Today I had to do my usual once a week cycle ride to the doctors. The purpose of this heart pounding ( well half a heart pounding ) excursion is to give a blood sample to test for the safety of one of my medicinal neccessaries.
A wrong dose can cause internal bleeding, which to my mind seems to make sense. Where else should your friggin' blood be but on the inside. Not much use if it springs a leak and you look like a breakdancing claret fountain. Anyway it was bloody cold this morning but the weather man said it would get warmer. Where? In the friggin' Caribbean?
Technically I suppose he was right. Just. It rose from -6°C to -3°C . Problem being, coming back is more downhill thereby adding a wind chill factor of three crates worth of iced lager and a semi intelligent word from the ex who learned her entire vocabulary in the last ice age. About the same time she learned her sexual prowess or lack of too.
My ears, sticking out as they do ( not at 90°, wind breaks they are not. Well not quite ) caught the brunt of the chill but the bike and I survived. Tomorrow I'll have to do a similar distance to go to the stables to watch the Muppet riding her horse. At least she's worth the effort. Gotta love the huge grin she sports while trying to get a 17 hand stallion to do what she wants.
I used to be a bass player with rock and blues bands on podiums all over Europe and East Africa.Now it's time to concede the spotlight to a ten year old girl and become a frozen spectator cheering her on while being ready to stick her straight back on the nag if she falls off.
Only happened twice in the last four and a half years. Hasn't daunted her in the slightest. I'm proud of her and love her to pieces.
Jessica-Marie and Martin 'Beejay' Wells
be together, play together, learn together
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Good news for a change
My sister is now out of intensive care. Apparently they'll move her soon to a hospital nearer where she lives. At least this time she'll remember the ride in the ambulance.
My little one will also be happy this weekend. She'll be back on a horse for the first time since before Christmas.
Last saturday she went to a horse show in Antwerp. Spanish Riding School and their very special horses. When I asked her what was the best thing about it she said the costumes. "They were really glittery and sparkly, Daddy."
Bit like a bloke going to a pole dancing club and coming out saying, "wow, you should have seen how shiny the pole was."
Ah, well.
And I'm happy 'cos she'll be with me this weekend.
My little one will also be happy this weekend. She'll be back on a horse for the first time since before Christmas.
Last saturday she went to a horse show in Antwerp. Spanish Riding School and their very special horses. When I asked her what was the best thing about it she said the costumes. "They were really glittery and sparkly, Daddy."
Bit like a bloke going to a pole dancing club and coming out saying, "wow, you should have seen how shiny the pole was."
Ah, well.
And I'm happy 'cos she'll be with me this weekend.
Monday, 10 January 2011
How to make the most of not a lot
I woke up at 07.30 this morning with a thought threatening to do serious renovations to parts of my brain I probably wouldn't consider using at that time in the chronological order of the day. Normally the first thought I have when I wake up is to do maximum damage to a cup of coffee and to swallow the first ten pills of the day the cardiologist assures me will do wonders for my longevity, while not doing a great deal for my abililty to attempt arduous and possibly heavy tasks.
Not known for my rash decision making it took me til 10.45 to decide the coffee and pills would be the better option. By this time the original thought had long since ceased to have recieved any thing but a cursory appraisal. Of course the one or two moments of slipping back into a semi state of Zzzz bashing may well have helped in the temporary misplacement of the aforementioned thought, not that I actually aforementioned the content of the thought. Only that I had one.
Anyway, after chucking some java and hot water in a mug and troffing the medications I checked a site I'm a member of. (there is life after Litopia) There was a debate going on about the use of the word 'nigger' and whether it should be edited out of books. Seems strange when my experience shows that 'niggers' use the word 'nigger' more than white people.
Maybe there's a case to ban the use of words like 'honky', 'white trash', 'dago', 'greaser', spick', 'wop', 'limey', 'pomme', 'abbo', 'kraut', 'frog or kermit', and 'rag head', to name a few derogatory terms for people most folks don't take the trouble to learn about. And we're supposed to be civilised. Yeah right.
Somewhere there's an amoeba thinking ,"shit we were more sensible when we only had one cell."
Nobody ever told Picasso " best get rid of the red in that picture, it might get you accused of being a communist." So why take the colour out of our language?
Diversity of insult is what makes life more interesting. That and being able to take an insult without breaking out the AK 47's and killing kids who can't think or run so fast.And it's the kids who suffer most. Not the troops who signed a piece of paper, put on a uniform and knew exactly what they were getting into. Truck drivers and motorists get killed, police and other emergency service personel get killed and an nobody bats a friggin' eyelid, but if one of 'our brave boys' gets wasted, it's all hue and cry. They didn't have to buy a ticket to Iraq or Afghanistan. There is no glory in war. Just blood, snot, stink and mix and match body parts.
Not known for my rash decision making it took me til 10.45 to decide the coffee and pills would be the better option. By this time the original thought had long since ceased to have recieved any thing but a cursory appraisal. Of course the one or two moments of slipping back into a semi state of Zzzz bashing may well have helped in the temporary misplacement of the aforementioned thought, not that I actually aforementioned the content of the thought. Only that I had one.
Anyway, after chucking some java and hot water in a mug and troffing the medications I checked a site I'm a member of. (there is life after Litopia) There was a debate going on about the use of the word 'nigger' and whether it should be edited out of books. Seems strange when my experience shows that 'niggers' use the word 'nigger' more than white people.
Maybe there's a case to ban the use of words like 'honky', 'white trash', 'dago', 'greaser', spick', 'wop', 'limey', 'pomme', 'abbo', 'kraut', 'frog or kermit', and 'rag head', to name a few derogatory terms for people most folks don't take the trouble to learn about. And we're supposed to be civilised. Yeah right.
Somewhere there's an amoeba thinking ,"shit we were more sensible when we only had one cell."
Nobody ever told Picasso " best get rid of the red in that picture, it might get you accused of being a communist." So why take the colour out of our language?
Diversity of insult is what makes life more interesting. That and being able to take an insult without breaking out the AK 47's and killing kids who can't think or run so fast.And it's the kids who suffer most. Not the troops who signed a piece of paper, put on a uniform and knew exactly what they were getting into. Truck drivers and motorists get killed, police and other emergency service personel get killed and an nobody bats a friggin' eyelid, but if one of 'our brave boys' gets wasted, it's all hue and cry. They didn't have to buy a ticket to Iraq or Afghanistan. There is no glory in war. Just blood, snot, stink and mix and match body parts.
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Happy New Year?
Yeah right. Not if Merry Christmas was anything of a benchmark.
The week before Christmas, my mother, and four of the younger members of the family managed a 2000 mile round trip to Spain to visit my sister in hospital. How they managed to get a flight while hundreds of miserable would be travellers were sleeping on airport floors will remain a mystery.
Here in Belgium, on Christmas Eve, we couldn't even get my little Muppet ten miles from her mother's place to mine. No buses, no trains, no taxis and not a friendly Eskimo with a snowmobile any where in sight. Finally got her to my place on Monday morning 27th and she had to go back on the Wednesday afternoon.
We did have one special moment though. While taking a walk in the snow covered countryside outside the town, a male Hen Harrier flew directly over our heads. Twenty feet above us. A beautiful hawk. White underside with black wing tips. First time I've ever seen one in the wild. Jessica-Marie's reaction to my enthusing about this event?
"It's just a bird, Daddy."
Anyway. Apparently my sister is recovering slowly. Can't be too bad now. She's fit enough to complain about the hospital food. Makes me wonder if the chef from the hospital where I lost 10kgs in 2009 has emigrated to Granada.
Well, I digress. This was supposed to be about Happy New Year but 2011 has begun where 2010 left off. I'm on my own, it's nearly lunch time and no one has called. Maybe I'll call the hospital in Granada and check on my sister. Perhaps I'll get a good paella recipe at the same time. Oh no, wait up. Almost forgot. Hospital paella?
Still, let's hope 2011 brings a bit of luck to everyone who needs it.
Happy New Year to one and all.
The week before Christmas, my mother, and four of the younger members of the family managed a 2000 mile round trip to Spain to visit my sister in hospital. How they managed to get a flight while hundreds of miserable would be travellers were sleeping on airport floors will remain a mystery.
Here in Belgium, on Christmas Eve, we couldn't even get my little Muppet ten miles from her mother's place to mine. No buses, no trains, no taxis and not a friendly Eskimo with a snowmobile any where in sight. Finally got her to my place on Monday morning 27th and she had to go back on the Wednesday afternoon.
We did have one special moment though. While taking a walk in the snow covered countryside outside the town, a male Hen Harrier flew directly over our heads. Twenty feet above us. A beautiful hawk. White underside with black wing tips. First time I've ever seen one in the wild. Jessica-Marie's reaction to my enthusing about this event?
"It's just a bird, Daddy."
Anyway. Apparently my sister is recovering slowly. Can't be too bad now. She's fit enough to complain about the hospital food. Makes me wonder if the chef from the hospital where I lost 10kgs in 2009 has emigrated to Granada.
Well, I digress. This was supposed to be about Happy New Year but 2011 has begun where 2010 left off. I'm on my own, it's nearly lunch time and no one has called. Maybe I'll call the hospital in Granada and check on my sister. Perhaps I'll get a good paella recipe at the same time. Oh no, wait up. Almost forgot. Hospital paella?
Still, let's hope 2011 brings a bit of luck to everyone who needs it.
Happy New Year to one and all.
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
Best of Times, Worst of Times
I'm looking forward to Christmas this year. My little Muppet will be with me for five days. We'll have a lot of fun. She's ten years old now so it's time we had a formal dinner on the 25th. Menu's planned. Nothing too fancy. Just a bit fancier than the hamburger and French fries she was hoping for after she's done strewing the living room with discarded wrapping paper.
Unfortunately there's a downside to this year's festivities. Now, while my friends and family know that I had two bad heart attacks in May 2009 (not that anyone cares) that left me with a ticker working (well nearly working) at less than half the rate of a normal healthy one, my sister, Christine, has gone one better.
She's in a hospital in Southern Spain fighting for her life after having her chest opened up so some Spanish surgeon could get her ticker kick started. Being as Spain are European and World football champions I hope the geezer wasn't patriotic enough to try for a penalty shoot out. I was lucky enough to have mine restarted with electricity, though the tubes and things shoved up femoral arteries did piss me off a tad and three and a half weeks of hospital food cost me 11kgs/24lbs in lost weight.
Anyway, apparently the team that have been sorting her out reckon it's up to her now so I hope she makes it. I'd hate to think that 40 years of her insulting me would be wasted. Apart from me, there's a bunch of people she's never heard of here in Zoutleeuw, Belgium rooting for her.
One more thing. I hope she'll realise now, how precious family is, and send me a Christmas card next year. I'd send her one but noone wants to give me her address. Seems I'm not on the need to know list.
Don't you dare friggin' die on me Christine. I love you Sis, and we've got insults we haven't used yet.
Unfortunately there's a downside to this year's festivities. Now, while my friends and family know that I had two bad heart attacks in May 2009 (not that anyone cares) that left me with a ticker working (well nearly working) at less than half the rate of a normal healthy one, my sister, Christine, has gone one better.
She's in a hospital in Southern Spain fighting for her life after having her chest opened up so some Spanish surgeon could get her ticker kick started. Being as Spain are European and World football champions I hope the geezer wasn't patriotic enough to try for a penalty shoot out. I was lucky enough to have mine restarted with electricity, though the tubes and things shoved up femoral arteries did piss me off a tad and three and a half weeks of hospital food cost me 11kgs/24lbs in lost weight.
Anyway, apparently the team that have been sorting her out reckon it's up to her now so I hope she makes it. I'd hate to think that 40 years of her insulting me would be wasted. Apart from me, there's a bunch of people she's never heard of here in Zoutleeuw, Belgium rooting for her.
One more thing. I hope she'll realise now, how precious family is, and send me a Christmas card next year. I'd send her one but noone wants to give me her address. Seems I'm not on the need to know list.
Don't you dare friggin' die on me Christine. I love you Sis, and we've got insults we haven't used yet.
Saturday, 30 October 2010
Still struggling
Since Litnohopia decided to dispence with my wit and wisdom, not that I had a lot of wisdom but it seems that even a single niggle can get one banned by the prima donnas. Too many fragile egos unable to take what I thought was a resonable subject for debate. Forget the too many word counts over the limits. Apparently certain word processors hate each other and put out different word counts. Mmmmmm. I 'll agree that this can cause a ruction or two.
But I totally stand by what I said about formatting competition entries. Think about how you're asked to submit to an agent. It's for a reason. Makes things easier to read, especially when not every body has 20-20 vision. Point in question.
This afternoon as I was carrying home my shopping two georgeous girls walked by and I didn't get lustful. I simply wondered if they were strong enough to carry my shopping. Get to my age and priorities change. And to be classed as a trouble maker is beyond belief.
In the mean time I'll struggle to emulate Steve (Chukkie) and see if I'm good enough to follow in his published authors shoes.
You'll notice I retract nothing and neither do I apologise. I don't believe I have anything to apologise for.
I must admit I made some friends at Litnohopia, and recieved some sound advice too.
So as I ride my imaginary Ducati 999 into the sunset, my middle finger is raised as a symbol of goodbye.
Actually it's a symbol of up yours but I'm trying to be polite
But I totally stand by what I said about formatting competition entries. Think about how you're asked to submit to an agent. It's for a reason. Makes things easier to read, especially when not every body has 20-20 vision. Point in question.
This afternoon as I was carrying home my shopping two georgeous girls walked by and I didn't get lustful. I simply wondered if they were strong enough to carry my shopping. Get to my age and priorities change. And to be classed as a trouble maker is beyond belief.
In the mean time I'll struggle to emulate Steve (Chukkie) and see if I'm good enough to follow in his published authors shoes.
You'll notice I retract nothing and neither do I apologise. I don't believe I have anything to apologise for.
I must admit I made some friends at Litnohopia, and recieved some sound advice too.
So as I ride my imaginary Ducati 999 into the sunset, my middle finger is raised as a symbol of goodbye.
Actually it's a symbol of up yours but I'm trying to be polite
Friday, 12 February 2010
Another short story
Well actually it's more of a rough idea than a story.
Foreword
When I first split up with Jessica-Marie's mother, in March 2006, Jessica-Marie was only five years and four months old, and I did a deal, whereby the little one would stay with me three weekends out of every four.
I found a nice appartment, but, as it's only a one bedroom place, the bedroom had to be split in two. Half for myself and half, obviously, for Jessica-Marie. This arrangement, while not particularly ethical, suits us, although she is want to sleep with her bedside light on, which can be slightly annoying. I have, however, got used to it after three years.
What took a little longer to get used to was the hour of the night or day, she would wake me up to ask, "Daddy. What time is it?" This led to some rather interesting and amusing conversations, not all of which took place at a decent hour. In fact many took place in what most people would consider to be the middle of the night.
Not all the conversations recorded here, however, are about being woken up for a check on chronological moments, but that seemed a good place to start. Some just go to show, how a kid, from the age of five and a half years, can run rings round a guy fifty one and a half years older than herself.
Not withstanding, the fact that, in mathematics she's a year ahead of her classmates, and in reading and writing, six months ahead, she is an extremely bright kid with a sense of humour to die for. That's what this book is about. The little Muppets sense of humour. Well, that and bemoaning all the sleep I've lost.
Moments in Time
Early one Saturday morning.
Daddy?
Yes
What time is it?
5,32, go back to sleep
But Daddy
Gordon Bennet, what?
I can't find sheety
Sheety was a face cloth she used to sleep with, having given up using a dummy since throwing it across the living room at the age of thirteen months. I found sheety under the duvet at the bottom of her bed and went back to my own bed. A few minutes later it felt like the ceiling had fallen on me as she crept across the room and jumped on me like a ton of bricks.
Jessica-Marie , you are a pain in the butt and I want to go back to sleep
But Daddy it's time to stand up
No it's not
Yes it is
No it's not
Yes it is , yes it is
No it's not , no it's not , no it's nooooot. Go and watch cartoons
Daddy?
What?
Cartoons start later on the weekend
So why are we talking at 5,45am?
I'm hungry
It must be Saturday then
Daddyyyy
Mmmmmmmm
You're silly
That's a given , now go wait for the cartoons
Daddy , will Mitch be on line?
If he's got any sense he'll be having the sleep I should be having
Daddy ( a serious voice now)
Yes
I'm still hungry
Jessica-Marie
Yes
I'm still awake
Yes, but I'm very hungry
You're a kid. What's the difference between hungry and very hungry?
About five minutes
Hey, I do the jokes.
Her answer to that was just muffled giggles, so being in a no win situation I surrendered.
OK. I'll get your breakfast
This is from one of the rare occasions when I woke her up. I really must find a two bedroom appartment.
DADDYYYY
Mmmm, what?
Say excuse me
What for?
You did a prot, and woke me up ( prot is the Flemish word for fart )
Oh, sorry. Excuse me.
After that I managed to go back to sleep, but not for long. Oh no, not long at all.
DADDYYYYYYYY
What now?
Stop snoring
If you let me sleep I'll try.
Daddy
Yeesssss
What time is it?
6,15 am
Daddy, will Mitch be on my computer?
No , it's too small
Silly
Always
Daddy, it's too warm in my bed
Well, go sit in the fridge
Can I watch cartoons?
Yes, of course sweety but not from the fridge.
OK
Ah , peace again
The next morning
Daddy
Go away
What time is it
Jesus H , it's only 5 to 5
Oops
Go back to sleep
But I'm awake
Well , lie down and pretend , so I can go back to sleep
Daddy finally got up at 7,03 after she'd been told the time at 5,25 , 5,45 , 6,10 , 6,28 and 6,50.
Sometimes kid's have no idea of time what so ever. When they're awake, everyone is awake, or at least that's how they think it should be.
The middle of the night
Daddy
Yes
What time is it
Gordon bloody Bennet, it's only quarter to two in the morning
Sorry , Daddy.
That's OK . Everyone has a death wish occasionally
Daddy
YES
Night night
Good night , Sweety
Daddy?
What now, my little human alarm clock?
Is that a record?
Unfortunately yes. If you get any earlier you'll wake me up before I've gone to bed
Jessica-Marie is getting better at sleeping later on a weekend. Not a lot but then anything after 05.30 am is a bonus for me
06,56 on a Sunday morning
Daddy?
I try to ignore this first call of the wombat, and being a nature lover, I decline to throw the nearest heavy object at the source of the noise.
06,56 and 10 seconds
DADDYYYYYYYYYYYYY
Yes my little morning star
What time is it?
Nearly seven am
Daddy. Romy's mummy and daddy won't let her believe in God
At this time of day I'm not surprised
No silly, all the time
Well then, they're wrong to do do that. I don't believe in God but I don't say you can't.
Daddy?
Yes my little keeper of the daybreak
Is Mitchell on line?
No , but if I give you his phone number you can annoy him instead of me.
OK
Better not, he needs his beauty sleep
Which goes to show how quickly the female of the species can change the subject from annoying one person to wanting to annoy another.
Another Saturday morning
Daddy?
Yes, my little muppet of the morning?
What time is it?
I don't know, phone your mother.
The clock says six nineteen.
Why are you asking me then, if you know? (I sense here the beginnings of female logic.)
Just testing.
OK so phone your mother and test her.
She won't like that.
And I do?
But you're funny in the morning.
Yes I know sweety, I'm a real riot.
Is Mitch on line?
He was when I went to bed at ten after four.
Next time I say goodnight to Mitchell at one thirty a.m. I will not keep talking till after four.
**********************
Other Pearls of Childhood Wisdom
It's amazing what kid's think, about conservation and that kind of stuff. Now, I detest flies. Their constant buzzing really gets on my nerves. That, and the fact that, no matter how many times you swat them, they just keep coming back to drive you crazy. A bit like kids really.
Daddy?
Yes
Have you got a tin with a lid?
What for?
I want to catch flies and let them out of the window
Just spray them
No, I don't want to kill them I want to let them out so they can fly away.
Sweety, as you grow up I will support you 100% in everything you do. I'll play the silly games you invent, even though you make up the rules so I can never win. I'll teach you to cook, even though you leave the kitchen looking like a bomb site. I'll even clean up the mess you leave when you've finished painting pictures, but I adamantly refuse to join your save the flies campaign.
I'm quite sure that if I'd gone along with her plan of giving flies time off for good behaviour, she would still have asked me "what time is it", so she could have recorded the time and date of the flies release. Ah well, at least she didn't think of satelite tagging them.
We participate on one of the internet forums with Mitchell, a friend from Chattanooga, Tennesee, which as everybody knows is in the U.S.A. and is six hours behind our time in Belgium. He is the Mitch that Jessica-Marie always asks about at strange times of the day or night.
The following are some of the questions put to her on the forum and the answers she gave.
"What do you love most about your Daddy?"
"I love my Daddy because he's funny in the morning when I wake him up."
"Doesn't he get annoyed when you wake him up early?"
"I don't think so. He never shouts at me, and he does get my breakfast."
When I first posted on the forum about her starting horse riding lessons, a couple of months before her sixth birthday, she was asked,
"What kind of horse do you ride?"
"The usual kind." she replied, "Head, tail, leg on each corner."
I guess that she's a half Belgian kid with a full English sense of humour.
What worries me now though is when she starts to bring boyfriends home and I get introduced to some long haired spotty teenager, and my dicky ticker may not be enough of a reason to hold me back from attempting to break a leg or two. Well that and old age. Still it might give the defibrillator a work out.
Foreword
When I first split up with Jessica-Marie's mother, in March 2006, Jessica-Marie was only five years and four months old, and I did a deal, whereby the little one would stay with me three weekends out of every four.
I found a nice appartment, but, as it's only a one bedroom place, the bedroom had to be split in two. Half for myself and half, obviously, for Jessica-Marie. This arrangement, while not particularly ethical, suits us, although she is want to sleep with her bedside light on, which can be slightly annoying. I have, however, got used to it after three years.
What took a little longer to get used to was the hour of the night or day, she would wake me up to ask, "Daddy. What time is it?" This led to some rather interesting and amusing conversations, not all of which took place at a decent hour. In fact many took place in what most people would consider to be the middle of the night.
Not all the conversations recorded here, however, are about being woken up for a check on chronological moments, but that seemed a good place to start. Some just go to show, how a kid, from the age of five and a half years, can run rings round a guy fifty one and a half years older than herself.
Not withstanding, the fact that, in mathematics she's a year ahead of her classmates, and in reading and writing, six months ahead, she is an extremely bright kid with a sense of humour to die for. That's what this book is about. The little Muppets sense of humour. Well, that and bemoaning all the sleep I've lost.
Moments in Time
Early one Saturday morning.
Daddy?
Yes
What time is it?
5,32, go back to sleep
But Daddy
Gordon Bennet, what?
I can't find sheety
Sheety was a face cloth she used to sleep with, having given up using a dummy since throwing it across the living room at the age of thirteen months. I found sheety under the duvet at the bottom of her bed and went back to my own bed. A few minutes later it felt like the ceiling had fallen on me as she crept across the room and jumped on me like a ton of bricks.
Jessica-Marie , you are a pain in the butt and I want to go back to sleep
But Daddy it's time to stand up
No it's not
Yes it is
No it's not
Yes it is , yes it is
No it's not , no it's not , no it's nooooot. Go and watch cartoons
Daddy?
What?
Cartoons start later on the weekend
So why are we talking at 5,45am?
I'm hungry
It must be Saturday then
Daddyyyy
Mmmmmmmm
You're silly
That's a given , now go wait for the cartoons
Daddy , will Mitch be on line?
If he's got any sense he'll be having the sleep I should be having
Daddy ( a serious voice now)
Yes
I'm still hungry
Jessica-Marie
Yes
I'm still awake
Yes, but I'm very hungry
You're a kid. What's the difference between hungry and very hungry?
About five minutes
Hey, I do the jokes.
Her answer to that was just muffled giggles, so being in a no win situation I surrendered.
OK. I'll get your breakfast
This is from one of the rare occasions when I woke her up. I really must find a two bedroom appartment.
DADDYYYY
Mmmm, what?
Say excuse me
What for?
You did a prot, and woke me up ( prot is the Flemish word for fart )
Oh, sorry. Excuse me.
After that I managed to go back to sleep, but not for long. Oh no, not long at all.
DADDYYYYYYYY
What now?
Stop snoring
If you let me sleep I'll try.
Daddy
Yeesssss
What time is it?
6,15 am
Daddy, will Mitch be on my computer?
No , it's too small
Silly
Always
Daddy, it's too warm in my bed
Well, go sit in the fridge
Can I watch cartoons?
Yes, of course sweety but not from the fridge.
OK
Ah , peace again
The next morning
Daddy
Go away
What time is it
Jesus H , it's only 5 to 5
Oops
Go back to sleep
But I'm awake
Well , lie down and pretend , so I can go back to sleep
Daddy finally got up at 7,03 after she'd been told the time at 5,25 , 5,45 , 6,10 , 6,28 and 6,50.
Sometimes kid's have no idea of time what so ever. When they're awake, everyone is awake, or at least that's how they think it should be.
The middle of the night
Daddy
Yes
What time is it
Gordon bloody Bennet, it's only quarter to two in the morning
Sorry , Daddy.
That's OK . Everyone has a death wish occasionally
Daddy
YES
Night night
Good night , Sweety
Daddy?
What now, my little human alarm clock?
Is that a record?
Unfortunately yes. If you get any earlier you'll wake me up before I've gone to bed
Jessica-Marie is getting better at sleeping later on a weekend. Not a lot but then anything after 05.30 am is a bonus for me
06,56 on a Sunday morning
Daddy?
I try to ignore this first call of the wombat, and being a nature lover, I decline to throw the nearest heavy object at the source of the noise.
06,56 and 10 seconds
DADDYYYYYYYYYYYYY
Yes my little morning star
What time is it?
Nearly seven am
Daddy. Romy's mummy and daddy won't let her believe in God
At this time of day I'm not surprised
No silly, all the time
Well then, they're wrong to do do that. I don't believe in God but I don't say you can't.
Daddy?
Yes my little keeper of the daybreak
Is Mitchell on line?
No , but if I give you his phone number you can annoy him instead of me.
OK
Better not, he needs his beauty sleep
Which goes to show how quickly the female of the species can change the subject from annoying one person to wanting to annoy another.
Another Saturday morning
Daddy?
Yes, my little muppet of the morning?
What time is it?
I don't know, phone your mother.
The clock says six nineteen.
Why are you asking me then, if you know? (I sense here the beginnings of female logic.)
Just testing.
OK so phone your mother and test her.
She won't like that.
And I do?
But you're funny in the morning.
Yes I know sweety, I'm a real riot.
Is Mitch on line?
He was when I went to bed at ten after four.
Next time I say goodnight to Mitchell at one thirty a.m. I will not keep talking till after four.
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Other Pearls of Childhood Wisdom
It's amazing what kid's think, about conservation and that kind of stuff. Now, I detest flies. Their constant buzzing really gets on my nerves. That, and the fact that, no matter how many times you swat them, they just keep coming back to drive you crazy. A bit like kids really.
Daddy?
Yes
Have you got a tin with a lid?
What for?
I want to catch flies and let them out of the window
Just spray them
No, I don't want to kill them I want to let them out so they can fly away.
Sweety, as you grow up I will support you 100% in everything you do. I'll play the silly games you invent, even though you make up the rules so I can never win. I'll teach you to cook, even though you leave the kitchen looking like a bomb site. I'll even clean up the mess you leave when you've finished painting pictures, but I adamantly refuse to join your save the flies campaign.
I'm quite sure that if I'd gone along with her plan of giving flies time off for good behaviour, she would still have asked me "what time is it", so she could have recorded the time and date of the flies release. Ah well, at least she didn't think of satelite tagging them.
We participate on one of the internet forums with Mitchell, a friend from Chattanooga, Tennesee, which as everybody knows is in the U.S.A. and is six hours behind our time in Belgium. He is the Mitch that Jessica-Marie always asks about at strange times of the day or night.
The following are some of the questions put to her on the forum and the answers she gave.
"What do you love most about your Daddy?"
"I love my Daddy because he's funny in the morning when I wake him up."
"Doesn't he get annoyed when you wake him up early?"
"I don't think so. He never shouts at me, and he does get my breakfast."
When I first posted on the forum about her starting horse riding lessons, a couple of months before her sixth birthday, she was asked,
"What kind of horse do you ride?"
"The usual kind." she replied, "Head, tail, leg on each corner."
I guess that she's a half Belgian kid with a full English sense of humour.
What worries me now though is when she starts to bring boyfriends home and I get introduced to some long haired spotty teenager, and my dicky ticker may not be enough of a reason to hold me back from attempting to break a leg or two. Well that and old age. Still it might give the defibrillator a work out.
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