Johnny B Keeper, inventor of the bellringer's lathe

School today is on blue day - we raised £275 for the Tom Prince cancer trust so I got to wear mufti. The junior school did a song and dance thing in the playground so we watched through the fence at playtime, I saw Poppy C and Rosie do their thing.

Happy Friday! On a promise for a Beer'O'clock at Erin's place, much warmer than the pub garden, especially when it rains. That little cabin in the pirate ship isn't watertight, the whole thing's a little unseaworthy as the prow and main hull are a few feet apart.  At school pickup time yesterday, Erin specifically asked for the attendees to only be girls, but I was OK as I'm the most sensible boy. Does this mean I'm an honorary girl, or that I'm the one boy they can do business with? Am I being friendzoned at 6 or singled out as the man to be with?

The weather is unpredictable. It can be raining yet sunny, and vice versa. After school we dodged the sunbeams and ran straight to the park to try out my special new item. You know mouse balls - the heavy rubber-coated ball bearings from the underside of computer mice (not rodentiform reproductive organs), I have many of these for purposes unknown. Well, there was another type, a "static mouse" with a giant rollerball topside and the usual buttons. One was in the recycling bin at Buds' work so he nabbed it and extricated the ball. It's like a small snooker ball, and very good for rolling down the yellow curly slide and the long metal slide. We did that until the gap in the rainstorms had gone, for these are the things you do when you don't know any better.

We arrived at Erins in the rain. Johnny had brought his friend Logan who was even bigger and we all rushed upstairs to play Jumping from the bed onto the beanbag and Wrestling. These always sound like a good idea, after all, we managed to break my bed while jumping, and I might be a roary little chap but I'm the smallest so wrestling is a risk and ErinsDad thought the ceiling was going to break. Johnny crumped on me so I howled. Erin saw 4 burly chaps destroying her room and not obeying the rules so she howled.

Ben got me in the willy so I howled. Erin said she once got kicked in the Fufu but I don't think it could be as painful, after all, isn't the Fufu an African local dignitary? Ben spanked Erin on the bot so she howled, he got told off so he howled. Elizabeth laughed at us all and didn't howl, for she had her howl surgically removed at birth. Johnny wouldn't stop so he howled when he was taken home on an "I warned you" third warning. That did mean that the very pugnacious Logan went as well, so that made it better, but a crying shame (hoho) that they had to go. Then we played dens and racing cars and running up and down pestering the parents and all the usual little things. The PuddleDaddies hid in the kitchen with the lights off and talked about which pub was going bankrupt next and the PuddleMummies hid in the front room with the door shut and talked about cushion covers. We found them all and reminded them of our moral superiority every 3 minutes.

Later we reprised the famous Billy Goats MacGuff stage spectacle using only 1 small Elizabeth and a rug. I have had my 15 minutes of fame playing the lead role so made way for new talent and played the bridge.

Busy being god

So this afternoon I was busy being omnipotent again. I have already created a world (here's one I made earlier), it's kinda this big by that big and it's got a path down the middle and flowerbeds on either side. I said, let there be light, and hey presto. I find it easiest to wait until spring to make this godly commandment. As resident deity, I decide who lives: I have already made some inhabitants for my pet world - those apple trees I planted a few years ago - and I also got some Verbenas from B+Q a couple of weeks ago. I also get to decide who dies in a jealous and vicious way - I do enjoy crunching snails beneath the feet of my advancing armies (light-up trainers) but sometimes it's easier to send out my armadas of doom (little blue poison pellets). Also, as divine being, I can make it rain; I simply use my magic hosepipe. I also consign dead sticks and stuff to my own personal Fires Of Hell™ but due to scheduling, I'm not due to actually light the bonfire for another few weeks. Weeds, once detected, I pull from their places in the promised land and cast them upon the compost heap to die of thirst and fungus. I decree sulphur and brimstone but mostly on about November 5th.

It's great to be the god.
In other news, Grandma is home from the hospital and is finding it tough. Grandad messed up the supper a bit last night but I'm sure they'll work it out.
This afternoon was a peaceful one with no visitors, just spelling tests and Lego Heroes. Sometimes even a god needs time out. I even got a few games of ludo/snakes + ladders in with Bud before Monopoly restarted. We have now used up all the pubs (hotels) and it's a high-stakes game.
All the way through my shower I sang my new song "Have a farty, load it up....".

Tad Pole, inventor of the Larva lamp

Grandma is due out of hospital today, hope she doesn't get washed away by thunderstorms.
Because of the weather, it was pretty obvious that Wednesday Park was off. So it was lucky (or suspicious) that Bud and BensMum were driving down the Eastern Road together and were able to wind down their windows and arrange to come round to our place just by shouting and gesticulating. Who needs mobile phones anyway?
So Ben and the JBs arrived at normal park time and we started straightaway on the lego heroes and lego electric train while the olds talked.

Without prior arrangement we took jaffa cakes, chocolate minirolls, apples, yogurts and eventually cucumber (you can't help thinking that given enough time, an infinite number of Mungles would make a roast chicken dinner) to fuel our evil desires and played running the gauntlet and standing on the kitchen worksurfaces and making dens and so on.

In the end one of the support slats under my bed was broken, quite possibly by the combined weight of 4 bouncing boys. And I thought I'd first do that with Pops (because we bounce on my bed, what did you think?)

Once they'd gone (all in the JBs' car as BensMum has a puncture, as well as a new teaching job), I played more Monopoly with Jof, the rent bills are now in the £900 region so quite hairy.

Pikachu, any chu - the key issues

The English are a generous type; if one finds an item of lost property, he will display it in a prominent location for the erstwhile owner to retrieve, even long after all such hope has gone.

Thus, on a sunny autumn day at the car park by the rambling forest you can see a fence adorned with a million single childrens' gloves, the odd pink bootie and if you're really lucky, an abandoned child, some of which have clearly been there for months with their integral bird's nests or crop of mushrooms.

A few days ago, a bunch of keys were left on our gatepost by some well-meaning traveller. This is all very well but since then we have had a procession of people (some foreign) ringing our doorbell asking if we've lost our keys. The latest one admitted he'd tried them on a few cars, so we have elected to do the Right Thing and hand them in to the Keystone Cops.

Directly from school I got Erin back to mine for lego play while the olds talked plants. She can fit a strawberry Maoam up both nostrils at once, Mmm. Then (on a promise for a return visit next week) she went home to do homework, something I'll never have to do. Bud and I drove to the Police Station which was closed, I guess they just don't have crime here, so instead we visited the big main station which had a very creaky door and bulletproof glass. They accepted the keys from us with the minimum of fuss and we made our way back through the on-off monsoons (aprés moi le deluge).
That just left the homework I'd hoped to avoid. I tried it all, crying, saying I didn't understand, asking him to do it for me, procrastinating in the hope that Jof would do it for me, saying I was hungry but would only eat in front of the TV, and many others. This is why it took over an hour again, there are too many words. When I grow up, I shall be a Tragic Actor, for I am great at melodramatic histrionics. And I shall act in silent movies (which are making a comeback) for I won't have to read the script - no lines.

The transcendental biscuit of deliverance vs the scone of fury

Back to the grindstone along with all the other slackers. I have failed to learn my spelling words for the week, and the book comprehension sheet remains empty. And then I'm going to have to tell the scoutmaster that I've lost my woggle, and that Nanna hasn't sewn on my new badges.
But at least I had a good time.
Upon returning home, I did 20 minutes' work on the comprehension etc. That is, until I moaned and fluffed and sulked and argued so much it took an hour and 20 minutes. I bet nobody else has to do this. I can't wait until I'm away at big school and I can be shot of his 'encouragement' forever, no work, can't wait. If he wants it done so badly, why doesn't he just do it?
Another enjoyable Beaver Patrol once the dancing girlies had put away those dratted ribbons-on-sticks, then supper II and more Monopoly. There is a chance I could actually lose his one.
At bedtime I announced that I didn't need to learn to read because I can just look at the pictures. In a book with no pictures, I can simply read the title and solve it from there. Like giving self-raising flour to an orphan.

Elpha Leather, inventor of the Napalm Enema

Breakfasted regally on scrambled egg and black pudding. Today is Box 7 destruction day as it's back to reality tomorrow and we need the room back. We used a serrated bread knife to chop it into bits. Then, just as I was settling down into my TV viewing life, Pops knocked on my door and we cycled round and round the park. Baby Edward's Grade 2 haircut is nothing of the sort, he practically still needs a haircut, I guess mothers just can't let go.

During another marathon TV session, Bud switched it off and told me to go and read a book. What's the point of reading? If it doesn't have a name like Black Phantom I don't want it, just because he could read when he was 3 doesn't mean I'll ever need to. So I hid under my bed.

Box 7 flamed brightly but briefly, as is the way with cardboard houses. Jof played me at Monopoly but also made me read 2 books.

Sowing the seeds of plus ça change

At Grandma and Grandad's house we cleared out their seed collection. Many of the packets had use-by dates stretching back to 1991, not sure of the yield you should expect from something 21 years past its sow-by date. There were also plenty whose packets were printed before they invented use-by dates, and some illegible ones. We buried them all in the topsoil of our best flowerbeds with a short prayer and a quick dance. There are 22 species of flower blooming in our garden right now, not sure if the additions from Grandma will change that.

For exercise I did circuits and bumps in the park and took advantage of an empty skatepark to practice my moves - see the height I can now attain on the jump ramp.

Ben has late-onset grandparents so will miss Box 7, but I had a pre-arranged date with the Pops. Well woof my tweeter with a Taiwanese rumblefilter, but she wasn't in.

Second attempts are often more successful and we went to the park for swinging and tree climbing. Pops and I have a bit of trouble agreeing on activities so there was a lot of indecision, and by the third tree there was a lot of dog poo.

We were just talking about how much poo there was when 2 labradors came and added to the poo population right in front of us.

They looked quizzically at us as we barked and howled at them. Pops knows a related word that sounds like sheet but she read it off a T-shirt. I still consider bum to be my worst word but there are others I use in normal conversation, not knowing they're supposed to be bad.

At home we had ice creams and played lego trains and couldn't decide what to do next apart from eat minicheddars and hot cross buns.

Meanwhile, Jof has taught herself to use the sewing machine using only 17 complicated swear words and a manual hand-drawn in 1836.
In the end, our what-to-do-next conundrum was solved when we put all the cups on the roof of Box 7 and knocked them all off again. We did this several times before going upstairs to bounce on my bed.

While we were in the park, PopsDad walked past with Baby Edward (2) and Bud said get your hair cut, soldier, because he says that to everyone with more hair than him (everyone). PopsDad thought this was a good idea (don't listen to a word he says) and took him to the local barber that I use for a sensible grade 2 just like me. This got him in the Doghouse with PopsMum, who had not expected Baby Edward to have a trim until he was at least 4. At five something, PopsDad came round to collect her. I did my best penitent beg (full-on sinner-at-the-altar job) and due to the forcefulness of my personality it was agreed she should stay for dinner, and PopsDad left empty-handed. He is not having a Good Day. We were having a great day, however, with a fish supper and Fab Ice Lollies to follow, having utterly trashed my room.

Mungle Ton and the Mexican carwash

Got up early for breakfast: I don't like marmalade. First up, a tour of the estate and then a 2 and a half mile walk up the hill and right round past both dairies and down the D-road mudslide. At the top, Grandad said can you read the roadsign pointing to the next village. It was 2 and a half miles so I had trouble construing the digits: Bud put his hand over the 1/2 and said can you read it now. I confidently read it as 2. Then the 1/2 fell off in his hand, honest, yerronner. This is clearly vandalism of council property and we couldn't glue it back on so from now on, an official Dorset roadsign is a lie. We laughed at him.

Took a trip into town to visit the charity shops that were closed yesterday and bought 2 skeins of wool for Jof - is this what we have come to etc. Then we did the playpark that has a decent skatepark with lots of boys showing off their scooter moves to the uninterested girlies and I did the obstacle course.



Shhh.... don't tell anyone

 Then we approached the hospital outside of official visiting hours, and with heads down, we walked confidently through the ward corridor, quietly but quickly, making no eye contact, speaking to nobody and looking like we knew what we were doing, a classic infiltration move.

 We reached our objective due to being invisible and had said goodbye to Grandma before we were rumbled by the nurse and had to go. This is valuable secret agent training, he didn't tell me where he was taught this.

 Home via delays caused by 2 accidents on the motorway, it kept raining on and off (Mexican carwash). We got home in time for swimming and big hugs with Jof.

Incidentally, should anyone disbelieve that this is me, here is another picture of me on the same bed aged 5 months.

Good Housekeeping

On the way to Oo-Ar land, we stopped on the top of a hill for a picture and I fell into a patch of stinging nettles. Just goes to show, the countryside is absolutely beautiful but there is a sting in the tail.

Today we visited Grandma in hospital, rediscovered a swingpark with giant slide and roundabout, and found that all the charity shops close really early. This picture is of the historical monk's conduit (Monkey bathroom) from 500 years ago or similar which is why it's groovy but a bit knackered. In the physiotherapy room (house of torture implements) I tried out the usual walking frames and the practice staircase in the corner.

Grandma will be coming home within the week so when we got back, Bud moved her desk around so she'd be able to park her wheelchair in front of it.

This is what we found when doing it:

1. A stack of Good Housekeeping magazines stretching back to 2005
2. Ditto "Dorset" magazine circa 2002
3. A heartwarming collection of empty used envelopes
4. Itineraries, paperwork and press cuttings from holidays over the last 20 years

Following that there was only the traditional obligatory 3 1/2 mile drive back into town to buy milk and then a lot of rain. 

Jof has been battling mice again and has mixed lots of poison with some chocolate mouse-mousse in the hope they like chocolate as much as I do.

Mission Unpronounceable

Up in a whirlwind of efficiency and to the YMCA by 0815 which is when they opened. Looking forward to paddling with at least 3 Puddlers as it's swimming day.

Meanwhile some number rocks were returned to the sea from whence they came and a small task force slipped silent and unnoticed from port. Well reformat my hard drive with a Bosun's cockatiel, I said to myself, I wonder if Syria's in for a visit.
Back in 1980s Saudi Arabia, the local authorities had cash enough to erect some national monuments due to a slight petro-dollar windfall. So on every street corner there was a garish, baffling or merely inadvisable statue or other in styles as yet unknown. One was a 20-foot high thumb, pointing skywards. So of course us expatriates instantly called it Thumb Road - most roads look similar as they were essentially concrete and sand with assorted feral dogs, so it was useful to have landmarks. However the authorities got wind of this. They wanted the road to be called Prince Faisal al-Abdelaziz ben-Mehmet bin-Massoud al-HamduLillah el-Whatsisface Street not Thumb Road, so they took the thumb down. Since then, it's been known as Ex-Thumb Road.
On and off thunderstorms today - Pops got the fears but next time there's a good one I'm going down to the seafront to watch it from one of those glass bus-stops by the pier.
Had a top day in YMCA, no Bob but an Erin and a Beth. We swam, drew, made castles, watched tennis, bought sickly red strings from the tuck shop and scooted around the floor on sofa cushions that had clearly been rescued from a skip. I have a rash on my tum again - same cause as last time, the raft thing in swimming is scratchy.
After bedtime there was a pitched battle in the kitchen trying to catch a mouse.