Good evening Negative SoundByters! I take it all back – the weather this past week had a Cape Town feel to it and while a heatwave in that locale would put the Caspers (a reference to the ghost and that the colour of my pins is “ghostly white” in case you were wondering) under considerable strain (and require factor 50 preventative measures), I did get away with shorts and t-shirt when I wasn’t toiling away in the swamp.
London almost transforms when the sun comes out; I had a cheeky beer by the Thames during lunch last week (as you do – well I do) and the river walkway was heaving with all sorts of people who only come outside when it’s hot. The rest of the time they’re either crammed into a “micro-living” apartment; bunched together in the tube; parcelled up in a cubicle (or these days it’s more like a co-working space) or getting pissed within the confines of the pub.
It’s also a fantastic opportunity to get skirts of various lengths into the open – and for men: tailored shorts would be the equivalent? (This blog is strictly gender and LGBTFST neutral.) It’s fair to say that not every woman (or man) is going to do the shorter variety of said outfit justice (in some instances it’s just wrong on every level) but that is the beauty of London, no one gives a proverbial. If you weigh 20 stone, frequent Greggs and feel that a black leather mini skirt/pastel pink Ralph Lauren shorts accentuates your waist/emphasises your butt cheeks, this city is a perfect testing ground to flaunt your “look”.
The sunshine also meant that I could get my green finger out and mow our postage stamp that was fast beginning to resemble the sort of backyard where an old, rusted Ford Cortina would be balanced precariously on bricks inhabited by a variety of stray cats and dogs (and foxes) with a heavily stained moth eaten mattress or two leaning against the fence and a couple of tyres dotted around. Mrs H’s eyebrow was starting to twitch which is always a sign….
Under Rafe’s watchful – and somewhat sceptical – eye (it was the first time he had seen his Papa operate an electrical garden tool hence his nervousness) I managed to scoot round our little patch without incident. (The last time I engaged with the garden in an electrical sense was cutting the hedge and cutting through the clippers’ power cord (twice!). I was a little nervous taping the cord back together given my rudimentary knowledge of electrical current, but I didn’t end up shorting the neighbourhood or electrocuting myself so I count that as success.) There were a few occasions where the damp grass cuttings got wedged between the blade and the encasement which meant I had to stick my hand into the cavity to remove the grass. I had a faint “Final Destination” feeling; power surge, mower short circuit and suddenly I am minus the hand in XXXXyman. (Isn’t this supposed to be a light-hearted blog?)
And on that happy note let’s move on.
Big Love
Hoddy X
Overnight stays.
Mrs H seems to be making a habit of leaving New Dad to man the fort for longer than a few hours – and keep the little man safe-and-sound. Well this past weekend there was a variation on a theme; not only were we left to fend for ourselves, but I decided to take Rafe out to see his Godfather and to stay overnight. There is a certain level of risk attached to a sojourn of this nature; one was getting there (let’s say that at times Rafe has used the car-seat “reluctantly”); the other was the possibility that Rafe would respond “unkindly” to his new sleeping arrangements; and finally Mrs H was not onsite to take over if all hell broke loose – oh, and for the first time Rafe would encounter a rather large, but happy, dog. What could go wrong? But I am a much bolder New Dad these days and in keeping with the old Carpe Diem adage I made the appropriate arrangements….
I packed up the wagon while Rafe was distracted by Baby TV. Don’t judge me. I thought I would be one of those parents “like…um…you can only start watching TV when you are eighteen” but that was before I understood what it meant to have some breathing space to get some basic chores done – like breathing. By the time I was finished the car was bursting at the seams and I was sweating; my luggage - a toothbrush and some Calvin Klein (don’t judge me) briefs was in the nappy bag. All set. Rafe had to be inserted last for obvious reasons – like he’s in the car, I go back into the house to fetch a bag and someone nabs him. That’s an epic New Dad fail – do not collect £200.
Off we went. I was expecting the worst. Being bellowed at for an hour while driving doesn’t count as a calm, happy, zennie-kinda place, but Rafe decided to give Papa the best gift of all, slumber! I had in fact postponed his morning nap (don’t tell Mrs H) so that no sooner had we turned out of our road than he was already nodding off. Genius. I settled back with my travel coffee, some Classic FM and eased us down the M4 – keeping strictly to the speed limit of course!
We arrived without incident and Rafe was reintroduced to his Godfather and his family – and Brody, a red setter that put a lot of energy into chasing tennis balls up-and-down the garden. They gave each other the once over, but Rafe seemed completely at ease with Brody in his space – and that included a very large, pink tongue! Credit to Brody; it took Rafe more than a few hours in the early days to get comfortable with New Dad in his personal space!
Day passed into night and then it was time for bed. I set up the travel cot and I ensured that the sleep routine was followed to to the letter. This was not the time to be freestyling. Call me a legend (or better still, a “natural”) but Rafe was asleep within minutes. I patted myself on the back vigorously and went back to a very deep glass of red and some steak. Job done.
Naturally the gauntlet hadn’t exactly been run because I still had to get into bed (we were sharing a room) without disturbing him but if you hold your breath and don’t move, it’s surprising how quiet you are. My heart fluttered on one-or-two occasions on hearing him gurgle, but he didn’t stir and we both awoke bright-and-breezy around 5:45 the next morning. (Probably fuzzy as opposed to breezy for me given the whiskey round!)
I sailed through the day-and-night away unscathed (because a lot could have gone wrong) and everyone – including Brody – had a full night’s rest to boot! Not bad for a New Dad edging towards Professional Dad!
OUT :)
Pic of the Week
Some fence poles.
