Didsburydad's Blog

From the not so mean streets of M20, blog about being a dad, Didsbury and dealing with parental confusion

Archive for the month “March, 2014”

Kofi Annan at The Cheese Hamlet

Men are from Mars, Women are from Didsbury and thankfully Didsbury Wife used the wisdom of The Clocktower ( the actual tower not the pub named after it) to restore equilibrium.

Like many men I am better in the middle of the night and the early morning than I am between 6.30 and bedtime. We are generally better reacting and being heroic occasionally rather than conscious consistent measured parenting.

By the time Iggle Piggle got back in his boat yesterday I had managed to contradict, confuse, combobulate and concheese off everyone to such an extent that even the cats hissed when I walked in. I had backed into a homework cul-de-sac on a high horse I could not ride and was in danger of creating an atmosphere more sour than cheap wine. Being eyeballed by thee disappointed children made Millwall away seem easy.

Didsbury Wife rescued me. Like a Blue Peter presenter with a pile of rubbish infront of her she created something good out of it and Didsbury Son was even able to patronise me before he scooted around to his friends to park himself on a different chair and watch a different screen.

I retreated to the boddlers where there is nothing that can’t be solved by popping your cheeks, tipping them upside down and singing In The Night Garden.

Product Placement – My Slice of the corporate penny

I have noticed that there is a vogue amongst blogging parents to shoehorn in cheap adverts for tat from a perceived product testing moral high ground. These sometimes unwittingly entertaining blogs turn my Aptamil 3 Toddler Milk for Healthy Bones sour and flatten the flavour in my Hipp Organic exquisitely flavoured vegetable cannelloni that even at 17 months the boddlers still adore. Sometimes they are so see-through that they need a Huggies Sensitive Wipe to gently clear away the taste and and only a Gordon’s Gin with Fever Tree Tonic, Lime and Fresh Ice (available from Tesco) will do.

I understand that our branding profile is brilliant. All new, newish, slightly paranoid parents are gullible punters for anything to ease the day, appease the night and instil greater learning, throwing and communicative skills in our offspring but… I still feel the slight pang of guilt, mixed with pride, when my Mighty-Headed little fella wears his club colours complete with Korean Multinational adorning his chest.

This is not to say Didsbury Dad is advert free. I have a longstanding deal with Fusion Deli on Lapwing Lane to only pay for the things I buy. My car is sponsored by “You Wouldn’t be seen dead in this if you didn’t have children.com” and Didsbury Wife brings me a cup of tea in the evening – but I try to blend this seamlessly between reminding you to click on The Mum and Dad Bloggers Award badge on the right hand-side of the page and vote for me.

There, I feel better now.

Didsbury Dad is GM Free, Caffeine dependent and willing to dance for money.

Didsbury – a historical lesson

I have a friend who went to Nido the week it opened. His rationale being to try it before it closed. This front for something, 60-Minute makeover of a restaurant was a slow car crash of a failure, whilst we watched the manager occasionally pace around outside.

As the letters symbolically fell off the Laughing Buddha signage next door the lights went out on the restaurant customers forgot. If only Didsbury Magazine had done a feature, if only Wadden v Brimelow’s aubergine v purple Estate Agent war had taken place over lunch there… But if onlys are scattered across Didsbury Village’s failures. Remember the fake gangster Japanese place where now lies Zizzi and what was always The Old Grey Horse? No. Neither does anyone else.

Time for a little indulgence. Starting at the library end where Didsbury station was a get-on for London we finally say good riddance to O’Neill’s. I loathe Irish-themed bars. I’m not Irish but The Railway across the road seems a great pub with strong Irish connections and when I see an “Oirish” bar I think of people making Cream of Chicken Soup and passing it off as the real thing. We are getting The Strokers Arms. ( not a euphemism).

After many years Ashley Brown’s iconic locks are finally swapping with the sublime Wendy J Levy who leaves the cobbles of Warburton Street to trade online. We are promised a deli, we expect Costa Express. Ashley Brown took over Jim’ s a green grocers. In the. 70s the Evans-Axons-Hamlet axis of power was a square. Jim was their D”Artagnan.

Jaanum ( which translates as Nido without seats) is still boarded up and Urban Grille’s baffling menu still pulls those who shirk the call of the burgeoning Domino’s.

So back to Padmore Parade. Jo Padmore took over Thresher, which was begat by a serve your own Victoria Wine. Nido followed an average Turkish Restaurants with name changes to cover every City in Turkey, before that a wonderful small restaurant and take -away. To those of us of a certain age it is always Sykes, one of Didsbury’s best record shops where we rushed home from school to buy Lipps Inc. in the 90s it spent time as Namaste Village (before the definition of Namaste had filtered down from Chorlton). This meant that in the mid 90s every Didsbury Child ( then named Ella or George) had their own dream catcher and Peruvian Worry dolls.
Next door was Ho Wah. In the 70s this had been a KFC. My own Didsbury Mum took a moral stance and refused to take us there – the bags of chips were too small.

* No facts were researched during the writing of this blog. Other facts are available.

Why and How You should / can vote for Didsbury Dad


There may be Scallops at the awards ceremony (if you are vegetarian these are fake)

I’ll just put down this Ukranian/Syrian/Ecuadorean/Southern England refugee orphan child (delete as appropriate) I have been nurturing despite the chronic pain, full-time job caring for family members and short attention span that I have  to ask you for a small favour… Sorry about the delay – just chanting for world peace and an end to Mike the Knight on CBeebies. 


I told Didsbury Son to be as brave as a lion and that we may eat fresh food again if we win the awards.


I have been nominated for a MAD Award (Mums and Dads Blogger Award) and there is the chance of a free dinner in it if I get enough votes. If only my eyesight/knees/Didsbury Wife’s patience (delete as appropriate) will last that long.

Please take two minutes to follow the link http://www.the-mads.com/vote/ or click on the “The MADS Awards 2014” banner on the right hand side of the page. You just fill in the details and write @DidsburyDadBlog or Didsbury Dad in as many categories as possible.

In case you are unsure or cannot be bothered here are a few reasons why.

1. Please

2. Pretty Please


Vote now and make them happy

3. If I win I will offer one lucky voter an all-expenses trip to Didsbury Dad  HQ to see a blog written and posted live. (This is less interesting than it seems to can be swapped for chocolate). Blogs are usually written on my phone in the early hours whilst trying to quell a boddler with the other hand. So bring a sleeping bag and milk.)


Need more

– If I win this will be a win, not just for me, but for parents everywhere who really are not quite sure what they are doing, why, or whether anybody cares. This is a vote for knowing you are not in charge and not always that good at it. You know it makes sense.

Didsbury Dad



Let’s all dream of a brighter future

A Pinch and a Punch too Far

Yesterday I tipped over the edge. The edge of being 39 years, 364 days where I have teetered for many years. This was no seeping age stain or dawning realisation. It was a specific moment at around 11am.

The Mighty-Headed boy and I had stepped out early. The whole family are anti-biotic infused on the end of a week of snotula dynamics. I have pushed through man-flu that would floor a horse, never complaining, coughing in private, whilst hunting and gathering by daylight – changing nappies by night; it’s the man way.

My Mighty-Headed boy is 17 months of excitement and constant noise. He was keen to see the renovations at the Nido ranch and to find out what double whammy of hairdresser and Costa Express could fill the mini parade opposite East Didsbury station.

We had our first trip in a trolley round Tescos. His general wonderment and quietness is something I’m not expecting to be repeated but on our return, life changed.

We arrived home. Didsbury Son beckoned me towards him. Distracted; I leaned in. In slow motion I saw his hands go to my arm and heard the words, as though through a tunnel.
“A pinch and a punch for the first of the month, slip slap, no comeback. ”
Defeat . A run lasting as many months as there has been Didsbury Son. On the same step where we have shared picnics, called the moon and watched the world. Done . Like a kipper ( other cliches are available).

He turned and paraded, I shrank and looked down to where the Mighty-Headed boy was trying to eat a newspaper and told him, “Son, I’m 40.” ( plus many weeks) cue Happy Mondays.

To some a bottle of wine, to others consolation.

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