Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
Ecological, Ecology, Environment, France, French, fun, funny, Humour
This is a photo of one of the Highland Scottish cows that we have grazing in the fields of my town.
We use them as ecological ‘lawnmowers’ and Scottish cows were specifically chosen to honour the fact that we are twinned with Haddington in Scotland.
Here we can see Hamish McLazybastard (not actual name) enjoying a relaxed Wednesday morning.
20 Tuesday Nov 2018
Posted in Musings, Uncategorized
I thought I would draw attention to a little-known and underappreciated sport in my new country – French Mole Rugby League. I took a few photographs of a match currently being played on a pitch local to me today, in order to show people what they are missing.
As you can see in the first photograph the home team – Jasper’s Jets – are playing fantastically well. Their prop-forward – Bob ‘The Burrower’ Brown – is just about to make a pass and has achieved a remarkable distance in what is a new record time for the sport of mole rugby-league (7 weeks).
On the other end of the pitch it’s a different story altogether. The visitors – The Taupe Terrors – are looking distinctly disorganised as they have yet to even get started, and some may argue that they appear to be moving backwards.
Further adding to their embarrassment is the fact that their star player – Dave ‘The Digger’ Dawkins – has been sidelined for the second time in as many matches after he was caught smuggling illegal, performance-enhancing equipment under the pitch (a trowel).
Rules are strict on this kind of behaviour and could see him hit with a two-match suspension, meaning he may not see the light of day till 2025, and his sponsors (Moleborough) may put an end to his lucrative advertising deal.
The tension is truly mounting here and for more on this up and coming sport tune back in the same time next year for the half-time update.
03 Monday Sep 2018
Posted in Uncategorized
It’s with great sadness that I write this blog, to commemorate the passing of the fifth member of our family and (sort of) my third ‘child’: Jesse the cat.
He wasn’t with us for long, just over a year in fact. Found originally lost and alone in a small forest, he was given to us by a friend. He soon settled in and became part of the family quickly. My son already had a name picked out for him, in fact he’d had a name picked out for ‘his’ cat for a few years – Jesse.
Here he is chilling out in one of his favourite positions.
I won’t say it was a smooth introduction between the cat and myself. I at first just saw this creature as something else that I would have to clean up after, and, while there’s no escaping the fact that this was true, he soon won me over.
He would shower me with cuddles and became almost dog-like in his behaviour. Every morning when I would return from dropping the kids and my partner off, at school and work respectively, he would be waiting for me in the kitchen. He would then head towards the kitchen door and wait patiently, but pointedly, for me to open the door so that we could go into the lounge where he could give me his morning cuddle. This could go on for an hour, and would sometimes impact my morning cleaning schedule. But I never complained.
Relaxing in the sun and admiring the view
He was fabulous with the kids, and they adored him. Although my daughter could love him a bit too aggressively, and he would repay this by taking the occasional bite out of her leg. Or claw her face a bit.
Yes, we always used a lot of plasters when Jesse and my daughter got together.
With my son he was more relaxed, as my son seemed to understand that cats didn’t like being disturbed when they were asleep. And that they really hated having an inflated balloon slapped in their face. Something my daughter, for all her smarts, never grasped.
Comfortable, content, chilled out and comatose.
The way Jesse played with the kids was another amazing aspect of his character. He would always be with us when we were outside – even trooping along with us to the postbox to collect the mail (hence why I came to look at him as a third child, he would always walk along behind us, bringing up the rear). And would even participate in games of football, actively chasing down the ball and catching it, like a goalkeeper. Something I have never seen in any other cat.
A position he used to favour when he was young, we dubbed it the ‘sleeping fruit bat cat position’
It was just over a year since Jesse joined us, and we were returning from our holidays, on the way back in the car, when we received the call. He had one of those ear tattoos you see, the ones vets use to identify them with. We knew it wasn’t good news, and as the vet told my partner over the phone what had happened I glanced at her while I drove, seeing the tears shimmering in her eyes, and I knew what was being said. He’d gone venturing one night and hadn’t seen the car coming towards him…and that was that. We were just grateful – as the vet told my partner later – that it was quick, no suffering.
We took the decision to tell the kids immediately, and they cried their eyes out. But, kids being kids, they bounced back soon, and we all participated in building him a memorial garden, as well as planting a flower for him.
Here he is being a ‘sub miaower’ next to my sub-woofer.
So yes you are gone our friend, off to chase flies and spread your hair everywhere in a better place. We will never forget you, and thank you for bringing so much joy to our lives, even if it was for such a brief period.
All our love, always and forever xxxx
R.I.P ‘Jesse’ 2017 – 2018
22 Sunday Jan 2017
Posted in annoyances, Uncategorized
Tags
children, education, France, funny, Humor, languages, political correctness, school, stay-at-home Dad
It’s 5.30pm on a wet and miserable Wednesday evening and I’m picking up my son from his after-school club. The club is a fantastic thing as it allows me to work within normal hours safe in the knowledge that he’s being well looked after and fed.
He loves it because he gets to play video games.
I ring the buzzer on the door and wait patiently for the door to be answered. And wait. And wait. In the end I have to go and bang on the window of the room that the kids play in, startling the children but gaining the teaching-assistants’ attentions.
This happens frequently; they say it is because their walkie-talkies are out of range of the door-buzzer; I say, they don’t like getting up and answering the door, hoping that the caretaker will do it instead (he often does).
So after being let in to the building by one of the teaching assistants I notice that she has a concerened look on her face. ‘Is your son’s mum in France* at the moment?’ I tell her that that is indeed the case. ‘Oh right’ she says ‘That might explain it then’. ‘Explain what?’ I ask her.
‘Well’ she starts ‘He was playing outside earlier on and he went in the wrong direction and made the wrong choice, his teacher asked him to make the right choice but he again went in the wrong direction’. I look at her, trying to decipher this statement.
‘So what did he do?’ I ask her. She looks at me like I have just been dropped on my head and repeats the same mysterious sentence.
Now, at the school my son goes to I have encountered this type of language before, when my son has been guilty of using ‘unkind hands’ and ‘unkind words’. That’s fairly self-explanatory, but I’m at a total loss as to what he has, or hasn’t done, on this occasion.
I think the rationale behind it is that teachers don’t want to outright describe the situation, they prefer to label it in a roundabout fashion. I’d personally prefer it if they just said ‘Your son misbehaved today – he was hitting Maisie over the head with a watering can so he had to go for a timeout’ – much easier to understand than the current method of cotton-wooling the facts.
I wait for the assistant to fetch my son and replay the conversation in my head. And I’m still none the wiser two minutes later when my son arrives.
The teaching assistant looks at me ‘We’ll put it down to his mum being away I think, hopefully he’ll go in the right direction tomorrow’. I nod my head in agreement at whatever it is this woman is saying to me and leave the building as quickly as possible.
We will be moving to France soon where the teachers most certainly will not speak the same language as me. But, in many ways, they may actually speak a language that I understand a lot more…
I did actually ask my son, when we got home, what he’d done. He is a typical six-year-old boy, so all I got was ‘I don’t know’. Later that evening when I Skyped my partner and relayed what had gone on she was similarly curious as to what had happened, and neither me nor my son could proffer an answer…
*We are shortly moving to France – more on that at a later date – and so she has started her new job already – one week she’s in France, one week she’s back in the UK, one week back in France, one week in the UK then we move over there permanently.
21 Thursday Jan 2016
Posted in Musings, Uncategorized
1. FeeeDDDD MEEE loTs OF banaNAS
2. Put MR BeaN ON thE TeLLY
3. No NOT THE AnimATED onE YOU iDiOT DaDdy
4. FEEd MEEE mOOOreee BAnaNaS
5.ANd chEEse WOuld bE NiCe
6.WHy have YOU turNED oFF mr BEAN?
7. ThrEE houRS of MR BEan Or I WILl KiCk OfF
8. And A DRink
Mr Mum: The 'joy' of a stay-at-home dad 
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