I Came, I Saw, IKEA

Some things in life leave you flabbergasted. Spurs sticking nine past Wigan, the continued popularity of I'm A Celebrity, the existence of a massive Waitrose in Bromley, that kind of thing. However, today my flabber has been gasted in the very best of ways, at that bastion of Saturday-morning male despair known as...

...IKEA.

We went (early) to look at some options for a wardrobe; as I'm sure you are aware, at IKEA these are legion. However, they had the one we liked, on display, with the doors we wanted, in a colour we didn't know existed but preferred, with the shelf/drawer/hanging options we wanted, in stock and for no apparent reason, at a discounted price.

When we spoke to the assistant (who had magically appeared as we started writing things on our tiny piece of paper with our tiny pencil) he shook his head with a wry smile, beckoned us over to a computer and helpfully printed the whole picking list out for us, with the correct internal codes for the warehouse guys. The warehouse guys were all at their post, waiting to take orders; they took ours, and went to get the doors and heavy stuff. Within 3 minutes they were back, with it all on a trolley and we were paying. We went to Home Delivery (these are 2.5m glass doors, no way I'm getting them in the Scenic...) who helpfully said we could have it all delivered*. Tomorrow. Sunday. SUNDAY! We left it with them before they could change their minds and drove home, speechless.

I am flabbergasted :)

* Obviously, my innate sense of Britishness is still nagging away, telling me that they'll actually turn up on Tuesday afternoon when no-one is home with a 7ft pot plant, three stuffed crocodiles and a gross of energy-efficient lightbulbs, but for now, big up IKEA.

Grammar, We Love You

Scene: Sunday morning in a kitchen in SE6. A man is reading the newspaper and drinking a coffee. A small child in pyjamas enters.

"Daddy, we need to go to the shop."

"Oh, why's that Freyja?"

"Well, we don't have no apples."

"Right, we'd better do that later on then. By the way, it should really be 'We don't have ANY apples'"

"I know Daddy - that's why we need to go to the shop..."

I reckon she's got a future writing for Two Pints...

Made Of People

I quite like this from Flickr:

Flickr! It’s made of people

We’ve launched People in Photos, a new feature that will help put a face to the Flickrverse and enable you to highlight members that you’ve photographed in a whole new way. People in Photos lets you add a member to a photo, find photos of people you know, and manage which photos you’re in.

I gather from various sources that being tagged on photos without your knowledge is the thing that people moan about most on Facebook (I wouldn't know, as I flatly refuse to be on Facebook). However, it does seem like Flickr has taken heed of all that and built in a load of personal choices about who can tag you, how you are alerted and removing yourself. You can also prefer to never be tagged if you wish.

So big Twitter/Flickr hook up in 2010, anyone? That would win.

UPDATE: of course, you can tweet your pics direct from Flickr already, you just set it up like publishing to a blog.

Fifty Weeks Off

Having just got back , this really made me chuckle:

Chris Cleave: Down with the kids

Especially this bit:

"There is a dizzying array of choices but we usually opt for the activities in which we exchange our labour for money, which we find hypnotically calming. The long vacation days are so calming, in fact, that our 50 weeks of holiday can sometimes seem even longer."

Overheard #86

In the car, earlier today:

"I don't trust the French, with their ... hats."

Wooden It Be Nice

So there comes a time in a man's life when he requires a wooden structure away from the familial home in which he can keep his vast collection of paint stirring sticks, listen to Test Match Special and spend some time in deep contemplation, growing a beard. That time has come. Shed time.

My DIY Dad wholeheartedly agreed with me and the parents popped down last weekend, with Mum delighted to be allocated full-time keeping-Theo-away-from-power-tools duty. After Homebase (better selection, cheaper price and quicker delivery than B&Q, in case you were interested) had delivered the appropriate wooden bits (forty-seven) and we had established that we had enough electric drills (three), we set to with the construction. Actually that's not quite true; I had to go to work on the Friday so he spent the morning digging an 'ole...

Upon my return, there were 28 sacks of rubble, an ex-tree to take to the tip and a base to be bolted together and dropped in...

Standing back, admiring our handiwork I squinted at the frame, leading me to casually remark that it "looked about level to me". So we tested that theory...

Bloody hell, it was! Hurrah, saved about an hour's banging things randomly with hammers :)

The next thing was to get the sides up. There aren't many photos of this process, as it seemed to require a minimum of 6 arms and there were only two of us. Still, we were making progress...

Not surprisingly, the next stage was to tackle the roof. After the obligatory joke about "getting felt up", we did just that (also note classic use of delicate Victorian garden furniture as sweaty bloke's drill storage area, sawmill and workbench)...

By now, it was very late, we were very tired and the door wouldn't close because, it turns out, the adjacent window fittings had been designed by a committee of Venezuelan baboons on acid. In fact, we ceremoniously tore up the instructions at this point and got a load of 2" screws involved. And, suddenly, we'd only gone and built a shed...

The following morning, before dashing off to play cricket near Slough (I know, my rock 'n' roll life, eh?) there was Ye Grande Shedde Openingg with honoured guests and dignitaries from the borough...

And today, one week on, I found myself sat out at the very same spot in a canvas chair with a mug of tea, reading the weekend papers whilst Aggers burbled gently from the wireless and the sun beat down on SE London. Bliss...

Huge thanks to the parents, without whom this project would have been an epic fail, and to Solveig for finally caving in and letting me do it (although I suspect that she is secretly delighted that she now has somewhere to banish me...)

Overheard #81

Awesome #BGT overheard just now:

"Come on, Susan Boyle's on next..."
"...I've just got to watch these potatoes."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, sums up the state of Saturday night television.

Back A Bit, Left A Bit

Everyone else has blogged this, so I am going to as well:

Awkward Family Photos

Which reminded me of Antonia, Ian and Esme's brilliant Wild West one, here.

Sugar Spun Sister

So 'The Stone Roses' was released 20 years ago this weekend.

As a debut album, it was astonishing - anthemic, delicate, emotional, witty, powerful and enigmatic - with hand-crafted lyrics from Ian Brown, intricate guitar work from John Squire floating above the rolling bass sounds of Gary Mountfield and Alan Wren's chugging drums keeping your feet moving, for me it was the sound of the beginning of the 1990s.

Regrettably, I don't seem to have any photos to hand of my baggy jeans, flowery hoodie and shaggy (whisper it, undercut) hair but you can get some idea of my image of the time from this:

Yes, in a totally unrelated coincidence, Freyja appeared for breakfast today dressed ready for Spike Island.

I'm so very proud (and ever so slightly wistful).

Overheard #71

(Not technically 'overheard' as it was addressed to me personally, but too good not to share...)

Meeting my family off the plane from Dubai after their 10-day break; a period in which I took it upon myself to attempt to grow a beard, as one might. Out of the baggage reclaim area they come, blinking in the uber-bright all-glass Heathrow Terminal 5 sunlight. Freyja sees me and runs over to give me a hug with the following greeting:

"Hello, Daddy! Have you had your face painted?"

Classic.

Very Hungry Google

For Freyja - the best 'special' Google logo ever:

The Very Hungry Caterpillar is a children's book written by Eric Carle, originally published in 1969. It is highly popular and has been praised for its use of easy-to-read words which makes it good for teaching young children to read. The book contains 225 words and large, colorful illustrations. It follows a caterpillar as it munches its way through a variety of edibles such as ice cream, salami, watermelon, one slice of Swiss cheese, and a lollipop before it finally pupates and emerges as a butterfly. The story teaches the life cycle of a butterfly, counting to 5, the names of the days of the week, and about different types of food. It is one of the best-selling books of all time with over 25 million copies in print.

Change 24

Today's change was to my age. Yes, thirty-eight years ago (around 6.30pm, I'm told, just in time for a gin & tonic) I arrived in the world, a little yellow* bundle of joy**. From Kingston Hospital back home to Richmond*** where my mum finally got to tuck into her pork chop****.

Still here, though; so far, so good. Happy birthday to me!


* like all the best people, I had jaundice
** possibly a little artistic licence here
*** now there's posh
**** long story...

Change 03

Today's change was that Theo started crawling!

Blue Christmas

I've always felt that red and green were the wrong colours to represent the true meaning of Christmas:



Or, if you prefer some context:

Cherry *hic* Mistmas, everyone!

Home Alone

It's very, very quiet here.

This year, it is once again time to spend Christmas in Dubai, with Solveig's family. Although very much a Muslim country, the proliferation of western ex-pats and massive shopping malls means that Christmas is a big deal over there. Despite my default setting at this time of year being a Level 37 Scrooge, I do rather enjoy the incongruousness of eating the traditional Christmas roast dinner* outside, near the desert, in 25 degree heat, under a portable gazebo :)

Anyway, the other factor is of course that Dubai is a long way away: five four hour time difference and roughly a seven hour flight. So it's clearly not worth popping over after work on Christmas Eve and buggering off around teatime on Boxing Day. This year, Solveig was understandably keen to get as much time as possible there, with ready access to delighted babysitting grandparents for Theo and energetic older cousins for Freyja (warm weather, good shopping and a heated swimming pool may also have featured in the discussion). I could just about negotiate two weeks off work (as I did the Christmas week graveyard shift last year) but with her on maternity leave, it would be silly not to stretch it for the rest of the family as much as possible.

The long and short of this is that yesterday she loaded up the car with children, luggage, pushchair, travel sweets, magazines, Kendal Mint Cake and a navigator (her excellent sister Angharad, who Freyja adores) as well as printed maps, laptop-based routefinder, sat nav, A-to-Z and mobile phone with me on speed dial. After the first call ("How do I make the water squirt onto the windscreen?") they were off. BA flight 109 from Heathrow T5 to Dubai was waiting. After the traditional crawl round the M25, they arrived at BCP to be told that yes they could park there but the courtesy coach could only take them to Terminal 4, from where they would need to take a regular scheduled London bus to Terminal 5**. Not happy, but what can you do? Anyway, finally the call comes - they're there, checked in, had dinner, kids in pyjamas and waiting to be called for the flight. Phew. And sure enough, woke up this morning (after what can only be described as a three-hour lie-in) to a text message saying that the kids were brilliant on the flight and everyone is smiling and happy in the UAE sunshine.

So I can relax. With TMS commentary of the India test, Arsenal the lunchtime match on the box, a pork pie in the fridge as well as it absolutely chucking it down outside (so I couldn't rake the metric tonne of leaves off the garden, even if I wanted to, which I don't) it's pretty relaxed chez fourstar. I shall miss them all terribly for the next week, but it's good to be able to breathe out once in a while :)

As I said, it's very, very quiet here...


* Which I have just realised, with the arrival of Theo, will be for 11 people this year!

** Having been informed of this by a rather stressed wife I decided to look into it and as far as I can tell it turns out that yes, there is Long Stay parking at the shiny new T5 but it is exclusively run by BAA, is literally TWICE the price of the other operators and they won't let the independents (BCP, Purple, Flyaway, etc) run their courtesy coaches direct to T5. Insert insulting swear word of choice here.

Goodbye

Renee.
You were amazing.
We'll miss you.
Love from us all.

1001 Rules

Great idea. Wish I'd thought of it.

1001 rules for my unborn son

Personal favourites include:

 "94. Don't show off. Impress."

"269. If you've made your point, stop talking."

"165. On a night out with the boys, never be the first to go home."

Kith And Kinder

Brooker spot on again - couldn't agree more, as I believe I said (perhaps with a shade less acerbity) here earlier in the year:

Mollycoddled prisoners

En Vacances

Currently, here at Lascombe (just outside Cahors in southern France) the temperature is a blistering 34C (93F in old money) and the sky looks like an Yves Klein canvas:

Now some of you will be thinking, "Yeah, right, he's just put a bit of Yves Klein canvas up, the cheating monkey" so here is the same shot with a bit of foliage in it, innit:


It's bloody hot :)

Saturday's Alright For Breakfast

Last Saturday, we suddenly had a free weekend so Solveig decided to get her hair done in East Dulwich. We piled into the dark-green-medium-sized-middle-aged-French-family-car and thought we might take in some breakfast on the way. Due to some serious faffing (me) in Ed, it turned out that we didn't have very much time in the end and in a bit of a panic we stumbled through the doors of what I initially thought was just a wine shop but which turned out to be attached to a really fantastic little café called Green & Blue on Lordship Lane.

Solveig shot off to her appointment and I settled in with a really great coffee and some warm ham & cheese croissants (although I want to go back and try the home-made baked beans on rye bread which I jealously watched being taken to another table). Freyja was very happy with her cloudy apple juice and scoffed all the 'hom' in sight...

...and Theo was impeccably behaved as usual:

Up to the park at Goose Green next for some running and sliding and climbing and rocking and swinging...
...where I noticed the Carhartt-clad Dulwich dads were out in force (eight of them - I rather got the feeling they're turfed out on a Saturday morning and told not to come back until Football Focus is on). Quality time indeed - added to which, Solveig came back with a great new haircut and we bought fantastic food (lamb rolls, sweet potato pies, harissa & bean salad) from the Northcross Road street market for an al fresco lunch back home in the garden:

Lovely.

I realise I don't often post about family things (Solveig does it so much better!) but this was just so very nice indeed :)