What To Watch?

I need your help.

My wife is going away for a bit with the kids shortly (don't worry, they're coming back!) and I shall have around two weeks on my own in the house. Now one thing I am very bad at, apart from putting my socks in the laundry basket, is watching films. So this is a perfect opportunity to catch up - but of the hundreds of possibilities out there, where to start?

In my forthcoming 'man-time', and allowing for football matches, beer consumption as well as actually still having to go to work, I reckon a target of half a dozen good films is not unreasonable. They're probably going to be ones that Solveig won't be bothered about and I'll save any animated films to watch with the kids but other than that I have free rein. I think I'd like to see 'Inglourious Basterds' and I'm fairly sure I don't want to bother with 'The Road' but after that I'm open to suggestions.

What would you watch on your own in the house? Suggest away!

Overheard #100

My goodness, we've reached a ton of Overheards in a shade under two years. Which is approximately one a week, by sheer coincidence. Anyway, just now:

"Oh God, I'm so not bothered about Celebrity Big Brother."
*pause*
"So, who's on it?"

In A Spin

Another nice 'modern life is rubbish' piece from Mr Brooker (yes, I know it was a couple of weeks ago; here, have a biscuit)

Hell isn't other people.

Hell is buying washing machines from other people

Particularly fond of the final paragraph:

Someone needs to go further and launch a chain called Shambles, where all the familiar shortcomings are actively promoted as part of the "experience". The staff wear ironic dunce caps and vulture costumes; if you want to actually buy something, they walk to a stockroom 10 miles away in a neighbouring county to check its availability, methodically harass you into taking out five-year cover using a subtle combination of CIA "extraordinary rendition" psychological techniques and unashamed sulking, then arrange for it to be delivered at 7am by a surly man who'll arrive 10 hours late on purpose, deliberately bring a BD4437BX instead of the BD3389BZ you ordered, attach a magic hidden "hobbling" device that causes it to malfunction immediately before the next bank holiday weekend, screw your partner, scare your kids, wreck your life, and break wind on your doorstep as he's leaving. All of which is heavily advertised as an integral part of the service.

I really think someone should get on Dragons Den and pitch it. God, how I'd love to see their faces.

Grammar, We Love You

Scene: Sunday morning in a kitchen in SE6. A man is reading the newspaper and drinking a coffee. A small child in pyjamas enters.

"Daddy, we need to go to the shop."

"Oh, why's that Freyja?"

"Well, we don't have no apples."

"Right, we'd better do that later on then. By the way, it should really be 'We don't have ANY apples'"

"I know Daddy - that's why we need to go to the shop..."

I reckon she's got a future writing for Two Pints...

Overheard #91

A quiet Friday night in led to a confusing discussion about various actors:

"You know that chap? The hobbit. The one that plays the hobbit. The hobbity one"

Turns out in fact we were both talking about Orlando Bloom (who plays the elf).

Wooden It Be Nice

So there comes a time in a man's life when he requires a wooden structure away from the familial home in which he can keep his vast collection of paint stirring sticks, listen to Test Match Special and spend some time in deep contemplation, growing a beard. That time has come. Shed time.

My DIY Dad wholeheartedly agreed with me and the parents popped down last weekend, with Mum delighted to be allocated full-time keeping-Theo-away-from-power-tools duty. After Homebase (better selection, cheaper price and quicker delivery than B&Q, in case you were interested) had delivered the appropriate wooden bits (forty-seven) and we had established that we had enough electric drills (three), we set to with the construction. Actually that's not quite true; I had to go to work on the Friday so he spent the morning digging an 'ole...

Upon my return, there were 28 sacks of rubble, an ex-tree to take to the tip and a base to be bolted together and dropped in...

Standing back, admiring our handiwork I squinted at the frame, leading me to casually remark that it "looked about level to me". So we tested that theory...

Bloody hell, it was! Hurrah, saved about an hour's banging things randomly with hammers :)

The next thing was to get the sides up. There aren't many photos of this process, as it seemed to require a minimum of 6 arms and there were only two of us. Still, we were making progress...

Not surprisingly, the next stage was to tackle the roof. After the obligatory joke about "getting felt up", we did just that (also note classic use of delicate Victorian garden furniture as sweaty bloke's drill storage area, sawmill and workbench)...

By now, it was very late, we were very tired and the door wouldn't close because, it turns out, the adjacent window fittings had been designed by a committee of Venezuelan baboons on acid. In fact, we ceremoniously tore up the instructions at this point and got a load of 2" screws involved. And, suddenly, we'd only gone and built a shed...

The following morning, before dashing off to play cricket near Slough (I know, my rock 'n' roll life, eh?) there was Ye Grande Shedde Openingg with honoured guests and dignitaries from the borough...

And today, one week on, I found myself sat out at the very same spot in a canvas chair with a mug of tea, reading the weekend papers whilst Aggers burbled gently from the wireless and the sun beat down on SE London. Bliss...

Huge thanks to the parents, without whom this project would have been an epic fail, and to Solveig for finally caving in and letting me do it (although I suspect that she is secretly delighted that she now has somewhere to banish me...)

Shall We?

Three phrases you don't generally want to hear from your wife in quick succession:

1) "Do you like this?"

2) "I saw it on the internet."

3) "It's quite expensive."

However, I found myself responding:

1) "Yes, I do as it happens."

2) "OK, let's click on the link."

3) "Keeeerrriiiissssttttt!!!!!!"

I'm thinking we may have to sell one of the children...

Mens Things

Via Scaryduck:

Pavlov's Cat: Things That Make You A Man

Added to which should be, of course, BUILDING A SHED!

More to follow...

Overheard #85

Sunday afternoon question time:

"I see the Cath Kidston collection is building up."
"Actually, one of them's Laura Ashley"
"..."

Shed Watch #1

It's here!

Somewhere in that lot are some instructions, I hope. Watch this space (or if you are our neighbours, watch the scrubby bit at the back of the garden next to the leylandii and the holly bush...)

Overheard #75

Parenting 101:

"That chicken is to eat, not to run your bus over."

Overheard #68

Casually following the live broadcast of the Brit Awards, shortly after a young Welsh female soul singer has been introduced and is about to perform her major hit:

So who are 'Toffee' then?

I am still clearing wine off the wall.

Weather

There's a lot of it about:


Night night, everyone.

Change 30

Today's change was the bed. Not just any bed, but the transformation of Freyja's cot into a little single bed, complete with duvet and pillowcase adorned with Russian dolls. No more baby sleeping bags or having to bring her books and drinks. She's all growed up now.

Oh.
Hang on.
No more Saturday morning lie-ins for us either...

Change 23

Today's change was a visit to a new (to us) restaurant, Sapporo Ichiban in Catford Broadway. What can I say - fantastic Japanese food including fresh gyoza, ramen, teriyaki & katsu, all made to order in front of you and at credit-crunch prices. Whilst nothing to look at from the outside, the 'sunken' tables at the rear are an fun & interesting feature and it would be worth coming with a big group and taking advantage of the unlimited buffet, with a shed-load of Sapporo (what else!) Did I mention they do takeaway as well? We have a new favourite place...

Change 22

Today's change was the arrival of my parents for the weekend, who were greeted by the sight of a very excited Freyja in a vest, performing some modern interpretive dance in the hallway (either that or she needed a wee).

Change 20

Today's change was to our monthly payments for our gas & electricity supply. Suffice it to say, it wasn't downwards. Robbing b*&%@#£$.

Change 17

Today's change was a massive clear-out of clothes, toys and books for the charity shop. We all piled into the car, loaded the various bags and boxes into the boot, and set off to unburden ourselves of some of the detritus of modern living.

It was closed.

Change 11

Today's change was the fitting of voiles* to our front bay window (ostensibly to keep the low winter sun from shining in and disturbing our mid-afternoon viewing of Season 3 of Heroes, but actually so we don't have to look at the chavs.)

* your Aunt Enid would know these as nets, but nets aren't very Habitat :)

Home Alone

It's very, very quiet here.

This year, it is once again time to spend Christmas in Dubai, with Solveig's family. Although very much a Muslim country, the proliferation of western ex-pats and massive shopping malls means that Christmas is a big deal over there. Despite my default setting at this time of year being a Level 37 Scrooge, I do rather enjoy the incongruousness of eating the traditional Christmas roast dinner* outside, near the desert, in 25 degree heat, under a portable gazebo :)

Anyway, the other factor is of course that Dubai is a long way away: five four hour time difference and roughly a seven hour flight. So it's clearly not worth popping over after work on Christmas Eve and buggering off around teatime on Boxing Day. This year, Solveig was understandably keen to get as much time as possible there, with ready access to delighted babysitting grandparents for Theo and energetic older cousins for Freyja (warm weather, good shopping and a heated swimming pool may also have featured in the discussion). I could just about negotiate two weeks off work (as I did the Christmas week graveyard shift last year) but with her on maternity leave, it would be silly not to stretch it for the rest of the family as much as possible.

The long and short of this is that yesterday she loaded up the car with children, luggage, pushchair, travel sweets, magazines, Kendal Mint Cake and a navigator (her excellent sister Angharad, who Freyja adores) as well as printed maps, laptop-based routefinder, sat nav, A-to-Z and mobile phone with me on speed dial. After the first call ("How do I make the water squirt onto the windscreen?") they were off. BA flight 109 from Heathrow T5 to Dubai was waiting. After the traditional crawl round the M25, they arrived at BCP to be told that yes they could park there but the courtesy coach could only take them to Terminal 4, from where they would need to take a regular scheduled London bus to Terminal 5**. Not happy, but what can you do? Anyway, finally the call comes - they're there, checked in, had dinner, kids in pyjamas and waiting to be called for the flight. Phew. And sure enough, woke up this morning (after what can only be described as a three-hour lie-in) to a text message saying that the kids were brilliant on the flight and everyone is smiling and happy in the UAE sunshine.

So I can relax. With TMS commentary of the India test, Arsenal the lunchtime match on the box, a pork pie in the fridge as well as it absolutely chucking it down outside (so I couldn't rake the metric tonne of leaves off the garden, even if I wanted to, which I don't) it's pretty relaxed chez fourstar. I shall miss them all terribly for the next week, but it's good to be able to breathe out once in a while :)

As I said, it's very, very quiet here...


* Which I have just realised, with the arrival of Theo, will be for 11 people this year!

** Having been informed of this by a rather stressed wife I decided to look into it and as far as I can tell it turns out that yes, there is Long Stay parking at the shiny new T5 but it is exclusively run by BAA, is literally TWICE the price of the other operators and they won't let the independents (BCP, Purple, Flyaway, etc) run their courtesy coaches direct to T5. Insert insulting swear word of choice here.

Blistering Paste Of Change

Back in the long distant past, possibly some time just after Mafeking was relieved, we bought two rolls of rather nice Laura Ashley wallpaper to cover up the hideous peach abomination left in our bedroom by the clearly colour- and taste-blind previous owners.

Due to a not inconsiderable (and, in my view, perfectly justified) fear of making a complete and utter balls of it, these rolls of doom have laid (lain? lied? layeth?) under the bed for months, taunting me from their prone position in the shadows into questioning my very existence as husband, father, son and life member of 'the mens' club. Finally, I could take no more and called my Dad on the electric telling-phone:

Me: "Excuse me, oh good and great Pater of mine, how tricky is that wallpapering thing like what I have heard so much about, then?"

Dad: "Pfft, nothing to it. You remember I once papered the walls and ceiling of the house in Deramore Drive in York with hessian...??"

Pausing only to painfully recall what it was like to be a nine year old boy living inside what was to all intents and purposes a semi-detached coconut, I invited him to come down from t'Dales and pass on the requisite dad-skills. Ten days and one quick trip to Wickes later ("What do you mean you don't own a pasting table?!"), we were all set.

I can happily admit here in this very public forum that measuring, cutting and pasting that first piece of very expensive paper took me nearly an hour. An HOUR. I've never been so nervous in all my life* - especially as it turned out we were on the absolute limit of drops-per-roll for the size of wall and could not afford even a single torn piece (the event of which would mean having to down tools and head for the nearest Laura Ashley in a desperate attempt to find a roll with the right batch number - not fun).

Gradually, despite the best efforts of the somewhat wonky Victorian bedroom walls and ceiling (cue much "Oh, thou wantest a right angle Squire Blythe? Ho ho, that's a good 'un, did you hear that, stap me vitals" etc and so on) I just about got into a rhythm - measure drop, measure paper, measure paper again, cut paper, paste paper, paste wall, hang, slide, match, brush (top > sides > bottom), brush excess out, trim ends, sponge wall, drink tea - and roughly half the job was done in not much over two hours. I was actually starting (almost) to enjoy it when suddenly...

Me: "Er...so what do I do about these here electrical sockets and that?"

Dad: "You cut like what is called an 'ole in it, son"

Me: "I do ... WTF?"

In fact, despite the nervous wielding of extremely sharp scissors (thanks, Wickes!) this was not as bad as it sounded and, whilst remembering we had absolutely no slack on spare paper, I papered right over the socket (that felt insane) then cut an 'X' to feed the socket through, and trimmed the triangular bits once it was tucked behind. Screw the socket back on et voilá! Perfection (steady on now - Bravado Ed.)

And suddenly, if suddenly can be applied to what was for some parties a slightly sticky three-hour tea drinking marathon, we were at the last drop:

More observant readers will have noted the casual stance adopted above - perhaps as if one were leaning on a lamp-post at the corner of the street until a certain little lady comes by, rather than desperately pushing a particularly stubborn air bubble to the side of the wall for the umpteeenth time.

Still. It is done. And if anyone is still reading after this incredibly boring and self-indulgent post (is there any other kind of blog?) then here is the wall as it currently looks:

But wait - there is a faint purpose to this nonsense. Yes, with this Sunday being 'Father's Day' (and you can put that apostrophe where the hell you please, my fellow pedant-o-bots) I would finally like to propose a toast:

Thanks Dad, for putting up with my cack-handed DIY skills and general procrastination for some 37.5 years. Here's to you. Cheers!!

* perhaps apart from my Grade 8 flute exam, opening the batting on the 1990 Old Woodleighans XI tour of Durham** and a Lewisham midwife handing me a very tiny Freyja.

** I got a third-ball duck, since you ask.

Horizontal Blogging

Theo + Me + Bed + Eee = horizontal blogging!!

You just can't beat a cup of tea and a bit of a lie-in on a Saturday morning...

11

Now this is worth building a shed for:

11 - the beautiful game

Ready For The Floor?

That gratuitous Hot Chip reference also serves to announce that we have ripped up our somewhat tired-looking carpets and had a fantastic baked oak wooden floor laid this week. The whole of the downstairs looks like a different house; Tom has done an awesome job, highly recommended! And, of course, I have taken my usual badly-focused, over-lit pictures:


Unfortunately, the beautiful new floor has since served to highlight the terrible state of our skirting, doors and woodwork. I sense a job coming on....

Something Afoot

So I managed to mash up my foot playing 5-a-side the other night; just look at the pretty colours:


Luckily, x-ray revealed nothing broken; severely bruised navicular bone (it says here...) and a metric ass-load of 'ouch'. Same leg as last time too *sigh*

Winging It

Sunday? Raining? Bored? Not any more...

Fold Your Wings And Fly Away

"Great step-by-step instructions on how to fold your own X-Wing. Learn this by heart, and no meeting need be completely boring ever again."

Apparently it should end up looking something like this:

Get to it, men...

UPDATE: Andy had a go, and now so have I - definitely not for the impatient :)

e-glue (geddit?)

Need a massive dinosaur for your kid's wall? Zombie pirates? Smiling jungle dwellers? Crustaceans and the like?

e-glue adhesive design

Fantastic, if quite pricey...

Housework

So today was the start of Christmas.

We bought a tree, got the lights and everything down from the loft, realised that all the decorations were broken or cracked, went to get more at Homebase (which had a broad and tasteful selection, much to my surprise), spent rather too long with a spirit level and a bucket of sand getting the damn thing upright, stuck the lights on, watched as Freyja was singularly unimpressed with our efforts, went to a chilly carol concert at the Horniman Museum (thanks for the brandy coffee, Graham...), came back and had tea with mince pies and Christmas music while we put the decorations on and Freyja carefully took them all off and put them back in the boxes again.

It was great :)

And what made it all the more exciting was that we have our house back. When we bought it, the downstairs looked like this:


Then, after a rather sudden decision to knock the ground floor rooms through, ten days ago it looked like this:


And now, I am enjoying a rather good glass of port, in this:



Two weeks and counting (and we're going to need more port...)

Ready, Steady, Mech

Flatpack creatures to download (PDF), print out and build!

Perfect for those wet winter (and, to be fair, summer) Sunday afternoons, fellow Dads :)

Readymech Series 002

(My favourite is Tentaclopse...)

Check One-Two

As you may have noticed, I generally leave any documentation of the progress of our offspring to Solveig; she is much better at it, being a) female and b) not addicted to puns. However, I thought I might drop into the mix here that Freyja is a mathematical genius!

OK, to clarify that slightly, she says "One....Two...." if you ask her to count for you*. But clearly, as an ex-sound engineer, this new-found skill makes me incredibly proud. I'm sure it won't be long before she is suggesting we "knock a couple of dB out at 800Hz", "pop a spoffle** on the overheads" and "make the vocals less brown".

It also reminds me of one of my favourite jokes:

Why do sound engineers only say "one, two; one, two"?
Because on 'three' they might have to lift something.

Yeah, you had to be there...

* she also says "One....Two...." if you ask her what colour a dog is but I shall gloss over that for now.

** a word allegedly invented by Hugh Laurie whilst doing an interview for BBC Radio with Stephen Fry and which has passed into common usage in the audio industry; brilliant.

Weekending

Good weekend here.

• Reduced the number of washing machines we own to the tune of one, whilst increasing the standard of the aforementioned items (and therefore the quality of life for our tenants) at the flat
• Popped round to see our ex-downstairs neighbours, John & Mercedes, for the first of two BBQs
• Collected Freyja from our ever-willing babysitters (my parents!) and jollyed over to Helena's 30th birthday thing, also a BBQ (excellent potato salad, H, by the way)
• Despite the dreadful traffic around Dulwich Village/A205, got to the Honor Oak for dinner with the aforementioned parents, food very good, (Hoegaarden very good also :)
• Popped to Alex & Katherine's with a composter (is it quite large?) which was exchanged somehow for a lawnmower and an old fridge (note to self: must discuss advanced bargaining tactics with Alex at work next week :)
• Successfully mowed lawns at great speed before the gathering and looming dark clouds did the inevitable English summer thing :(
  
• Aforementioned random fridge to tip (quite literally 2 minutes before closing time)
• Took shears to edges (followed by some surprise to have already half-filled our composter)
• Sat down with Tanqueray & tonic, and then followed...
  
• Arsenal 3-1 Portsmouth which was a good professional win, partly with 10 men. But then
• Aston Villa 2-0 Chelsea which was a complete shock, Lampard or not. Blimey.

Carry on!

Coffeeside, Ref!

This would look good in my (as yet still imaginary) shed:

Football Stadium Coffee Table

"Manufactured from Solid Oak with a Stainless Steel frame and a glass top to protect the mirrored football pitch underneath, this table is superbly built and would make a perfect addition to any living room or bar."

Or shed...

Jig-A-Jig Aaargh

This seems a bit unnecessary. It's all I can do to leave the house wearing clothes, let alone do a jigsaw at silly-o'clock am.

Puzzle Alarm Clock (via Uncrate)

Get In(ternet)

Oh how these words filled me with joy as they 'pinged' into my Inbox at 9:02am this morning.

From: adslservice@demon.net
Subject: Your Demon Broadband Order: Service Activation
Dear Mr Lightly,
Thank you for your order for Demon Broadband services.We are happy to inform you that BT have confirmed your new broadband service is now live. You will now be able to connect to your service using the login details provided in your welcome pack.

And exhale.

Office Face

I cut myself shaving yesterday.

(Normally, I imagine that would be up there with "What I had for lunch..." and "So I joined Facebook..." as the first line of a blog post guaranteed to make even the most turgid of readers run a country mile. But please bear with me.)

As it happens, it was quite a nasty nick; over an inch in length, tapered from top to bottom and prominently displayed to the left of my philtrum (you can look it up). It looked as if I had either:

a) had some sort of late-night kebab-shop battle over the last chicken shish;
b) got into an argument with a (slightly half-hearted) Chelsea Headhunter;
c) tried to shift a lengthily-clawed, somewhat-annoyed cat from the sofa; or
d) cut myself shaving.

And do you know what? Not one person at work commented on it in the entire day. Not a single analyst at the 7am morning meeting. Nobody in sales or trading when I was sorting out their conferencing. Nothing from I.T. when I was testing my new PC upstairs. Not even the lugubrious PL and CJ at lunchtime in the Rack & Tenter. None of the normally chatty backoffice team when we were discussing the crazy world of client codes. Not Dei. Not Alex. Nobody.

Now these are people who can generally be relied upon to pounce on the slightest change in haircut and render the owner speechless with a tirade of lighthearted abuse. Similarly, the introduction of a 'jazzy' shirt into the work wardrobe will often be met with wide-eyed mirth and the general donning of sunglasses. I can only assume that they think I live such an exciting life that random facial injuries are deemed to be par for the course.

Almost certainly, though, they didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I am clearly an utter buffoon who can't even be trusted to scrape the dead hair off his chin without carving himself to ribbons :)

Where's Your Head At

(I have to credit Alex for this so Alex, here is your credit. Thank you, Alex.)

Right, this might just be one of the most beautiful things in the world:

Heineken have teamed up with Krups to make the BeerTender, a sleek looking home beer tap with refillable kegs for your brew of choice (including Amstel). Not to be outdone, Philips have partnered with Inbev (home to Grolsch) and produced much the same thing in PerfectDraft. In the UK, we will have to be satisfied with the slightly inferior DraughtKeg which is to be released this summer. But anyone fancy a trip to Holland? I can see one of these in my soon-to-be shed.

Skál!!

Just Say No

No fridge, no phone, no washing machine, no dishwasher, no freezer, no internet, no lawnmower, no vaccuum, November*.

* with apologies to Art Of Noise

Moving

He's gone:

Henry confirms Barcelona transfer

And we're in:

Lightly confirms Blythe Hill transfer

What a day!

Bingo

House!

Yes, we have our new abode, hence the slight lack of recent posts.

Keys in hand, stuff in boxes, just waiting for the new beds/fridge/freezer/washingmachine/dishwasher/coffeetable/
composter/kettle/mop/shelving/wardrobes/sidetables/lamps/
bureaux/cuddlytoy/bendybully/dustybin* to arrive.

And I've got to do some grouting (rock 'n' roll!) - see you on the other side :)

* delete as applicabl.....actually, no, we need everything.