Unless We’re Talking About Jeff Goldblum, I HATE FLIES!

Tags

annoyances, Bugs, exercise, funny, Heat, Humor, Humour, Insects, Life, Painting, Running, Summer

 

Have you heard of a New York Second? If you haven’t it’s the shortest possible measurement of time. Standardised as the time between the lights turning green and the taxi behind you beeping its horn.

I’m only asking as I’m thinking of coming up with an even shorter measurement – possibly named a ‘Flecond’. This is the time elapsed between a person starting to paint something outdoors and a winged insect committing suicide by landing in it.

I’m beginning to suspect they believe paint is some sort of doorway to fly-nirvana with the amount that have embedded themselves in it while I’ve been decorating outdoors this week.

Still, at least if they’re embedded in my paint (perhaps waiting for the day far in the future when they can be harvested and the contents of their stomachs can be used to clone people for a Jurassic Park-style wonderland of humans?) they aren’t flying around and around my light fittings.

What is it with flies and light fittings? Does the diary of the average fly go something like this?

Day one: Born

Day two: enter a house

Day three: fly around light fitting 2 million times

Day four: fly around light fitting 3 million times

Day five: drop dead in conservatory

I’ve researched this, as I am that sad, and have found no concrete reason for why they perform this bizarre aerial dance. Some say it is because of the residual heat. I don’t know, but I do know I’ve noticed it far more since moving to France.

Maybe it’s the cheese that drives them mad?

They are also a bane when I go running. I love running when it’s cold. My perfect months are October to March time. Nice and chilly.

Then along comes summer and BAM! The temperature rises, and along with the heat come the flies. I’ve read a lot about breathing through your nose when it comes to running, people say it oxygenates the blood more. I can’t do it. Ironically when asked about whether it was better to breathe through your mouth or your nose an NFL coach famously replied: ‘Stop trying to pick the fly-shit out of the pepper and JUST BREATHE!‘

So that’s what I keep in mind when I’m running and breathing through my mouth. I try to keep it in mind as I swallow fly after fly after fly.

Yuk!

Still, I prefer to swallow them, if I have the choice, because otherwise they go down the wrong hole and I end up dry heaving in the middle of the road. Nothing quite like a sudden attempt at throwing up an inhaled fly to put you off your stride and negatively impact your run time.

So yes, in case you haven’t picked up on it yet – I HATE FLIES!

Corona Virus Lock Down – Day Three…

Tags

Corona, Environment, exercise, Family, France, French, Journalism, Law, Life, News, Relationships, Running, Virus

 

It all seemed like a joke not so long ago. Like last Friday maybe. This Corona Virus malarkey wasn’t serious really, was it? I mean sure, people were dying, but they were few and far, far away. But then it was in the UK, and Italy.

And then it was here, in France.

Then President Macron took to the air and announced that we were at war with a virus. And suddenly it was all to real, and not funny anymore. Not in the slightest.

New measures were announced to combat this threat, avoid contact with other people, wash frequently, don’t panic buy (good luck with that one!) but the main one was that we must stay in our homes unless absolutely necessary. Meaning, effectively, that we are all locked down in our own homes with our loved ones and, if we do leave the house, we need to fill out and sign a form in case a police man sees and stops us (if you don’t have your note then you face a hefty fine).

So far since the new regime has been implemented I have been out once (I mean, you can still go out in your garden, but I’m talking about a bit further afield). I went for a run yesterday for about forty minutes, running all around my town. I did of course ensure that I had my ‘permission slip’ with me: ‘Dear Mr Policeman, I am running outdoors as I need to exercise and get away from my kids otherwise I will go mad‘ was bizarrely NOT one of the possible justifications for leaving your domicile.

It was strange. So quiet.

In some respects this is no different from normal days/evenings when I run. The French are a very ‘insular’ people, and I have likened them to trap-door spiders in the past (in a loving way of course). They pop out, do their thing – be that working, shopping etc. – and then they head back indoors and effectively don’t leave until the next day. That’s why when I run I generally don’t see many people. This is a marked contrast for someone who comes from the UK, where you could go for a run through a much smaller town and see dozens and dozens of people milling around.

There are no off-licenses or late-opening corner shops, very, very few take-aways and pubs are less frequent, so I think this does have an impact on that kind of social mobility. I prefer it, if I’m being honest. The amount of drunken people rolling around English towns as a result of these alcohol-selling shops, and the other obesity-issue related to convenience food is not something I miss.

But I digress.

So I went for a run and I did see some people, but every single one of them moved out of my way as I approached. And I’m not saying I ran near them. Many times I was about four meters away (the recommended safe distance is one meter), yet still they moved.

So it’s quiet, which is not unusual. But it’s the atmosphere in the air that’s so different. There’s almost a fear. A sense of dread that you can taste.

There’s also a very real sense of horse manure and cow dung in the air too, but that’s because I run past a farmer’s field on my circuit.

I’ll report back on what it’s like indoors in another blog, as we are all still settling into this new lifestyle.

But one thing’s for sure – we are living in interesting times…

 

My Garage Renovation – Before And After…

Tags

D.I.Y, Design, exercise, Fitness, funny, Home Improvement, Humor, Interior decorating, Renovation, stay-at-home Dad, Working Out

Bit of before and after malarkey. I’ve got my exercise equipment set up in my garage and I got tired of working out in a gloomy, cobweb-infested cave, so decided to give it a face-lift.

 

 

I’ve fitted a material ceiling and will see long-term how that works out with regards to insects/dust but it gives it a fresh, airy look for now. If when I am doing pulls up I come back down with a face full of arachnids then I will fit a proper ceiling.

 

 

Hanging/floating chair in place so that me or the missus have a nice quiet place to come and read/nap/avoid kids.

Strip lighting in various places for when I’m working out at night/evening as the current one bulb is not up to the task of illuminating the whole room.

Picture is there so that while doing curls I can escape in my mind to a sunny place and imagine myself diving off the deck into the cool, fresh water (5 Euro in the reduced section of Aldi’s shit aisle). Took me a couple of weeks just doing the odd hour here or there, see what you think to the results … (apologies for quality of pics, I have a pauper’s phone).

 

In Search Of Synonyms For Pink Fluffy Things…

Tags

children, exercise, funny, school, stay-at-home Dad

 

 

Fridays are a bit hectic for me. My son has an hour of extra-curricular activities after school, 30 minutes of gymnastics followed by 30 minutes of street-dance. Or it might be the other way around.

 

I pick him up straight after he gets dropped off by the walking-bus (a life/sanity saving system employed by schools to help busy parents avoid having to go to the school to pick up their kids, due to work commitments or otherwise) bundle him into the car, change him in the front passenger seat and drive around to the village hall – where the classes are held. I then carry him across the road – sans shoes, to save time – shoulder my way through the small ‘waiting room’ and hurl him into the hall.

 

I’m in such a rush because my daughter stays in the car while I do this. The lady-on-the-door (LOTD) keeps an eye on my car, she seems to perfectly understand my situation. Maybe she had a pair of kids like that when she was my age, one that was fairly easy to manage, and obeyed commands (my son) and the other that behaved to all intents and purposes like King Kong when he breaks his chains. Except my daughter isn’t interested in Fay Wray, or Naomi Watts. No, she just wants to wander into the road and then eat everything in sight. She’d eat Naomi Watts if you covered her in cheese.

 

She also like bananas.

 

I could get my daughter out of the car, head across to the village hall and remain in the waiting room with all the other parents who want to be anywhere else but there, feeling time slow down to a crawl, avoiding eye contact and trying to breathe through my mouth to avoid the sweaty-foot-odour that pervades the room.

 

I could also flick toothpaste into my eyes, both options are equally appealing.

 

This Friday was no different. We did all the usual rigmarole after school,  then after a journey back home we went to pick him up in the car, parking opposite the aforementioned village hall. I dashed across, to see if they were finished. ‘Are they finished….’ I began to LOTD, but looking through the small window in the village hall entrance-door I could see my son still racing around a during one of his classes (street dance? gymnastics??). He was waving pink fluffy things around. ‘Oh…’  I continued, ‘He’s waving some pink fluffy things around’ I knew the name for these pink fluffy things, but just couldn’t bring it to mind. ‘No, they’re not finished yet but I’ll give you a wave when they are’ replied LOTD.

 

I headed back over to the car and got comfy while we waited, my daughter and I. She’s slightly elevated in her seat at the back, and can see into the hall. ‘Is he coming?’ she asked me. ‘Not yet’ I said ‘He’s still either dancing or…gymnasticing…he’s doing something with pink fluffy things’. My daughter shuffled around in her seat behind me. ‘Daddy?’ she said, questioningly. ‘Yes?’ I replied. ‘Is he dancing with his pom-poms?’

 

My jaw dropped slightly. ‘Yes’ I said to her, ‘He’s dancing with his pom-poms’.

 

She’s only two-years-and-three-quarters old, and yet she can still name one of the most famous dance accessories in the world quicker than her forty-year-old dad.

 

Now the question is, is that a good thing or a bad thing…..?

 

Staving Off Cabin Fever: The Half-Term Holidays Day One – Newmillerdam

Tags

children, exercise, funny, holidays, Humor, kids, Parenting, parks

It’s the first day of the half-term holidays, keenly aware that being stuck indoors with my kids will make them devolve into wild animals, and also drive me insane, I have taken them out for the morning. There’s a variety of places we can go, as we live in a fairly rural area, but we settle on Newmillerdam, a picturesque lake set amid beautiful forests.

Also you can park for free if you know the good spots to dump your car, which I do.

We park up and get our gear out, trike for my daughter, and scooter for my son.

He’s not usually slow in deciding that the scooter bores him and he would, in fact, prefer to gambol amid the fallen leaves. Today is no exception. Setting a new, for him, record of 95 seconds, he proffers me the scooter ‘Don’t want my scooter’ he says to me. I sling it over my shoulder, being grateful that it’s not his bike, and we continue on our way.

My son rubs his finger over his right temple. ‘I’m scratching my skull daddy’ he says to me, as we walk though the arboretum, amid the fallen leaves of Autumn. ‘Inside my skull is my brain’ he adds, in case I was unaware of this fact.

He’s at an interesting stage, he’s coming up to five-years old and has stopped asking me questions all the time. Now he is telling me things all the time instead. I suspect this is down to him having just started school.

As if to reinforce this fact he brings our small caravan to a halt, as he informs me of why leaves fall from trees. A couple and their dogs pass us as he holds forth. ‘Half way through the tour’ I tell them ‘My son’s the tour guide’. They laugh politely and continue. You meet a lot of children people and dog people in this life. They were definitely dog people.

After about 45 minutes of pleasant strolling, I realise I need to empty my bladder. I manage to find a secluded spot, park the trike and head over to some welcoming undergrowth. As I’m halfway through my act something makes me turn my head. The trike my daughter is in has begun to move forward. I spin around spraying the shrubbery – and myself – and make a dash for her. There’s only a small step in front of her but it will be enough to tip her out.

I don’t need to worry though. My son’s already noticed and has stopped her in the nick of time.

We turn around and head back to the car. We pass people on the way back, they nod and smile. It’s amazing, I think to myself. If I was on my own I probably wouldn’t merit a glance, but add a couple of cute kids to the mix and everybody smiles.

It’s only after I put the kids in the car, and settle in my seat, that I notice the all-too-visible wet-spot, from the urinary-mishap earlier on.

Ah so, not smiling at the kids then were they….?

As an aside I will be noting, as the week goes on, how many people say hello when we are out walking, in environments that lend themselves to this. The art of exchanging a simple greeting is a dying one, which is a great pity.

NUMBER OF PEOPLE WE SAID HELLO TO: 16

NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO RESPONDED IN KIND: 11.5*

(* .5 given as he gave a kind of ‘tight smile’ back)

My Hour In The Life Of A Rickshaw Driver

Tags

cycling, exercise, funny, Humor, kids, outdoors, Parenting

This seemed like a good idea at the time, I think to myself as sweat dribbles into my left eye with an unpleasant sting. I crest the hill and get my breath back, as the path levels out and I can ease off on the pedalling. The bike I’m riding is ok, fairly comfortable and with responsive brakes.

That’s not my problem though. My problem is sat behind me, in the trailer attached to the bike. A four year old and a 21-month-old; bickering away, asking me questions that I can’t hear, and generally causing their father to sweat buckets, with their combined 40-kilos-of fun.

I plumped for this form of entertainment today because it looked like fun, a trailer – or ‘pod’ – that you connect to the back of a bike and stick your kids inside. You get some exercise and they get to have some fun. Also they’re effectively your prisoners for the duration, as they are strapped down inside, and can’t get out.

I’ve seen these kinds of things before, being ridden by mums and dads. They’ve gone past me with smiles on their faces and laughter ringing out from their kids. After 45 minutes on one of these things, I’ve realised that it wasn’t a smile on those parents’ faces, it was a grimace.

Or perhaps rictus would be a better term.

We’re at our local nature reserve, which has a visitor’s centre where you can hire these bikes for a reasonable sum. We amble up and have a nosy at the pod. The kids love it, and immediately get in and get comfy.

I go and pay, it’s £5 for one hour. I also have to leave my car keys. I’m puzzled as to the fact that they seem to think I would come here, with two children, and then steal a bike with a pod. Maybe this has happened to them before, maybe there’s a gang of dads with kids out there nicking all the bike pods (there is, after all, only one available at this visitor’s centre).

I hand over my car keys – the value of my car versus the bike is debatable – and, after some basic instructions, get on the bike and set off.

It’s a fairly easy start to the journey, since becoming a stay-at-home dad I’ve had to adapt my fitness regime, and that means we now have an exercise bike installed in the house. So this means it’s not a complete shock to the system.

My exercise bike does not, however, have a couple of kids hanging on the wheel creating drag. It’s ok for a bit, but then we approach inclines and that’s when I suspect my fitness levels aren’t as high as I thought.

Also there are lots of obstacles that I have to avoid.

And by obstacles, I mean people.

There’s no bell on the bike, so at first I just try to go around the slower moving ones. However after about ten minutes, my daughter decides that, actually, this bike ride isn’t that great. This pod isn’t comfortable and you know what? I’m going to let daddy know about it. So after just ten minutes, I begin to ride around with a howling banshee in the back.

You know that bit from Jurassic Park: The Lost World? The bit where they’re back in America, driving around with the injured baby T-Rex in the back howling away? It’s like that. Except I’m not in a Cadillac.

The silver lining to this is that I now have an early-warning-system, for people to hear so they can get out of the way. Which helps.

But then I realise something, these pods are better suited for longer journeys, or ones where you have more to look at. We’ve already gone round the lake once, and we still have 45 minutes of torture – sorry I mean fun -to go.

We keep bumping into the same people.

They keep moving out of our way.

This is ok the first time, we exchange smiles if they are coming our way. But it’s a bit weird the fourth time. And the smiles quickly turn to frowns. Or they stay smiles but they get that tight, forced look.

One guy laughs the first time.

Second pass I say to him ‘someone might be having fun here, but it’s not me’.

The third time I say to him ‘I’ll be asking for your number next time’.

There isn’t a fourth time. Mainly because I purposely take a different route, after all, saying you’ll ask for another chap’s phone-number next time is ok, in that context- as long as there is never a next time.

 

I wonder to myself, as the kids shake the pod behind me on our final circuit, and my leg muscles pump lactic acid, what it must be like for Rickshaw drivers around the world, doing this every day. They have my sympathies.

But then again, as a rule, once the customer has enjoyed his, or her, ride they simply get out and pay, and that’s the end of it. Mr Rickshaw generally doesn’t have to change the nappy of one of his customers, before he goes home.

Unlike me.

So maybe that’s what all the wailing was about….