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 “Jo Malone”

If I was Tim Peake

Me and Tim Peake, brothers with a different view of the world.Tim Peake looks on wrily as rain lashes this year’s Didsbury Festival (Picture, ITV.com)

You can’t help but like and admire Tim Peake. He even had Heston Blumenthal in tears of joy at one point on his journey. His skill and general bonhomie are an antidote to the misogynists, homophobes, xenophobes and general sewer-dwellers who have taken the headlines recently. 

If only I had taken O’Level Physics and was not a mix-handed claustrophobic with a penchant for crisps we could have been work buddies. We could have counted down together. In space we could have run one half marathon each, held gloves on the moonwalk and hit the Duty Free at Khazakstan together before heading home to watch The Euros. However, if I was Tim Peake I think the journey back may have been different. Once the capsule re-entered the atmosphere and came within reach, the text message would flash up, “We’re out of milk, green and red, stop at Co-Op and don’t wake the children when you come in.” I hope he remembered his front door key. 

Where’s Didsbury Dad?

After de-brief, health checks, re-orientation, customs, press interviews etc. would come the tearful family reunion. Tim would be told that childcare was now his responsibility for the next six months as Moon Wife was tired and needed a proper kip AND… Enough of the moon rock, get to Jo Malone at the airport duty free and put your hand in your pocket.

If Tim Peake was from Didsbury he might come back to wonder why the plague of men under 30 with beards had spread here, whether Casa Italia was worth a visit and be impressed that Co-Op has a new front display when he stops to get milk.Happy Fathers’ Day, whether giver, receiver, both or neither. 

Not aliens met on a space trip.

Christmas Eve Part 2

Christmas Eve –
From 4pm the streets are lined with parents holding children, cards and Christingle oranges.
From 5pm the last of the male shoppers troop beaten out of the off-licence or clutch their soon to be ignored last minute gifts.
At 6pm it is quiet, but
By 7pm the younger teenagers in short sleeves and bravado are tripping from mates’ houses to unsuccessful attempts at getting served. This sharpens the barstaff for the influx of the lads and the laydeez from 8pm onwards.
9pm and the chains by the clocktower are full of testosterone, Top Man and Gio Goi. There is flirting and smoking going on in equal measure outside each one. The smaller pubs are full of the drinkers, divorcees, the unenthusiastic and those resolving to blank out whatever the true meaning is to them.
11pm Midnight Mass at St. James’ and hope is resurrected to a motley crew of the faithful, the once a year and the searching…
I am at hope frantically trying to tidy the house and slip gifts over which I have agonised under a tipsy and tiny tree that has failed to meet any expectations.

Like all good Didsbury Dads I have several concerns. Is medium the new 12? Is a 10 going to be perceived as inviting or inhibiting? Why doesn’t John Lewis sell Jo Malone? If I got a job at John Lewis next year then the money I save on staff discount throughout the year would be better than wages. When will John Lewis take over the Pizza Hut vacated space in the village to stop that terminal trip up the A34 that always means you miss the 4pm Sunday kick off?

Didsbury son is easy. If it has a half eaten fruit on the side, is a DVD or something to cuddle it wins.

The cats eye me suspiciously as I bite through two carrots, the mince pie and shlurp the milk they had planned for the second I left the room. Didsbury fatcat brings in one last baby rat dislodged from the Metro building work as an offering (or a swap for the turkey I danced around the room with earlier). Skinny cat eyes me warily and gets back to her 18 hours a day winter sleeping regime. When FC and Rudolf come down they may be disappointed that the food has gone and the cats aren’t really bothered.

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