Vive la difference, en garde, ha ha, aaaargh, vive la guerre, ouch, I’m telling on you, that’s not fair, Mummmmmeeeee!

After a sly trip to the pub yesterday afternoon, Cathy and I went to collect Sam from his second birthday party of the weekend. As we walked into the Scout Hut, there was a very tired looking clown and two distinct groups of e-numbered children. One group had little balloon animals and were playing rather nicely with each other: girls yuk! The other group had big balloon swords and were re-enacting the final battle scene from The Return of the King. A flailing blur in the center of this maelstrom stopped for a split second, acknowledged me as his father, parried, thrust, reposted and lay waste to his mighty opponent before charging across the Scout Hut with a blood curdling scream.

You can stand in the way of progress

I received yet another email today from my latest and newest manager asking for, yet another Progress Report. I found it very difficult not to respond by saying, “No progress this week due to the production of many and varied progress reports and attendance at many and varied conference calls to discuss the many and varied progress reports produced by the many and varied members of the progress report discussion conference call update committee conference call update.

Booooo, Hisssssss, Brainsssssssss

We took Sam to the local amateur dramatic society production of Sleeping Beauty on Friday evening. Oh yes we did! I think that we let him watch too much of the wrong kind of TV. When Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger on the spinning wheel and fell asleep for a hundred years he asked, “When Sleeping Beauty wakes up will she be a zombie?”

A letter

Due to unforseen circumstances your appointment on 26th September 2006 has been cancelled.

Unforseen?

Mind your Ps and Qs

On Christmas Day, Sam was struggling with packaging. He was muttering under his breath, “Bloody sticky tape, bloody, bloody sticky tape.” I had a quiet chat and suggested that he didn’t use the word “bloody” as it is a grown up swear word. Later on, his Grandma heard him saying it again. She also suggested that he didn’t use the word and added that he sounded like a Cockney (she’s from a posh place up North). Sam was puzzled by the Cockney reference so asked what she meant. She explained that Cockneys swear a lot (I told you she was from a posh place up North). Sam’s next question caused great mirth, “Is Daddy a Cockney?”

Buggerit!