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 “Phil Mitchell”

This Much I Don’t Understand

This much I don’t understand.I’m willing to admit I’m no longer in my 30s. In fact as I really left my 30s the idea of us looking back fondly at a Con-Lib coalition government because it wasn’t as craven or desperate as the current government, ludicrous. The only Clegg I knew was in Last of the Summer Wine. 
The notion of a British number 1 tennis player and Leicester City’s league win being eclipsed by the vulgarity, racism and lynch mob mentality of our exit from the Europe and even that not being the biggest story of the year… mind boggling*. It’s hardly surprising then, that even the transformation of Greggs on Wilmslow Road  from stand-up sandwich shop to sit down McDonalds decor, sorry McArtisan decor raised barely a murmur. From Bowie to Murray to Aleppo it’s all been jaw on the floor material this year.unemployed with small children, spare a thought for him.

* I don’t really know what boggling means. 

Mind you. As I really left my 30s the notion that Didsbury Son would be taller than me and use Lynx was also unbelievable. So, as we enter the final chapter of a year when “Liar, liar, pants are on fire.” Has been appropriated as the shout of the mob eulogising their leaders, this much I no longer understand.50s to 5s in one easy vote

1. Brexit means Brexit. At the end of the day (which also means.. ummm, nothing.) Brexit is a portmanteau. It sounds a bit like Brisket and for all it actually means we may as well add gate on the end to make it sound interesting. I only found out what portmanteau meant by googling it. Ying Tong yiddle i Po means Ying Tong Yiddle I Po, Brexit means Brexit. I’m none the wiser. I peaked at no means no. 

2. People who read The Daily Mail and think it’s warping influence is less corrosive than nasty porn to a teenager. In fact people who read The Daily Mail by choice. 

3. What’s happened in Coronation Street. Whilst visiting my own Didsbury Dad it was on with such volume that the neighbours had their own sound off so they could hear clearly. I last tuned in about a month ago but the whole programme seems to be based on each character simultaneously living four lives. I then found out Phil Mitchell is still in Eastenders. Hasn’t he died several times? Are the soaps now reincarnating characters until they attain Nirvana? 

4. How Saints & Scholars survives, although I’m glad it does. 

5. Twenty somethings with full beards and checked shirts. I still don’t get it. Irony imitating life. I know recent transatlantic political moves have made many people look towards Canada but is this an attempt recreate Alberta between Chorlton and West Didsbury?

6. Why 808 State and MC Buzz B aren’t still massive. 

7. Bros making a comeback and selling out in seconds. Bros are back 

Right, that’s the bah humbug out of the way – ready for some Christmas cheer next. 

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The Co-Op, Spandau Ballet, Francis Lee and the M6

Co-Op, WaitroseThis much I have learned:

As I have journeyed so far past 39 that I can now see it in the wing mirror without glasses or squinting I have noticed some startling developments

1. My twin lovelies are suddenly somewhere between babies and toddlers. They are tabies or boddlers. They sway in a 10pm Friday night way; they fall, cry, get up. They get knocked down, but they get up again. You get the picture.

In the middle of the night your eyes can play visual tricks. Last night my beautiful pearl-headed girl went full throttle around 1am. Via a quick fumble with Ewan the Sheep, I began rocking and sushing in the dark. I looked down at her, snuggled in a bright pink sleeping bag made grey in the dark. All I could clearly make out was a fringe and a high-necked short bib. In my stupor I thought she looked like a mini New Romantic. Specifically, Steve Norman at the height of Spandau Ballet’s fame. This was pure gold. To cut a long story short, whilst she cranked up Chant Number 1, I moved seamlessly from 64 Zoo Lane Through the Barricades. Eventually she calmed and as I put her back in the cot I thought “I’d Fly For You”.

In the middle of the night she tranforms into...

In the middle of the night she tranforms into…

 

I also felt slightly guilty. My mighty headed boy has a smile so infectious it could cheer up a Goth. Yet I am convinced he is the spit of 70s Manchester City icon Franny Lee. This after his Uncle Sol and Phil Mitchell phases. Note to self, they will take revenge.

...the one on the left, Steve Norman from Spandau Ballet. (pic www.allposters.co.uk). The likeness is uncanny

…the one on the left, Steve Norman from Spandau Ballet. (pic http://www.allposters.co.uk). The likeness is uncanny

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The Co-Op refit.is fairly spectacular (www.all-truelondon.com)

2. I have been lucky enough over the years to have presented on radio and to have organised major live and broadcast events. Back timing to the second, doddle. Bringing a crew of 100 and an audience of 1000s to the same point of a show – easy. Getting 13 month old twins, pre- teen Didsbury Son and sleep-starved Didsbury Wife in a car to go to London for 9am, impossible. The Everly Brothers on tour had less friction, the group tasks in The Apprentice have a stronger shared vision and the Formula 1 teams travel more lightly when shipping cars across continents.
By the time we stopped for our first nappy and coffee stop, ( My theory is that pricing at Service Stations is decided by spinning a wheel which begins at “Selfridges” and goes through to “Organic Grocer in Notting Hill”) the list of items we had forgotten really needed their own car. If you ever want to feel humble, buy nappies and wipes on the M6. I will never again complain about the cost of Premier League football.

3. When I see Didsbury Wife juggle the needs of Year 8 joy and pain in the same breath as coaxing two 1 year olds I am slightly less smug about my pride at washing up, whilst listening to the radio and chatting on the phone.

4. The New Co-Op in our village centre has undergone a transformation so drastic that I half expect to see it on QVC promoting its extreme makeover. In a week where Co-Op has been ridiculed for its ministerial management’s misunderstanding of metropolitan manners we’ve had free muffins and fruit. But Co-Op, surely to be known as Co-po also chose mid-November to open al fresco dining and all the over 21s have disappeared. Where is the stern blokevwho likes to begin pontificating with “Anyone in their Right Mind… ” and ends with Capital Punishment. What happened to the lovely women? The new staff are fine, but just a little too perky for Copo, it’s not Waitrose ( yet).

The post fit out Co-Op (www,all-truelondon.co.uk)

The post fit out Co-Op (www,all-truelondon.co.uk)

5. Didsbury Son took me to a charmless Japanese day in a sports centre. It was too full of geeks in fancy dress and gamers whose idea of personal hygiene peaked with licking their fingers after chicken wings. He was in his element and his happiness was my joy. But I’m sticking to football

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