Thursday, 22 January 2015

The day vomiting nearly killed me

We have had a week of excessive vomiting at Moose Towers.  Willow kicked things off with a couple of days of exploding all over the floor, her bed and her mummy.  And it stank.  In between bouts of vomiting she mostly seemed fine, unfortunately that gave us naff all time to react.  Then Holly followed and finally at 4am on Tuesday morning the gastro-lurgieitis hit me with catastrophic consequences.

The first bout had me spewing the largest volume of half disgested lamb burger and hot chocolate ever seen, litres of it I tell you.  What didn’t leave by my mouth, lodged up my nose.  I will never eat lamb burger again.  I didn’t feel unwell for long beforehand and felt okay afterwards, so I went back to sleep.

At 6am I ‘woke up’ halfway down the staircase, on my head, wondering how I had fallen so far out of bed.  It turns out, and I vaguely remember reaching for my dressing gown, I had got up again to spew, made it to the hallway, passed out and crashed through the babygate on my way to my uncomfortable landing spot.  I now have an aching neck and, inexplicably, a bruised arse.  I still made it to the loo to vom though.  Hero.

Note my use of phrase ‘pass out’ as I have never fainted in my life.  I am the one who mocks fainters.

Life seems to be returning to normal now, but jeez, babies make you sick.

Tuesday, 6 January 2015

Merry Christmas, cough.

Another Christmas over and another year survived.  I had the official Cough From Hell over xmas itself, bloodied phlegm ‘n all, so that was pleasant.  We stayed at Holly’s nan’s but I ended up driving home at 3am as my coughing was disturbing Willow (and probably everyone else) to the point she had to move into our single bed, thus evicting me.  I couldn’t really sleep anyway and did manage a few hours kip once home.  Then I went to bed at 8pm on Boxing Day.  I was even off food.

Which actually set me up kinda nicely for the New Year Resolutional Diet.  I don’t really fit into my work trousers at the moment but refuse to buy any more, so life is a bit uncomfortable and the slimming can’t come soon enough. I also have a wee jaunt to Scotland in the pipeline that I could do with some semblance of fitness for.  It won’t be much but at least it should mean I don’t suffer the dreaded Year-Without-Ice.

I got a few bottles of whisky for Christmas, that I am determined will last me longer than usual.  ‘Tis the New World Order after all, so drink is being rationed.  I got Holly a coffee grinder, beans and an Aeropress, and I must say grinding one’s own beans is something of a revelation.  The Nespresso machine is now our lesser coffee system (so middle class, darling).

Willow got too much to mention, enjoyed Christmas and only pulled the tree down on herself the once.  She has taken to toddling around screaming though, very loudly.  She’ll grow out of it.  Her finest pronounced word is currently ‘turtle’, even though she is clearly referring to a tortoise.  Bloody Americanisms.

We stayed with Gavin, Jane and Arthur at New Year, having a quiet night in eating curry and playing board games, including His & Hers – the most sexist game in existence.  ‘Men, name the K in this picture’ – Kalashnikov. ‘Women, guess the cup size of this bra’.  Those were actual questions. The ladies had a lot of questions about knitting too.  Willow and Arthur shared their first kiss on New Year’s Day, though I am not sure Arthur really knew what was happening to him.

Oh, and we had a mouse in the house. But he went away.

Monday, 15 December 2014

Another night, another dram

This weekend we visited James, it was his turn to host the now-traditional (at undetermined intervals) whisky tasting nights.  We took Willow as we stayed over and she entertained us all afternoon with frantic lapping of the dining table, meeting Jelly the cat, and playing the piano.  It is funny how such things feel like a holiday – sometimes home is the most relaxing place in the world, but sometimes, when the house is a mess, the to-do list is growing faster than it is shrinking and when Christmas is fast approaching, it is less stressful to just remove yourself from the possibility of addressing these stressers.  I am sure Willow climbing and descending the steps over and over and over again would have got tiresome at home long before it did at James’, where it was just entertaining.  I wish I had her energy.

Once we packed her off to bed we started on the good stuff. And good it was – featuring, possibly the ‘best’ whisky I have ever tasted.  Then ensued a long discussion on the merit of comparison with Holly and James supporting the view that whiskies are different and so you can’t compare them.  I say everything is comparable.  For example, the top of the range BMW is better than the finest roast dinner.  See? Makes perfect sense.  Which is why I can say with conviction The Avengers is the greatest film of all time.  Anyway, the Laphroaig in question was typically peaty (which I like) and yet sweet and spicy from the sherry cask it was aged in (which I like) – quite unusual but very fantastic.  Along with another seven or so almost as fantastic drams.

In our merriment we also dreamt up a cunning plan for next year.  Not involving whisky.  But perhaps involving Cognac.

Thanks to James for having us over to his very nice house, hosting and providing the medicine (as usual!). 

On Sunday we had the long trek through London (road south of the river are quite terrible) to William’s (of Sean and Laura) first birthday party.  The last time we saw them was Willow’s party so it was nice to catch up.

(Do you see how I don’t even mention fitness and training anymore?)

Wednesday, 3 December 2014

A tale of not a lot

Dear Readers,

Today I blog more through a sense of loyalty and obligation to my fans than having anything useful or entertaining to say, but blog I shall.

I am in a bit of a fug at the moment – all desire to train evaporated when I caught some death-cold a few weeks back.  We have entered the Rat Race Dirty Weekend but it is so far away one can easily put it out of one’s mind. Besides, we are so close to xmas now, it’ll be the New Year soon, when all things begin anew.  Work is not a happy place for me at the moment, which is my greatest problem by far – sucking all life from me – but let’s not talk about that too much for fear of me ending it all.  And I seem permanently exhausted, even when Willow sleeps in past my alarm clock.

Speaking of which, Willow is continuing her fast development – stomping round the place at a rate of knots now.  She can now wink, seems to know most animals, can happily climb up and down the stairs and does Downward Dog on command.  She called me a pig last night in sign language as I came home, but I later realised she was just telling me Pepper Pig was on the telly.  She also thinks she is an actual Moose.  Nanny pretended pushed me over while playing which I exaggerated in the name of hilarity, and moments later Willow was feigning falling in slow motion (though quite close to actual falling at times).  When I played dead she poked a finger in my eye to test if I was.  She is also very into her books, so much so that I am very bored of her books.

In other news, we have watched Guardians of the Galaxy twice in a week – Holly said in a whisper after the first viewing she thought it may be better than The Avengers.  Serious words.  But she isn’t far wrong – it is on a par.  Oooooh child, things are going to get better...

Our local curry-house-of-choice was shut down because of this: . How do you feel after seeing that? Now imagine having eaten as much curry from there as I have.  I will not be using the rebranded-but-probably-the-same place that has opened in its place.  The quest for a replacement continues.

Christmas is almost near, I know because I was despatched to the loft to retrieve the decorations last night, so I will blog some festive blathering at some point, even if nothing else happens.

In the meanwhilst, Mum sent me this picture – there is just over a ninety year age gap here!

Willow and GG

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

A sign of the times

The tomatoes refused to ripen.  So, I made Green Tomato Chutney.  What else would a guy about to turn 33 be doing on a Sunday afternoon?