marie's having a shot on the slides. I'm actually going to have to put in more effort.

I wouldn't get used to the extra space if I were you...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS Most of Marie's trousers don't reach down to her ankles any more. Sarah tells me that some of them aren't too small - they're not supposed to come down to her ankles. Which pairs are which is something of a mystery to me, so I'm thinking they'll all do until the New Year.

It's not skimping on essential clothing, it's fashion! Excellent.

Labels: children (vol.4), stuff

 
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9:30 AM - Permanent Link - 2 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Sing a song of sixpence

Dear Dave,

There are a number of films, games and books where the main protagonist starts out by waking up in a back alley with no memory of his life or identity. All he has to go on are the contents of his pockets. Usually these consist of a peculiar, unlabelled key, one half of a torn photograph and a bloody knife.

Unsurprisingly, it takes him a few days to work out he's a secret agent/terrorist/very unlucky librarian and he can go weeks without remembering he's married and has a wise-cracking teenage child. It's all very unfortunate.

I, however, am much more prepared for this kind of situation. I realised this the other day when I reached into my jacket and pulled out two paintings, a collage and approximately half a birthday cake.

This wasn't an entirely normal haul but it was strangely representative of the items I often find myself carrying around. My numerous (and extremely large) pockets are always crammed with stuff. I wouldn't get to the end of the alley before thinking, "Hmm... I suspect I may have left some children around here somewhere..."

On a typical trip to collect the boys from school, my pockets contain the following:


About the only thing that isn't here is some rye...

• Woolly hat and scarf. The scarf is a recent addition for Autumn but the hat stays with me all year - it keeps my head dry in the rain and is less bulky than a poncho or umbrella. In another week or two, I'll need gloves as well.
• Phone. I always carry this with me in case of emergencies. It usually creates emergencies by distracting me with a text message at inopportune moments. Then the battery dies.
• Keys. These are unlabelled but the keyring has photos of my children in it. (You know, in case they ever leave me alone for five minutes and I forget what they look like... or which fence I padlocked them to.)
• Six of Marie's elasticated hair rings. I could have sworn I only had two the other day. They're breeding.
• Two handkerchiefs - one for me and one for the children. I'm not too fussed about passing a cold round between them but I'd rather not have it myself, thank you very much.
• Assorted letters from school, nursery, clubs and church, handed to me by small children as they came out. I should really read them. It's on my to-do list. (I think that might be in here somewhere too...)
• Used bus ticket.
• Emergency pound coin for use in shopping trolleys and vending machines. Once upon a time it was also enough to get us all home on the bus. Thanks to inflation and the kids getting older, it's now only enough to buy some chocolate to keep us going as we trudge back in the rain.
• Two pairs of nail clippers - small one for them, large one for me. Do I really need these with me the constantly? Possibly not but it saves searching the house for them whenever one of us gets a hang-nail.
• Packet of mints. To stave off coffee breath. Also good for keeping the kids quiet while I read my text messages in an emergency.
• Wallet - bloated with library cards, leisure cards, loyalty cards, money-off vouchers, receipts for fresh fruit and vegetables, a forlorn five pound note and a very tired credit card. Oh and a blood donor card that's been waiting about five years for me to have time, energy and health simultaneously. Speaking of which:
• Packet of throat sweets. Yep, got a cold again. Think I may have muddled up the handkerchiefs last week.
• Loose change. Maybe if we scrape together this and all the cash the boys have found on the ground or in the return slots of snack machines, we can catch a bus after all...
• Empty sweetie wrapper. If there isn't a bin around, the kids simply hand their rubbish to me. Cheers.
• A reusable carrier bag. I haven't stocked up on fresh fruit, milk and bread since the day before yesterday. Better pop into Tesco on the way home...
• A small bottle of bubble mixture. The important thing is to make sure the lid is on really tight. (Throat sweets, phones and soapy liquid don't mix well.)
• A pink, sparkly fairy wand. How did this get here? Ho, well, at least it's not a large, cuddly Teletubby... or a used nappy... or a bag of vomit... Life is getting easier.

Scarily, after emptying my pockets to examine the contents, I found walking involved less effort. Nonetheless, now I don't carry a changing bag with me any more, I'm thinking I need to fit a small packet of wipes in somewhere.

And that's not all... I'm probably never going to wake up in an alley having lost my memory entirely but I am gradually forgetting everything anyway, thanks to a combination of tiredness, age and having my brain filled with information about pokémon, Mario and Angelina Ballerina. Bearing this in mind, carrying a diary and pen might not be a bad idea, too.

I may need more pockets.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS I met Anna from BalancedMum.com the other week. She offers career and life coaching to mums, enabling them to better juggle and enjoy all they're doing. I'm not quite that in touch with my feminine side yet but she seemed pleasant and to have a clue. I said I'd get you to pass on the link to Liz. (The site has an option to sign up for a newsletter of tips and ideas.)

PPS Now... Where did I leave those children...?

Labels: housedad (vol.3), stuff

 
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9:00 AM - Permanent Link - 3 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  No purchase necessary

Dear Dave,

Every day, my inbox seems to be full of emails wanting me to download software 'totally legally' for a fraction of the normal retail price. In between those emails are some others wanting me to confirm my identity and 'prevent fraud' by clicking through and logging into my online bank account. As a bonus, several lovely Nigerian ladies are convinced that I might want to extend each of them a small loan in order to release their late husbands' fortunes from the clutches of government bureaucracy. Finally, half the world appears to believe that a certain part of my anatomy is either not large enough or not functioning properly and that they have the means to help.

For a small fee...

I used to sort through all the junk but it's got totally out of hand. I've had to set my anti-spam program to nuclear. From now on, I will no longer receive invitations to sign up for a 'bona fide' degree which requires 'no tests/books/classes or exams' and nor will I be required to reflect on the likely efficacy of dieting programs which promise a 'natural approach' to weight loss 'without feeling hungry'. These missives will be vapourised the second they pass through my wi-fi card.

The computer should really make some kind of sound effect, like the little suckers are thudding against the iris in Stargate SG-1. That way, I'd know my inbox is still working. Suddenly, I'm barely getting any email at all.

Perhaps I should relax the spam filter and pretend I have friends. Maybe that 'bored, Russian girl' is still looking for someone to have fun with...

Hmmm. Or maybe not.

Hopefully it will be a while before I have to explain email confidence tricks to the children, but I do find myself having to teach them to be a touch more shrewd on occasion. 'Katerina' may not be after them but they face a few scams peculiar to youth.

For instance, sometimes their contemporaries blatantly lie to them. I'm now very wary whenever Fraser wants to invite a classmate around. All too often, he's been keen to have a visit from someone he doesn't particularly like, simply because the child in question has claimed to have the same computer game as him. In order to avoid disappointment, I make sure to check the child has supplied some information about the game that Fraser hasn't given them first.

Of course, adults lie to children, too, but kids are used to that - they know there's no such thing as the tooth fairy, that we aren't nearly there and that it will hurt. They have a sure-fire way of overcoming these scams: they ignore everything adults tell them. After all, adults talk nonsense.

My children laugh at the thought that some stranger might try to lure them away with the promise of sweets. They know better than to believe such things. I find myself compelled to point out that an adult could bypass subterfuge entirely and just pick them up and steal them. They laugh some more. I pick them up, carry them off and hold them upside down over the toilet. I think they've got the message now.

Another scam aimed at children can best be summarised by the phrase 'Gotta catch 'em all'. True, this has been around far longer than Pokémon (remember those football sticker albums?) but it's probably never been milked to such a degree as by Squirtle, Bulbasaur and friends. There's everything from cuddly toys to curtains. Fraser put six pounds into a vending machine once in a desperate effort to get an inch-high plastic replica of Pikachu. He got five Kyogres and a Plusle. It was heartbreaking.

There is another con which is worse, however:

Shiny packets.

Kids will pay good money for something in a shiny packet. They may not even care what the thing is. Actually, they almost certainly won't care what the thing is, although girls are a little more discerning - they insist on the packet being pink as well as shiny.

I suspect that by the time my children have progressed beyond this phase, I will already be explaining about the email scams. Kids have a strange understanding of the value of money. I have to keep telling them that spending one pound fifty on the phone-in quiz at the end of a TV show is essentially a waste equivalent to binning a large bar of chocolate without even licking it. Life gets even more complicated when we turn a corner in the local supermarket and we're presented with a display of sweets on Buy One Get One Free. It can be hard work persuading Fraser that purchasing as many as we can carry isn't sound financial planning. 'But, Daddy!' he says, 'The more we buy, the more money we save!'

He used to be sincere but lately he's had much more of a sly grin about him. I suspect he's trying to scam me.

Then again, maybe he's right...

No, no, I must resist gadgets in shiny packets and BOGOF offers for things I don't need one of, let alone two...

Perhaps the children won't ever completely get over the attraction of surrounding themselves with sparkly bargains. (I certainly haven't.) Maybe I can only encourage them to resist. More than simply pointing out when they're being duped, I need to teach them to search out friendship and meaning, fulfilment and purpose. I need to teach them to love themselves and the people around them, not stuff. That way, the world will be a better place and my house will accumulate less junk.

It's going to be a long, difficult road.

In the meantime, at least I've learnt to turn things to my advantage. If I want them to take an interest in an educational toy, I make sure to wrap it in silver foil, leave it in the middle of the room and tell them not to touch it.

Works every time.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: children (vol.4), stuff

 
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1:30 PM - Permanent Link - 2 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Cut-price time travelling

Dear Dave,

One of the arguments presented against the possibility of time travel is that, if it worked, we'd know about it - we'd have been visited by bus-loads of very smug people from the future by now.

Personally, I think there are a number of reasons why any successful time traveller would try to remain inconspicuous. More than that, they're bound to be very rare, since there's every chance they'd fail to pass on technical details of their discovery. For a start, travelling in time is extremely dangerous. It's well known that time travel almost always ends in being eaten by a dinosaur, enslaved by intelligent chimpanzees or exterminated by a Dalek. None of these outcomes is really conducive to getting scientific papers widely published.

Then there's the issue of paradoxes:

Thanks to Back to the Future, everyone is aware of the unfortunate consequences of chatting up their own mum. These simply aren't worth the happy side-effect of creating rock'n'roll. While this particular situation is easy to anticipate, other kinks in the chain of cause and effect are harder to avoid. For example, anyone who devotes their life to saving a loved one killed in a tragic pogo stick accident is asking for trouble.

What if, after years of expensive and exhausting work, they manage to make that leap back in time and warn their childhood sweetheart not crank up the spring and go for a bounce through the firing range next to the old, abandoned mine by the cliffs? If they avert the disaster, their past self has no reason to toil away inventing a time machine in order to travel back and avert the disaster. Worst case scenario, the entire fabric of the universe unravels like a toddler's knitted sweater snagged at the top of a helter-skelter. At the very least, someone's going to disappear up their own worm-hole.

Again, publications will to be few and far between.

Even if a time traveller were to avoid immediate mishap, there are only two likely uses for a time machine:

1. Travelling back in time and betting on the horses.
2. Travelling forwards in time and stealing some cool technology.

Both of these activities require secrecy. Too many people muscle in on the gambling scam and odds and outcomes change, inflation rockets and shadowy Italian crimelords begin to get upset. Too many people start leaping about stealing technology and someone's going to get the smart idea to cut down on the competition by travelling backwards, nicking the time machine plans and giving them to their earlier selves. In both cases, the risk of a paradox or a beating rises sharply with the number of travellers.

Yep, anyone who invents a time machine is going to keep it to themselves.

This is annoying because there are all sorts of advantages to living in the past. You don't have to go back that far at all before the music's better, for instance. Go back a little further and you won't have to worry about the environment because you'll be too busy worrying about nuclear Armageddon. Go back far enough and you can impress people with nothing more than a box of matches.

No matter how far you go, however, it's just plain cheaper:

A month after its release, I saw a computer game second-hand for half the original price. I resisted the urge to buy it and waited another couple of months. By then it was that price new and the second-hand price had halved again. Sure, when I took it home, I was playing a game that had been out for three months, but by living only a quarter of a year in the past, I'd made a saving of seventy-five percent.

It's the same with DVDs. One month a film is fifteen quid, the next it's in a 5 for 30 offer. By linking my home cinema via a time-warp directly to 1996, I save a fortune.

Interestingly, though, it's not the case that the further back in time one lives, the greater the saving made. With computer games, there's a point when older games start being harder to find. Really old games can become more expensive again as supply diminishes. With DVDs, the cheap version may be withdrawn in favour of the premium priced Special Edition.

What's the sweet spot? How far in the past is it necessary to live in order to enjoy the best deals?

For computer games, I'd say it's about three years. For DVDs, it's maybe only two. For music, perhaps it's five years but this is going to increase as digital downloads take over. There aren't going to be many CDs of recent music available to buy in the carboot sales of the future. Choice will be limited to the old, decent stuff bought by people like us. (Shame.)

Clothes require a little foresight. It's more complicated than simply popping down to the charity shop and seeing what fits. Very old clothes are cheap but they're likely to be falling apart and have a totally unshiftable smell of grannies about them. Relatively new clothes will be expensive and look remarkably dated. The trick is to buy clothes from ten years ago but then stick them out of harm's way in a cupboard for another five until they come back into fashion again. It's maybe time to pick up some outfits in lime green and bright orange that are going for a song...

As for fresh food, it's a case of living in last week and buying all the items that are marked down because they're rapidly approaching their use-by dates. Of course, the crunchy food will be soft and the soft food will be crunchy, so make sure to purchase a selection and choose recipes which require a variety of ingredients. It will all even out in the end.

Bear these tips in mind and your ears, eyes, mouth and wardrobe will be living in different temporal eras, but you'll save a pile of cash.

Don't tell anyone, though. We can't all do it. Someone's got to be seduced by the hype and pay over the odds for stuff on day of release in order for us to buy it second-hand later. And think of our pensions - if no one feeds the corporate machine, the stock markets will collapse and we're all doomed.

Remember: Time travel - keep it secret.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS We'd all have a Star Trek style holo-deck in our living-rooms if they weren't just as beguiling as time machines. A guy in Pasadena invented the technology years ago. He was going to go next door and tell his neighbour but then he popped into the thing to give it a quick test-drive. That was 1993. It was simply too much fun to come out again. (Of course, he thinks he came out in 2001...)

Labels: computer games, science, stuff

 
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10:25 AM - Permanent Link - 1 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Trousers are more important than Grand Theft Auto

Dear Dave,

Famously, the last time I went into the city to buy trousers, I came back with an Xbox 360 instead. It was a couple of years ago and I made the mistake of going into GAME at the start of my trip. I was so surprised to find the consoles in stock, I bought one immediately. I hadn't counted on how much they weigh. I was an aching, sweaty mess within minutes. I half-heartedly glanced round the menswear department of John Lewis and headed home.

Bearing in mind that my second-best pair of trousers had a hole in the knee so large that it kept catching on furniture as I walked by, I should have dumped the Xbox in our hall and headed straight back to the shops. I hate clothes shopping, though. Psyching myself up to go twice in one day was beyond me. (Not to mention that I had a new games console to play with.) The following Saturday seemed soon enough to buy trousers.

Unfortunately, it was another three months before I bought any. We were staying with my parents in rural Norfolk and I ended up going to the nearest small town to buy some. The situation was desperate by that stage. Even my best pair of trousers had developed excess ventilation. There was only one shop in the town that sold clothes that I might wear and that were in my price range. It was a case of buying anything which fitted. I did that.

The results looked fine and I had no more clothing worries until a six weeks ago, when I discovered my current second-best pair of trousers had a gaping hole. It wasn't in the knee this time. I got by for a while by coordinating my underwear with the trousers but it wasn't really a long-term solution. I had to return to central Edinburgh and brave the horrors of Princes Street in search of something to keep me decent.

A few years back, a couple of menswear retailers weren't doing so well and I saw an interview with a director of one of the companies on Working Lunch. He basically blamed us for his woes. With a touch of irritation, he noted that men in an age range between twenty-five and forty-five don't buy clothes.

This isn't entirely true. We do buy socks and underpants when our partners insist. We also need two sets of work clothes (one to wear, one to wash). Housedads even need five sets of work clothes (one to wear, three to wash, one to beat with a stick until it stays still long enough to be incinerated). Then there's a few t-shirts for sunny weekends, a new pair of pyjamas every decade or so and, erm... er... ...

Yeah, anyway, we do buy clothes. What the guy was really saying was that we only buy what we need to keep us warm and to prevent us getting arrested. This is true. My mission objective as I boarded the bus was purely to find sufficient apparel to stave off hypothermia and custody. Avoiding looking ridiculous was desirable but not essential.

Since it was last Tuesday, everywhere was plastered with adverts for Grand Theft Auto IV. I ignored them. I had to concentrate on buying trousers. I had to not think about it being release day for one of the greatest computer games ever made.

Trousers.

Must buy trousers...

It was harder than I expected. I don't mean steering clear of GTA. That was easy - every shop selling it was too full of people wanting their copy for me to be able to get inside. I'm talking about finding trousers I liked enough to cough up the asking price. As it's a while since I regularly went clothes shopping, my expectations were out of kilter with reality. I was looking for trousers that had fallen through a worm-hole from 1995, complete with a 1995 price. Worse yet, there were shops I used to patronise that I walked into and felt almost too old for. I can probably carry off wearing faded jeans at the moment but in a year or three? I doubt it. Considering how infrequently I buy clothes, this was an issue. I didn't know what to do.

My feet took charge and carried me into Gamestation on autopilot. After fighting my way past all the people buying Grand Theft Auto IV, I discovered that Wii Fit was in stock. (The emergency team digging Nintendo's minions out of a mountain of cash must have hurried the job along so they were ready for a call-out from Rockstar.) I had games to trade and some vouchers to spend and, well, one thing led to another and I found myself without new trousers but carrying a heavy piece of interactive hardware. This felt spookily familiar.

I considered going home with my prize but I knew I'd never live it down. Perspiring slightly, I continued my quest.

Luckily, the Wii Fit balance board isn't quite as cumbersome as a 360. It is close, though. I resolved to find some suitable clothing as quickly as I could, before my arm fell off.

Things didn't improve. Everywhere I went, there were more bizarre clothes that would have needed to be half the price for me to take a chance on them. I thought one pair of trousers was OK until I realised the legs zipped off to turn them into shorts. I'm sure that's a feature my kids would love to experiment with endlessly but I wasn't so keen.

It was all a succession of baggy sacks with too many pockets, odd jackets and pink shirts with blue stripes and matching purple ties. I was tempted to flaunt some of my rips and get arrested, just so I'd be able to wear some decent coveralls.

Then I walked past British Home Stores. I stopped and walked back. I didn't feel quite old enough to shop there but I decided I'd better have a look, for the sake of completeness. Sagging from despair, weariness and the knowledge I'd turned into my dad, I went inside and took the escalator up to the first floor.

I was greeted by row upon row of chinos in unremarkable colours. They were even in the sale.

I had come home.

Despite it being lunchtime, there weren't many other shoppers around. I can only assume they were off buying Grand Theft Auto IV somewhere. The couple of blokes I did see hunting through the racks were fifteen to twenty years older than me. This was disturbing. I'd apparently moved up an age bracket in my consumer preferences. Who knew what I was going to start feeling the urge to purchase? Slip-on shoes? A cloth cap? A newspaper that didn't come free on the bus?

I found myself called towards the tartan slippers.

Trousers...

Must buy trousers...

I concentrated on the task in hand. I was surrounded by suitable trousers and I needed four pairs. Which ones to buy? First choice was black. I'm not keen on brown. It lacks the style of black. White was out of the question. It needs washed more often than other colours (like black, for instance). Beige (or biscuit or light brown or whatever it is) was nice but almost as impractical as white - I need something which doesn't show grass-stains and dirt. You know, like black. I considered getting a grey pair but, although I'd wear them, I'd be wishing they were... well... black.

Basically, I was thinking black.

I couldn't quite bring myself to buy four pairs of identical black trousers, however. I opted for two black pairs and two dark blue pairs. I'll probably only wear the blue ones in emergencies but, hey, I tried...

I bought some plain, white t-shirts as well and checked to see if they had any shirts in my colour (light burgundy). They didn't but the three I have already will last a while yet - they're only threadbare, not full of holes. Who cares that one has paint on and the cuffs are frayed on another? At least they still have most of their buttons.

I cut my losses, went home and collapsed. Mission accomplished. More than that, Wii Fit had given me its first work-out and I hadn't taken it out of the box.

Why is it so hard to buy clothes? I like to think it's because I don't care what I wear and so it takes me ages to get round to it. The truth is more that I'm incredibly fussy about what I wear and I know that it's going to be a real effort finding the things I want. These things are smart-casual, trousers (preferably black), plain t-shirts (white or black) and collared shirts doomed to a life of unbuttoned crumpledness (burgundy) i.e. what I always get. I should simply walk into shops, point to myself and go, 'Do you have this, except without the holes and stains?'

I could change my look but it's not worth it. When I got contact lenses as a teenager, one of my friends said, 'Why do you have those? You looked better with glasses.' Six months later, when I couldn't wear the lenses for a few days, the same guy said, 'Why have you gone back to glasses? You looked better without them.' Since then, I've never been much bothered by fashion.

I like the way I look and other people have either got used to it or just don't care. Why mess with that?

I'm going to regret not buying more of those black chinos...

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: stuff, Wii, Xbox 360

 
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11:20 AM - Permanent Link - 3 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Living without Wii Fit

Dear Dave,

I forgot to pre-order Wii Fit. I will probably be the only person in the country not spending the weekend hopping on top of a white plastic tea-tray in the vain hope that a videogame can make them slim and athletic.

Since everyone at Nintendo is currently buried under an ever-increasing mountain of cash and it will take a while to dig them out, there may not be any more stock for some time. What am I going to do? I was relying on this game to make exercise fun and enticing. What better way to lose weight and increase muscle tone than by jumping up and down on a plastic slab in front of the TV in the comfort of my own living room? I've been chain-eating biscuits in nervous anticipation.

Now I'm going to have to go outside and run around or something...

Wait! Surely I must be able to avoid that. Let's see... Hmm... How about...? Yes... These things should do it:



Bear with me while I try a quick work-out...

...

gasp... wheeze...

... ... irk... gasp...

... boing... ...

ouch... wheeze... ... ...

... twiddle... Argh!

wheeze...

Ooh... thud...

...

...

limp...

...

OK, well, that wasn't so bad. It transpires that I already have enough interactive entertainment to get myself leaping about in an aerobic fashion. I could have been slim and athletic years ago. If only switching the stuff on and putting the right disc in didn't seem like such an effort...

I started my work-out with a shot on Sony's EyeToy, the motion-detecting camera for the PlayStation 2. Once I'd blown the dust off it and booted up one of the many minigame collections, I spent quite a while waving my arms about frantically to wash windows, set off fireworks and slap ninjas. Getting the lighting right was tricky and navigating the menus was a pain but I'd forgotten how much fun the thing is. The maraca-wielding antics of Sega Superstars are particularly invigorating. As with all the most energetic EyeToy games, however, it made my arms sore pretty quick but didn't really utilise the rest of my muscles. (At least I didn't put my back out this time, though.)

In an attempt to mimic the full Wii Fit experience and exercise my entire body, I played EyeToy while hopping up and down on one leg. This worked great for the five seconds until I fell over. Then I tried it on the trampoline. This was maybe a little ambitious - my scoring went out the window. It was nearly followed by me.

I moved on to Wii Sports, the collection of sporting simulations which comes bundled with the Wii. You know you're out of shape when pretending to hit a baseball thirty times brings you out in a sweat. I switched to tennis and spent a couple of minutes leaping round the room like a loon, trying to smash a backhand winner past my cartoon opponent. Then I remembered that sitting down and flicking my wrist every so often would work just as well. It wasn't as much fun or exercise but I was getting tired and I didn't care.

I took a breather and did some bowling. After a while, this made my elbow twinge, so I opted for Mario and Sonic at the Olympics (also on Wii). There was something deeply surreal about waggling my arms really fast in an attempt to get Bowser to win a gold medal. I broke some world records, got sore shoulders and was hugely glad that I don't yet have man-boobs big enough to require a sports bra. I quickly changed games to Link's Crossbow Training and started shooting targets with the Wii Zapper. My arms started to complain almost instantly once more and, again, the trampoline didn't do wonders for my high score.

Last up was the dance mat. This was a bit more like it in terms of getting my whole body moving. At least it would have been, if only I had rhythm and coordination. The good feeling from the exercise was counteracted by the frustration of being rubbish at stepping on the correct pad in time to the beat. It was like a Twister-related torture device. I collapsed in a contorted heap of limbs and gimmicky videogame controllers.

I crawled off to play Tomb Raider. I knew I needed to do some stretching as a warm down but I was too tired. I decided to watch Lara do some instead. Unfortunately, this somehow made me lose track of time and I forgot about going to collect Marie from nursery. I had to sprint along the road in order to avoid being overdue and getting a telling off from the teachers. This was easily a harder work-out than everything else put together. I did look rather a sight as I panted and perspired my way into the cloakroom, though.

The only conclusion I can draw from all this is that being late for things results in more effective exercise than videogames. It's cheaper, too. The videogames just ensure there are fewer witnesses. So, if you have managed to get your own copy of Wii Fit, the best way to maximise its potential is to close the curtains before you switch it on and then hide all your clocks. (You know it makes sense.)

Now... I'm going to go have a lie down.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: computer games, stuff, Wii

 
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9:30 AM - Permanent Link - 0 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  HD-DVD RIP

Dear Dave,

When I was small, my parents' TV had a remote control with a handful of buttons on it. You could turn the set on, select a channel (from a choice of three) and maybe even change the volume. It worked by sound rather than infra-red but it was probably pretty swish for the time. Pulling the curtains shut quickly did always switch the programme over to ITV, though. The remote apparently never functioned quite the same after I buried it in a bowl of washing powder, either. Oh, and we had to wedge a matchstick under the power switch on the set itself near the end. Still, getting to watch Button Moon was a simple affair: Turn on at exactly mid-day, insert matchstick, press button three. In the event of unwanted BBC news due to remote control failure, close curtains violently. Sit back and enjoy.

It was quite a contrast, yesterday, when Fraser rushed upstairs while I was giving the other two a bath and demanded to know how to pause Ben 10 so he could go to the toilet without missing anything. I suggested the old-fashioned method of waiting for the adverts and then making a mad scramble for the facilities. Unfortunately, he'd already wasted half the ad break coming to find me. I didn't want to leave the two younger ones alone in water, so I had to attempt to explain to Fraser what to do. This was tricky because the show was playing from the TiVo but he was watching it in the kitchen. The TiVo isn't in the kitchen. For the remote to work, he needed to turn on the video sender. Turning on the video sender was liable to switch the TV to the AV channel, though. This wasn't likely to go well.

The alternative was to fire up the TV in the lounge and control the TiVo locally. Except, of course, there was no guarantee that the lounge TV would be displaying the correct AV input. Also, the TiVo control in the lounge is kept out of the reach of children, so he'd need to fetch the one from the kitchen - if he could even be certain which was the TiVo remote from amongst the pile of five controls. More than that, we don't normally let the kids touch the TiVo remote in case they somehow delete things, so he would probably need to bring the remote to me, in order for me to show him which button was 'Pause'. Since he was unlikely to figure any of this out before the ads ended, I knew I would also have to teach him how to rewind. This was bound to go badly.

I told him to just go to the toilet and that I'd sort it out later.

Luckily, he had substantial business to attend to, so, before he was finished, I was able to safely nip down, turn on the video sender, rewind, pause and tell him how to get it going again. Phew!

Twenty minutes later, he came and found me to complain that the Wii wasn't working in the lounge. I realised the problem instantly. Since the video sender was on, the AV auto-switching was automatically disabled. He needed to switch the video sender off. He's not normally allowed to touch the video sender, however, because... Well, I don't know, he just isn't. I gave him precise instructions what to do. He came back and told me that the video sender had more buttons than I remembered.

I lost it a bit.

After I'd calmed down, I left Marie under a towel and went to check. Fraser turned out to be right. I switched the thing off, the Wii came on and Marie finally got dried. It was all a bit of a palaver.

Thinking about it later, I really shouldn't have got frustrated with Fraser. Babysitters frequently give up trying to get our AV equipment to show them anything other than blank screen, Mario or CSI. These tend to be what come up by default and viewing anything else can be fairly complicated. This is partly because we've got too many gadgets chained together but it's mainly because electronics these days can be very confusing.

Take our DVD player, for example. The remote control has forty-eight buttons. Most days, I get by with five of them. I normally only ever use sixteen of them. This means that two-thirds of the buttons I haven't touched since I was fiddling around with it on the day we bought it. (Actually, that's not entirely true - I have accidentally touched most of them a few times but I've always regretted it...)

I can only imagine that gadgets are designed by people who use short-cut keys. The kind of people who can press Control-Shift-#-K followed by Alt-Tab-Backspace-Q and then Escape-/-[-H and make their computer download The Matrix, burn it to DVD and print a label while they're still reading the online version of T3.

The average consumer doesn't use short-cut keys. I've been using computers for twenty-five years and I still save files by clicking on the menu. I was quite pleased with myself for utilising the 'Home' key the other day...

I like technology and I'm not stupid, so it makes me wonder how everyone else is getting on. How many buttons on their DVD remotes are they ignoring? Almost all of them, I suspect, and that's turned out to be very bad news for Toshiba.

Yes. HD-DVD is dead. Long live Blu-ray! The great high definition disc format war is over.

And do you know why? It's because modern TVs are too complicated for the assistants in electronics stores to operate.

Let me explain. HD-DVD had a head start and cheaper players so it really should have done better than it has. A million machines sold globally? That makes the Dreamcast look successful. The problem is, an HD-DVD player is pointless without a high definition television. So, before Toshiba could convince us to buy HD-DVD players, they had to convince us to buy HD-TVs.

That really hasn't gone hugely well. For a start, television technology has already changed a couple of times in the last decade, with both widescreen and integrated digital taking off. The kind of people who want a large TV have shelled out for one relatively recently and don't necessarily have space and cash for another. On top of that, there's not much high definition stuff to watch and most of what there is involves significant extra expense. HD-TVs aren't the obvious objects of desire that manufacturers thought they would be. We need them sold to us. Heck, it's only about five years since I was watching Buffy recorded Long Play onto VHS from a fuzzy aerial signal. That was good enough. Now I can watch Galactica on DVD in widescreen. It's like a cinema in my own home! How much difference can HD make?

Which is where those assistants come in. I should walk into the electronics section of a department store and be blown away by the clarity and resolution. For some reason, however, most places that sell HD-TVs don't seem to think it necessary to set up their display models properly or to feed them with an HD source. In fact, most of the sets usually look like they're showing something recorded on Long Play VHS. Considering a decent HD-TV costs two or three times what I paid for my pin-sharp 'normal' telly, this doesn't make for a hugely tempting purchase. And that's before getting into the nitty-gritty of contrast ratios, response times, pixel counts and AV sockets.

I barely go out, I'm a keen gamer and I watch DVDs all the time - I'm a prime target for being sold a high definition entertainment combo. Admittedly, I was never going to be in the first wave of those buying HD-TVs but, if I'd got one a year ago, I might well have also got the HD-DVD add-on for my Xbox 360. That I haven't got an HD-TV yet was always going to spell HD-DVD's doom.

Sony meanwhile (at great expense) has slipped Blu-ray into ten million homes via Trojan PS3s. Sure, PS3 games look better on an HD telly, but you don't need an HD-TV to give a PS3 purpose. Sony is hoping that, as people get round to buying new TVs, they'll discover the joys of the Blu-ray player that's already in their living rooms and start buying discs in a big way.

I'm not so sure that's going to happen, though. Just because HD-DVD has lost, doesn't mean Blu-ray has won. Not yet, anyway.

I'm curious as to how many people are playing Blu-ray movies on a standard TV via the composite AV output of their PS3 and are wondering what all the fuss is about. Word of mouth from that can't be good for future sales.


Even those who know what they're doing may not make Blu-ray the success which Sony hopes. Personally, when I do finally get an HD-TV, I'll almost certainly get a PS3 now because they're still relatively cheap as Blu-ray players and far more versatile. I'll even rent some Blu-ray discs. I'm not going to buy many, though. Replacing my DVD collection isn't worth the expense and DVDs are more useful anyway. We have at least nine devices in the house capable of playing DVDs. I can watch DVDs everywhere apart from in the shower. More importantly, I can sit the kids in front of a DVD anywhere, whether we're at home or not. I can't see Blu-ray replacing DVD. Yeah, it will be nice for a bit on the big telly in the lounge but I'll still be using DVDs most of the time, right up until digital downloads finally take over.

The only way Blu-ray will survive long term is if digital download devices remain a complicated faff to use. However, if Toshiba can quickly turn their resources to producing some really simple ones, they may have the last laugh yet. How simple? Well, let's just say that the testing should involve a harassed adult two floors away from the equipment relaying operating instructions to a seven-year-old who desperately needs the toilet. If the thing functions correctly without inducing frustration, sarcasm or warm dampness in any of the test subjects then they'll be onto a winner.

I'd be in the first wave for that.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

Labels: PS3, stuff, TV

 
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9:30 AM - Permanent Link - 2 comments - Post comment - Links to this post

  Looking back

Dear Dave,

Well, here it is - my one hundredth letter to you. Yeah, a few of them were quite short and several were the unhinged ramblings of a man who hadn't had enough sleep but it's still a milestone in our friendship, I feel. If this were an American sitcom there'd be two possible ways we could mark the occasion:

1. The expensive option: I could draft in a celebrity to guest star.
2. The cheapskate option: We could sit on a sofa and reminisce via flashbacks while everyone laughs at how our hair used to look.

Guess which one you're getting...

At least, I would reminisce if I could actually remember anything much from before last Saturday. One of the things about parenthood is that you quickly end up living in the here and now. The kids' bedtime looms so large in the future that beyond it is a mystery. Repetition and lack of sleep make the past a woolly fog in which events swirl without context or chronology. Some occasions stand out clearly but I have lost whole months and years in that temporal soup. If you ever find out what happened to 2003, let me know...

I am aware, however, that a few things have changed for me since I started writing to you. For instance, the baby department at John Lewis now feels like a forgotten world. I was there yesterday, looking round for a suitable present for Rob and Kate and Squirtle. (Turns out they had a false alarm on Tuesday. Still, any day now...) As I stared at all the shelves and shelves of gadgets and gizmos, it was like opening a drawer at home and finding flared trousers, a vinyl LP and a ZX Spectrum. Although the stuff brought back fond memories, I was heartily relieved I didn't need it any more. Marie still uses a cup with a spout, the buggy continues to cling to life and carseats will be with us for a few years yet but almost everything else is behind us. There's no more faffing with sterilisers, nappies, folding toilet seats, musical mobiles or high chairs. A year ago, we were getting there but now we're very definitely past the baby stage.

My sympathies to you and Liz as you prepare for all the fun of breast pumps and frozen milk when she heads back to work. It's good to be able to feed my kids any old thing that's lying around rather than spending my time stopping them from feeding it to themselves.

Unexpectedly, as I hunted about amongst the baby stuff, I noticed that technology has already moved on from 'my day'. Double-decker buggies are now much more common and someone has finally made rubbery ice-cube trays specifically designed for freezing portions of home-made baby food. The foldable baby bath didn't look very convincing, though. The foldable potty would have collapsed under the weight of any of my remarkably large children.

I'm much more cynical about these things than I was back when I was a fresh-faced prospective parent. I've bought my fair share of baby gizmos that didn't work, from a baby-listener that kept losing signal to a portable bottle-warmer that used an exothermic chemical reaction to turn cold milk into almost tepid milk in the length of time it took for a baby to give up and fall asleep. I've had non-spill cups that leaked everywhere and others that my kids couldn't get liquid out of even when they were trying. Neither of these were ideal. I was particularly fond of the plastic bib with a lip at the bottom that caught half-chewed food in one handy place as it fell - all the better for Fraser to swivel the bib round and tip the contents in his ear...

It's probably for the best that I don't have to go back to parent and toddler. Before long, I would have been the grumpy old man in the corner. 'When I was looking after babies, we didn't have any of this new-fangled video-on-demand nonsense. We had to make do with CBeebies, no matter what was on. I lived through the great Tweenies Bank Holiday Funday of 2004. You youg'uns wouldn't understand, but I was there. I still have the mental scars. You hear me? I still have the scars!'

As the flashbacks started to build, I decided to choose something quickly. I got them the same clip-on pram/carseat toy arch I get everyone and beat a hasty retreat.

Yep, things have changed. Not least, the kids are growing up. Lewis is at school now but it feels like he's been there forever. I can't really remember what it was like when he was still at nursery. Fraser has been at school forever but I guess it's his reading ability that has really come on recently. Of course, it's Marie who's changed the most in the last year. She's sleeping properly, eating properly, generally using the toilet and has become quite a talker. A year ago, she could say things like, 'I like pink!' and 'I go kitchen.' Now she can say things like, 'We're having a party in the lounge, so we need to be tied up!' She can also grin mischievously and say, 'Babies aren't nice... for eating,' before laughing in a scary fashion.

These conversational gambits do have a tendency to worry and confuse visitors but I only have myself to blame:

Sarah: What do fairies make?

Marie: Cakes!

Me: Yep. From teeth.

Marie: OK.

Ho, well, she'll grow out of it soon. It's a while since she believed everything I told her and it won't be long before she starts arguing with absolutely anything I say. Sigh. Enjoy having a really little one while you can. Daisy will be stomping around whining before you know it.

I suppose if it ever gets to me, though, and I long for the simple days of caring for a baby who only complains about basic, physical needs, I can borrow one of the slimy little critters from Rob. Then I can hand it back, go home and sleep without being disturbed.

Result.

It's been a long year but things are on the up. All the best for the next one. Thanks for the letters, advice and encouragement.

Yours in a woman's world,

Ed.

PS The extra peace and quiet I've had recently has given me a chance to check out DadLabs more closely. They do humorous videos about dad stuff. Worth a look.

Labels: stuff

 
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10:15 AM - Permanent Link - 1 comments - Post comment - Links to this post