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 tag “focaccia”

I Cannot Grumble, but is a quick moan alright?

It had been an exceedingly long day. As I munched my Monday Focaccia and ambled through the built up roads and empty Gourmet Burger Kitchen of Didsbury I was ready for a good moan about my long day. I had a whole spiel concocted with regard to some perceived snub and a great play on words inspired by a banal piece of oneupmanship. All of it dreary and in keeping with the first burst of winter after a summer when we could finally moan about the heat (and did).

 

I admit it. I have, on occasion used the twin babies as a front for being a bit crap. “Ooh, I’m so tired, Aaaah I’ve been up all night, but can’t grumble (make yourself comfy I’m about to grumble copiously)” . Nobody else has ever had children/gone to work/made their own tea occasionally.

 

The British are famous for moaning, tea, fish and chips and punching above our weight at sport without ever being sure how we did it. I’ll address the other three later but we know you need patience to make a decent brew and trying to gain sympathy from people without appearing to is more ubiquitous (if you can be more ubiquitous) than football and Holly Willoughby on ITV.

So here is the Didsbury Dad guide to the top 3 dad moans for opportunities we should celebrate.

 

  1. Nappy changes. I am not sure everyone realised that at midnight on 31 December 1999 we rolled into the 21st Century. Changing a nappy is occasionally smelly and a bit messy. At worst it can be an entertaining tussle. It’s nothing a quick hand wash can’t sort out.

In addition to giving you the excuse to blow raspberries on your baby’s tummy it builds trust and there is no chromosomal reason not to do it. It is also quicker and easier than washing up and watching the Mighty-Headed boy wee on me randomly has provided Didsbury Son with some of his most entertaining moments his year.

 

2. Getting the baby(ies) down. This is the best for many reasons. After pretending you are the king of funny voices, funny stories and general nurturing you get to cuddle up with them on the pretext that they weren’t settling in the cot on their own. When you lie with a baby curled up into you, their arm on your chest and the scent of their heads filling your nostrils, it removes the residue of any sleepless night. It is a count your blessings experience,  even if its during a Champions League Game (pre-Christmas group games obviously, I’ve not lost it completely). This  also provides you with the chance of a quick snooze or a game of Candy Crush on the iPhone over their shoulder.

 

3. The cost. Let’s be honest. There is a little bit of Homer Simpson in most of us that involves wasting money on tat, high salt food and over-priced drinks.  That we now realise we should have opened a chemist shop and saved up instead of throwing greats parties is by the by. When I spend less on coffee than I do on Aptamil I will moan.

 

It’s been bloody cold today and I got wet. I’ll just get the phone and call someone who cares.

Movember and the Golden Fleece(ing)

It’s been a month since my last post, Mea Culpas all around. Unless that involves buying a Mea culpa souvenir cup, wristband, t-shirt, fancy dress outfit or themed Mea culpa sweets with special gooey filling.

Please donate to keep these people off the TV

October/November is now weeks of a thousand tiny cuts to my Didsbury Dad wallet and of a stocking up on pre-Christmas tat for a delighted snd sugar overloaded Didsbury Son.

We have celebrated the rise of evil American influenced Halloween spirits against my better liberal morals. The  outfit, bucket of sweets etc. and my payback was to make up ghost stories for a roomful of 20 neighbours without being convincing enough to be ostracised or need a CRB check.

Hot off the back of Halloween we went to the Toc H rugby club firework display. I have always been slightly nervous of Rugby clubs since school. Too much forced bonhomie and unacknowledged homoeroticism. No worries or head dunking down a toilet on the night. The fireworks were good, the bratwurst was excellent and like all good 10 year olds Didsbury Son ran around aimlessly in a gang whose parameters stretched from the mean streets of Parkfield Road to the badlands off Victoria Avenue.
Via various charity boxes around school and Eid contributions we have Movember. Grow a moustache for men’s health. I’m partial to facial hair when allowed and have been through the goattee and the Adidas stripe phase. I didn’t get to start until the 11th and anything that researches an easing of prostate examination seems more appealing once you tip the scales past 38. BUT, even this requires a contribution. I barely have enough left to gorge myself on tidbits at our new Didsbury Village Farm Shop (more to follow in a couple of days).

Who doesn't look good with a 'tache?

Finally and with the full backing of the country, the piece de resistance, Children in Need. I love the idea and am happy to contribute to endless “Name the Olive Oil”, guess which side of the mountain the Focaccia flour was harvested from and a myriad of Didsbury inspired fundraising challenges but I hate the TV programme-a-thon.

I went to bed in disgrace with Didsbury Wife and Son for being bah humbug a month early. It’s not the crying celebs or the wonderful small charities; they are worthy and inspiring. It’s the newsreaders, actors and general BBC staff moonlighting as karaoke bores that makes it unwatchable. Elbow and Coldplay on Thursday night at the MEN, fantastic. Gok Wan doing Chicago, Eastenders committing regicide beyond awful. Want to double the takings? Get these abysmal show ponies back in their comfort zone and out of sight.

Too much sugar on halloween gets to Didsbury Son

Hey, only 5 weeks to Christmas.

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