Went swimming this morning. I used to take Olive to her swimming lessons, but work kind of got in the way so I've not seen her swim since September, and flipping heck is she good. Like a fish. A slightly sinking one, admittedly, but she can actually swim now. It's amazing. Luke loved trying his sister's goggles on. Made me laugh.
Good old Grandma and Pops got the children a joint present this year. We managed to leave it hidden under the tree until Saturday morning. No mean feat let me tell you. It's a cracker. You get a bubble machine and two magic wands that make increasingly urgent pinging sounds as you work your way to popping 20 bubbles and winning the game.
Grandma did issue strict instructions that it was an 'outside' toy.
The rug and floor in the frontroom are now lovely and clean.
Cuz, my oldest friend (I have some who are older, but none I have known as long), was in residence at his Kessingland home this week so we hacked into darkest Suffolk to spend a very pleasant morning with him and his family.
Kessingland is the oddest place (Olive calls it Cuzland and cracks up laughing at her joke), a proper baron, rundown seaside town. We've been visiting since they bought the place for an absolute snip almost seven years ago and always have a nice time. Don't think we've ever been in the summer! The house itself is wonderful, Victorian, three beds and a box room, open fire, big old enamel bath, and so on. All very homely and spitting distance from the sea.
Anyway, they're letting it out this year. Very reasonable rates if you fancy it. Let me know...
Caryn left today for a visit to Cape Town, her first since she was just, just, just pregnant with Olive in early 2001. It has been one of the saddest days I can remember. The children seemed fairly resilient, which is more than can be said for me and Caryn. Very sad. We hope she has a great time, but we can't wait to get her back safely.
She's safely in the air now and will touch down at Doha International early tomorrow morning, before picking up a flight to Cape Town, arriving early evening. It's certainly what you'd call the scenic route, taking in a 2,000 mile detour via Saudi Arabia thanks to the shonkiest travel agent in the world... who actually came recommended. The mind boggles.
Headed into town this morning to feed the ducks when it occurred that the hunt would passing through seeing as it was Boxing Day. I remember going to see the hunt when we lived in Grantham, no idea how old I was, less than nine though. The spectacle has always remained with me. I especially like how the hounds just run amok. Surely you need a lead for those, sir.
So, we got offered mulled wine and xmas cake while we waited, the kids got super bored, but eventually we got to see hounds running amok and listen to posh Tory twits using the event as a soapbox to whine about how hard it is being a farmer these days. Don't know about you, but our stables are a real strain on the old budget. If only we could kill foxes in such a spectacularly overblown manner again everything would be dandy.
Anyway, as a spectacle it is still brilliant and the hunt is as visceral as ever, despite the fact they won't be catching any foxes, nope, not them. Absolutely no fox killing today.
This is a pub. Was a pub. Not any old pub. This is the pub where I met Caryn. And without The Brunswick Arms, 25 Stamford Street, London SE1, there would be no Olivia and Luke.
We heard the sad news today that it has finally closed. The whole building used to be the headquarters for Sainsbury's, but they moved to Holborn years ago and sold the building off. Since then The Brunswick has hung in there, but seems that that's that. It's actually quite emotional. Didn't think it would be.
(**NOTE** I stand corrected. Seems Sainsbury's have moved to Holborn on a temporary basis while the Stamford Street site is re-developed in a £270m makeover. Lord Foster's firm is behind the new building, it's quite large. And, Stamford Street will finally get a Sainsbury's store. We could never figure why it didn't when the HQ was there. Anyway...)
In the area surrounding King's Reach Tower there are loads of pubs, loads, where you drank kind of depended on where you worked. The Stamford was the traditional music press haunt I guess, so when Melody Maker had a shift change in the late Nineties, we also needed our own pub.
The only pub around that you could actually get a seat in was The Brunswick. It was a tired, grubby place, it was dark and dingy. So we made it our own. It was Mark (nee Roland) who christened it The Caravan Park. I had my leaving do in there, in fact, I had two leaving dos in there. One Maker and one NME. And I went to hundred other leaving dos in there too.
The bar staff were cracking - Old ladies you wouldn't mess with. They were motherly, matronly, and they were led by Elaine, SE1's own Bet Lynch. Bless them all. Then in early 2000, they started hiring younger staff. Didn't quite seem right, but hey. There was Claire the student nurse, Kim, the traveller from Oz, and, in July 2000, a girl who knocked an entire pub for six.
I don't know if it was coincidence, but the arrival of Caryn saw our pub quite quickly became the pub of choice. Friday nights were absolute chaos, with the place packed to the rafters. It was one of these nights that I first spoke to my future wife. I bought her a drink at the end of the night. Might as well I thought, what I have I got to lose? And anyway, why would a girl like that look twice at a scruffy oik like me?
Ha!
And she short changed me. Anyway, it is an ex-pub, it has ceased to be. So, here's to Elaine and Hartley (he who talked like a seal and held Freemason meetings in the cellar bar), who were proper landlords. Weird, but proper all the same. Here's to everyone who shared a pint in the great place and to all the daft conversations and mad schemes hatched ('What about Ben, he's probably the new Editor of NME.'). I enjoyed every last second. Thanks for being such fantastic company.
But most of all, here's to my beautiful wife and our two wonderful children, none of who would be a part of my life without The Brunswick Arms, 25 Stamford Street, London SE1.
The day that Christmas officially comes to our house is the day we get the tree... which was today. Nice isn't it? Smells lovely too. And Lousie, in case she doens't mention it, Caryn found her wedding ring this morning, in a pile of clothes in the bedroom. It made her quite happy.
Olivia has been hard at work recently. Here is a special portrait of Caryn.
Every year, on this very night, parents head into town with their offspring in order to spend money on plastic things that light up. They do of course come fitted with Eastern Bloc AA batteries that last exactly as long as it takes to walk home...
Sorry, getting ahead of myself.
It was Dickensian Evening tonight, the night when the Xmas lights get switched on by Father Christmas. Yup. The whole town turns out and there's a small fair affair, and food stalls and so on and so forth. It's not quite as cute as it sounds, is it Louise?
There's an annual fuss about festive decor in Wymondham (or lack of) and this year's effort will be no exception. The word they'll be looking for is pfut.
We actually had a not bad time. Got there early, got out early and in between we won two bears and a couple of lollies on the Wymondham Lions stall, Santa's horse-drawn carriage pulled up alongside us, children had a ride on the teacups - you can see from the picture that one loved it, and one, well... you know.
You know how there was a view from the roof of my old job (last day Friday)? Well, I thought I shoud have one of the potential new job (first day, today). I biked up this road to work this morning. It felt quite good.
Riding home wasn't so clever. Pitch, pitch, black. Reminded me of Dylan Thomas' 'Under Milk Wood'? Starless and Bible black. It was darker than that.
Still.
And... I studied 'Under Milk Wood' for A Level English. It's set in the fictional Welsh village of Llareggub - and do you know, only now, 20-odd years on has the penny dropped. It's 'bugger all' spelt backwards. Duh. You couldn't get the teachers in those days.
Lukey headed out to a birthday party on Sunday. It's really nice that he's getting invite of his own and doesn't have to crash his sister's invites.
Anyway, he made a card for his pal and here he is modelling it. There's hope for him yet. It was a fantastic piece of work, with a little round blob for a mouth, which he is demonstrating in the pic.
It's a been a while since Olivia has returned from school with a load of drawings. Seems Year 1 is very different to reception - much more reading and writing, a lot less drawing and painting.
Last year we filled our entire hall wall with a raft of amazing art. Just before Olive went back to school in September, Caryn decided she'd take all the pictures down because we'd be getting a load of new ones... the wall is still pretty bare.
She draws like a loon when she's at home, but it's nice to get stuff back from school. Imagine how pleased we were when we were tossed these morsels last week. She's getting very good at drawing dogs...
Woke up to the sad news that Evel Knievel, a true legend, died yesterday aged 69. His family and friends seem genuinely surprised that he lasted as long as he did.
"It's been coming for years, but you just don't expect it," said long-time friend and promoter Billy Rundel. "Superman just doesn't die, right?"
At the risk of sounding all Hunter S, I was lucky enough to meet the great man in a bar at Ceasar's Palace, Las Vegas, the scene in 1969 of his notorious leap over the fountains outside. The 150 foot jump was good, the landing - as became his trademark - was spectacularly bad, leaving him in a coma for a month.
I was there with a band called 3 Colours Red, lovely people. We were sitting having a drink and there he was, sat at the bar in a black and white checked leather jacket, bourbon in one glass, purple medicine to stop his new liver giving up on him in another.
He could have told us clear off and leave him alone, but he seemed happy-ish to chat and signed about a dozen autographs.
Naturally, we asked him why he did what he did. "To stop the world dying from boredom," he drawled. It is as good a reason as any.
The world is a lesser place without him.
