It is with mixed feelings, pumpkin, that I inform you that the influx of northern hemispherean guests to our abode is drawing to a close today.
The unfailingly lovely L and J depart our shores on the big silver bird late this afternoon, bound home to Wales with fond thoughts of you in their hearts. L and J came out here to investigate the possiblity of making the Big Move down under, and I think that such a shift could be possible in the not too distant future. Although not absolutely positive that Aunt Loz (as opposed to Aunts Liz 1 & 2) will be the most... decorous of role models, I can safely say that both her and her wonderful 'usband Uncle J have a boundless expanse of joy and love in their hearts.
Whilst it has been the greatest of pleasures to enjoy the company of L&J, and of your also unfailingly lovely grandparents, it must be said that your mum and I are very much looking forward to once again enjoying the peace, quiet and lack of muchbooze that tends to characterise our domestic situation.
It is a sad fact, pumpkin, that four adults into one bathroom is not an equation that fosters easy living, and that feeling free to take advantage of the facilities will be a joy.
In news about you (yes, I know that's what you were waiting for), you continue to be a wriggly baby. Also, evidence that you are taking an interest in your surroundings is thick on the ground. After hearing a noise that was undoubtedly a burglar the night before last, Miss Purdey performed her alloted task by barking very loudly and suddenly. Your mum, jolted first by the unexpected noise, was then surprised by the fact that you started to wriggle around immediately thereafter.
I've been meaning to get my act together in terms of getting you listening to music, and I think that this occurrence was the one that may spark me into action. I have a copy of the Beatles' White Album, which I think might be a good start.
Love you,
January 14, 2005
January 07, 2005
Perambulation Breakdown Part Deux
So there we were, pumpkin. Standing in the pram store on High Street, faced with a dozen choices, behind them a dozen more. Red strollers, blue ones, four wheels, three wheels, laybacks, zippers and buckles. A stroller was picked out from the pack. Red it was, with ABC on its flanks. A price was quoted, a lower one sought. A discount was obtained, the purchase was upon us.
The gang retired to the pavement to talk over the deal. We came to the decision, after to-ing and fro-ing, that we needed coffee and cake.
Of course, after downing a gigantic slice of honeycomb cheesecake, we realised that we had not seen Nearly Enough Prams, and that a trip to the Giant Purveyors of BabyGoods was in order.
Saddling up the blönk, and laying in provisions (a bag of snakes), we set off across the wilds in search of the fabled location. After an interminable drive across much of creation, we came to the gates of the babyland, and marveled at its magnificence.
Crossing through into the halls of babygoods, we were confronted by a veritable cornucopia of prams, an order of magnitude more than had been at the previous location. Your father naturally immediately found a pram that looked like a spaceship, with a pricetag that bore an uncanny resemblance to the budget for the space program. No speakers though.
After further investigation, I found one that I really liked. It had all of the features that we were looking for, and was red. Unfortunately, pumpkin, you will remember what I said about the way men shop. This method of shopping is all very well and good, provided that your mother is not present.
Your mother, pumpkin, as is the case with many of her fair gender, shops holistically. She examines the object of desire and sees it as a whole, rather than as a collection of features. In the case of the pram that I had discovered, the problem was that, in her eyes (which, you will recall, pumpkin, work far better than mine), it was ugly. This, of course, for a baby destined to be so pretty as you, Simply Would Not Do.
Some earnest discussions were held, involving sitting down, talking very slowly and politely and walking off to look at some other prams.
A compromise was hammered out, an achievement not dissimilar to the drawing up of the Treaty of Versailles.
This, then, pumpkin, is your dad.
With your pram.
A Valco Runabout Series II Deluxe, in Black Magic with matching sunshade and Cocoon. I think you'll like it.
The gang retired to the pavement to talk over the deal. We came to the decision, after to-ing and fro-ing, that we needed coffee and cake.
Of course, after downing a gigantic slice of honeycomb cheesecake, we realised that we had not seen Nearly Enough Prams, and that a trip to the Giant Purveyors of BabyGoods was in order.
Saddling up the blönk, and laying in provisions (a bag of snakes), we set off across the wilds in search of the fabled location. After an interminable drive across much of creation, we came to the gates of the babyland, and marveled at its magnificence.
Crossing through into the halls of babygoods, we were confronted by a veritable cornucopia of prams, an order of magnitude more than had been at the previous location. Your father naturally immediately found a pram that looked like a spaceship, with a pricetag that bore an uncanny resemblance to the budget for the space program. No speakers though.
After further investigation, I found one that I really liked. It had all of the features that we were looking for, and was red. Unfortunately, pumpkin, you will remember what I said about the way men shop. This method of shopping is all very well and good, provided that your mother is not present.
Your mother, pumpkin, as is the case with many of her fair gender, shops holistically. She examines the object of desire and sees it as a whole, rather than as a collection of features. In the case of the pram that I had discovered, the problem was that, in her eyes (which, you will recall, pumpkin, work far better than mine), it was ugly. This, of course, for a baby destined to be so pretty as you, Simply Would Not Do.
Some earnest discussions were held, involving sitting down, talking very slowly and politely and walking off to look at some other prams.
A compromise was hammered out, an achievement not dissimilar to the drawing up of the Treaty of Versailles.
This, then, pumpkin, is your dad.
With your pram.
A Valco Runabout Series II Deluxe, in Black Magic with matching sunshade and Cocoon. I think you'll like it.
January 05, 2005
Perambulation Breakdown
It is the 21st century, pumpkin, and your father should be clever enough to know that technology proceeds apace in all industries. That in diverse fields of endeavour the world around, designers and strategists are wracking their brains for innovations that will allow their organisation to seize market share.
This also applies, my pumpkin, to prams.
The sheer variety that is available for purchase in the child conveyance sector, punkin, is quite simply astonishing. To walk into a purveyor of such conveyances without prior investigation is to walk unadorned into the Den Of The Lions.
It was with trepidation then, that your grandfather Jon and I accompanied your mother and grandmother on the expedition to end all expeditions. On Saturday, pumpkin, we bought your pram.
Now it must be said, my child, that prams, strollers, pushchairs and their ilk have transformed since I was your age. Apparently the preferred nomenclature of perambulation devices in 2005 is "strollers", and the particular type with which your mother is enamored are called "Jogger Strollers".
Let it be said here, my darling pumpkin, that I have never yet seen your mother jog.
Having said that, we pressed on. Undeterred by tales of other folk who had fallen by the wayside, we forged on into Baby Target. Momentarily distracted by a stroller that was branded by a major car company, your grandfather and I gazed longingly at the inbuilt speakers and parental cupholder (although your grandfather and I agree that it would have held a bottle of beer equally as well as a latte). Your mother and grandmother, being of far more practicable stuff, rattled on about how heavy it was and did the footbrake work well and how easy was it to fold up. All immaterial as far as I'm concerned, SPEAKERS, pumpkin, it had SPEAKERS!
Leaving the confines of Baby Target behind (although I'll wager it's not the last time I'll darken that doorway) , we journeyed on to another large provider of goods for tiny people.
It was there that we discovered another flaw in our plan.
When men are buying something, pumpkin, they divide their requirements up into compartments, and then rate the object at which they are looking against those requirements, applying a score against each. When the overall score for that particular item reaches a predetermined point, they make a purchasing decision. This is, pumpkin, as long as they are shopping only By Themselves, or With Other Men. It is also provided that they are given access to adequate comparison information on products. Men, pumpkin, can easily tell you that RMS is a much more accurate measure of a stereo's overall sound performance than pure wattage output.
But stereos, pumpkin, are the same in every shop. They do the same thing, they have the same connections, and you can tell which one's better.
Jogger Strollers, pumpkin, do not present one with that luxury. In each store, there are different brands, all of which appear to perform the same basic functions, but whose feature sets and price ranges vary SO widely as to make accurate side by side comparison next to impossible.
LUCKILY, pumpkin, the men were not alone on this journey. It is likely that had we been, we would have returned home with a milk crate, an octopus strap, a skateboard and a case of beer, maintaining steadfastly that our contraption "fulfils all of the basic functions of any others, and at a fraction of the price, providing you don't take the beer into account".
To
Be
Continued.,
This also applies, my pumpkin, to prams.
The sheer variety that is available for purchase in the child conveyance sector, punkin, is quite simply astonishing. To walk into a purveyor of such conveyances without prior investigation is to walk unadorned into the Den Of The Lions.
It was with trepidation then, that your grandfather Jon and I accompanied your mother and grandmother on the expedition to end all expeditions. On Saturday, pumpkin, we bought your pram.
Now it must be said, my child, that prams, strollers, pushchairs and their ilk have transformed since I was your age. Apparently the preferred nomenclature of perambulation devices in 2005 is "strollers", and the particular type with which your mother is enamored are called "Jogger Strollers".
Let it be said here, my darling pumpkin, that I have never yet seen your mother jog.
Having said that, we pressed on. Undeterred by tales of other folk who had fallen by the wayside, we forged on into Baby Target. Momentarily distracted by a stroller that was branded by a major car company, your grandfather and I gazed longingly at the inbuilt speakers and parental cupholder (although your grandfather and I agree that it would have held a bottle of beer equally as well as a latte). Your mother and grandmother, being of far more practicable stuff, rattled on about how heavy it was and did the footbrake work well and how easy was it to fold up. All immaterial as far as I'm concerned, SPEAKERS, pumpkin, it had SPEAKERS!
Leaving the confines of Baby Target behind (although I'll wager it's not the last time I'll darken that doorway) , we journeyed on to another large provider of goods for tiny people.
It was there that we discovered another flaw in our plan.
When men are buying something, pumpkin, they divide their requirements up into compartments, and then rate the object at which they are looking against those requirements, applying a score against each. When the overall score for that particular item reaches a predetermined point, they make a purchasing decision. This is, pumpkin, as long as they are shopping only By Themselves, or With Other Men. It is also provided that they are given access to adequate comparison information on products. Men, pumpkin, can easily tell you that RMS is a much more accurate measure of a stereo's overall sound performance than pure wattage output.
But stereos, pumpkin, are the same in every shop. They do the same thing, they have the same connections, and you can tell which one's better.
Jogger Strollers, pumpkin, do not present one with that luxury. In each store, there are different brands, all of which appear to perform the same basic functions, but whose feature sets and price ranges vary SO widely as to make accurate side by side comparison next to impossible.
LUCKILY, pumpkin, the men were not alone on this journey. It is likely that had we been, we would have returned home with a milk crate, an octopus strap, a skateboard and a case of beer, maintaining steadfastly that our contraption "fulfils all of the basic functions of any others, and at a fraction of the price, providing you don't take the beer into account".
To
Be
Continued.,
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