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 day “June 11, 2016”

Postcard from Outer Didsbury – 2

I’m back on a flight. It’s 11 o’clock at night which makes it June back in Manchester and this flight goes on longer than my attention span tenfold. IMG_3038A step up from Delivering Yellow Pages and more satisfying

I ran out of Fox’s Glacier Fruits days ago. 

We are 1 1/2 from home and after changes, short flights and customs probably about 6 hours from a reunion. At this moment the thought has me welling up as though it were the final moments of the Champions League Final; it’s a blessing and a curse. I had to pause at customs to prevent the reunion looking like the backstage shots on America’s Gpt Talent

I would never make a politician, poker player or spy. My inner thoughts paint themselves across the eyes, mouth and non-verbal communication that I share with the world.

During a particularly fraught media meeting with a powerful (mmm I do like alliteration, puerile, petty, punctilious) mogul in charge of large budgets I kept getting nudges from a soon to be former executive. It wasn’t Bridge and this was not the cue we’d agreed. The mogul, whose charm range was Katie Hopkins to Angry Toddler suddenly had a fit of clarity.

“You look like you’re want to punch me.” He said “That’s very astute” was not the right reply and we left, presentation unopened. 

I have learned. Being a dad has taught me to feign interest in a range of activities and sports and to rein in emotions and occasionally hide tiredness. Being a Didsbury Dad I have learned to show interest in all manner of shared cultural experiences and in a range of Japanese animations that make Rhubarb & Custard look slick.

Right now, after 7d ays away on the other side of the world with only Face Time for brief snatches I would watch anything to spend 10 minutes with Didsbury Son and for a sniff of the toddlers. Absence has made my heart fonder in a way I could not imagine. I never planned or expected this. But long after everyone else realised, it seems that not only have Didsbury Son, The Mighty Headed Boy and the Pearly Princess changed my life, they have changed me. 

banner 2I saw this and felt almost 5’9″

The welcome I got at the airport made me realise that after “Daddy” shouted at full blast across Terminal 3 arrivals, the best phrase I had heard all week was,

“Ladies and Gentlemen – we have now arrived in Manchester”. – Bliss.

Hello Didsbury, I’m Home – Postcard from the edge of town

Contrary to rumours I have heard I have not moved to Chorlton (as if), grown a beard or started working for Didsbury Magazine** and now spend my life checking out Altrincham and Hale. I am excited that it’s Didsbury Festival day and I have been working away, beavering at home and generally been to busy to even watch football.

Doig something media-ish and almost high falutin’ I have been to the Far East. These are the excerpts from Didsbury Dad’s Diary.

Postcard from Outer Didsbury 1:

38000 feet and several hundred miles above Didsbury.

I have a 13 hour flight to where I am tasked with delivering something media to media people in a media building so far from Fusion Deli that my breakfast coffee is your late night snack. 

I’m halfway through The Martian. This is the first thing I have watched for months that isn’t Paw Patrol, Blaze or Gnomeo & Juliet. The swearing may be bleeped out but just to see anything with jeopardy feels like a rare treat. I am on the way to somewhere allegedly, that sees the phrase “Paw Patrol, on a roll” with different connotations.

paw patrol I see more of these guays than any of my friends and family.

Sitting here with a Gin & Tonic in a skiff, an empty pretzel bag and Matt Damon on Mars makes me realise how out of practice I am after 3 1/2 years of nurturing blobs to toddlers and Didsbury Son from squeaky solo to hear honcho of the Krispy 3. Twice now I have wondered if The Martian is a true story. I think I need to go abroad more.  

IMG_2918 When this seems luxurious and watching a film on a 6 inch screen framed by the back of someone’s head a treat – you need to get out more.

So… Not much blogging recently. Didsbury Village is storming forward with the kind of independent vigour usually reserved for Burton Road.

Casa Italia is now worthy of the term bustling. Somewhere between the beardy hipsters and the independent artisans, the Makers Market and the cycle shop on the cobbles, Saints & Scholars still thrives on a 90s menu and service throwback.

As if the Didsbury Village Farm Shop had never existed comes Three Little Pigs. A butcher so achingly trendy it may just work. Axons have seen off pretenders before. But this is no Victoria Highfield mistaking Didsbury’s residents for the wastelands of Bramhall. This is not a Wedding Dress shop. This is meat so trendy it gets the tram to the Northern Quarter for a night of Benelux Lager. 

The space formerly known as Royal Bank of Scotland has a sexy looking symbol, Bosu Body Bar is spreading low-carb love and even the old Global News space sees movement. 

gonadWhatever this is meant to be, to readers of Viz this is Buster Gonad’s testicle

With house prices currently increasing at a rate that defies logic but means new adjectives need inventing, these are vibrant times in the land of the Fletcher Moss. 

An hour later.

I cried at the end. I don’t know whether it was the Chicken Penang or the cramp creeping up my thigh but I cried with joy for Matt the Martian and realised with joy that as a 40 something with dodgy knees and claustrophobia – I think it’s a good journey if I don’t have to shut the windows.

IMG_2924

The view from the hotel inspires with the majesty of the East.

** In an early version of this blog I accidentally referred to Didsbury Magazine as Didsbury Life. Apologies to Didsbury Life, promoting M20 in all the best ways.

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