Good evening Negative Soundbyters! This is coming to you slightly later than usual, but given that there is a two-month old (plus a few weeks) roaming the corridors at Foxholme that is not necessarily a surprise given that whatever you think you might have planned – well, that can change at a moment’s notice! At age forty-two (plus a few months) I am learning to be adaptable!
Rafe and I had a lekker bath this evening. He is becoming a bigger unit as the weeks fly by which means that if I am not on my toes when he suddenly decides to change position, he could find himself beneath the surface of the water – which would not go down well with him or Mrs H. He is more of a slippery tuna than a slippery eel these days! The other thing I need to be watchful of is his tendency to kick out; there is more power in those little leggies and if his foot connects with my meat-and-veg that is going to be a somewhat painful end to our bath together! It will be cool when eventually he can sit up and hold his own weight and I will be able to dispense with the various sponges that protect my nethers from flailing arms and legs!
Speaking of flailing arms and legs, Rafe and I were taking a stroll on Streatham Common on Saturday morning. Games of football were in full swing. We wandered over and watched two teams of tiny tots (spot the alliteration!) bolting around the pitch in a generally co-ordinated fashion. They tackled and passed like Mini-Messis (and again!) and received the appropriate encouragement – with the odd instruction – from their coaches on the sidelines. There was one little man who had been consigned to goalie, and I could see that his heart just wasn’t in it. However a short stocky woman with angry blonde hair, who I took to be his Mom, was having none of it.
No sooner had Jasper conceded a goal than Mom shouted a stern warning from the sideline – in Polish – that made him retreat further into the net. Jasper just wasn’t loving a) being in goals and b) being berated by his Mom in front of all his team mates. However he did manage to get out in front of the next full frontal assault by the opposition; he got his hands in the way of the ball, but it ricocheted into the path of another attacker and he bulleted it past a despairing Jasper. His forlorn expression said it all. Thankfully this time Polish Mom didn’t give him an earful. Rafe and I looked at each other. He was like “don’t be putting me in goals Pappa; in fact I’d much prefer to play with an oval ball than a round one”. “That’s my boy!” – although I am sure Mrs H will have something to say about that….
What of events of a geopolitical significance….
The massacre in Las Vegas has re-ignited the debate around gun control in the US – or has it? It has slipped off the news cycle (now replaced by that repugnant Weinstein fellow) to join a long line of “forgotten” mass killings carried out by individuals using guns. There is the odd bleat from somebody about bringing in more controls only to be drowned out by the National Rifle Association and its ilk. Yes the right to defend oneself might be enshrined in the Constitution but what exactly are you defending yourself from when accumulating an arsenal of 43 weapons plus explosives? Little Rocket Man is unlikely to be launching an invasion anytime soon!
Onto happier things….
Big Love
Hoddy X
Baby Cinema.
This is how Mrs H spends a few hours probably once every two weeks – at Baby Cinema. All the local Mums with babas head down to the Streatham Odeon to watch a flick along with the pensioners, some of whom are accompanied by their carers. It’s all popcorn-and-boob; popcorn for the Mums and oldies; boob for the babas!
I wondered whether I could hold my own in such an environment….and the conclusion I came to was, “unlikely”.
Firstly I don’t really do noise. The only things to be heard in a cinema are the soundtrack, dialogue and the odd crunch of popcorn. In Mrs H’s case, one of the pensioners who had come to Baby Cinema had a carer who fell asleep; the snoring commenced shortly thereafter. And then just recently Little Johnny (whose mother had clearly confused Toddler Cinema with Baby Cinema) spent most of the movie hurtling around the theatre with not a care for the fact that it wasn’t actually a playground!
Secondly I like to watch the movie from beginning to end. Rafe doesn’t mind me feeding him sitting down but then for some reason he likes me to stand up to settle him. Now that is unlikely to impress the Mum or pensioner sitting behind me so invariably I would then have to take him outside unless I took my chances and tried to coax him asleep while seated. The odds of that are not high.
Thirdly I like popcorn. Assuming he falls asleep on my chest I then have to ensure that the popcorn box is in close proximity because the slightest movement might cause him to have second thoughts about sleeping for the next few hours. And also I am not a fan of sucking on the popcorn; I like to crunch it which could well disturb him and see me having to find the nearest exit to calm him!
Fourth – nature sometimes calls. What do I do with Rafe in that situation? I can’t exactly turn to Old Man River sitting next to me and say “Do you mind holding my baby while I go and take a leak?” I could take him with me but again there are certain logistical issues which we might encounter when confronted by the urinal. It’s a tricky one that!
So all things considered I will leave Mrs H to Baby Cinema, while Rafe and I tackle Baby Pub which is much easier to navigate!
OUT :)
Pic of the Week
On my wanderings with Rafe - liked the trees and autumn light...
