Sold!

We have sold Fern Villa. We have also bought a new abode, thankfully, and are moving on Feb 1st. I detest moving - the weapons-grade dickheads that find work in the conveyancing trade are enough to cause an embolism on their own. I can't really be bothered to go into specifics because it's too galling, but the first-time buyers at the bottom of the chain didn't realise they'd need their deposit ready before exchange, so there was a lot of needless delay and fuckery. This nothing compared to when we bought Fern Villa in the first place, and the crazy cunts we bought it from nearly pulled out on completion day.

You have to buy a house, really. It's not just a 'rite of passage'. You'll need your own space - a slice of quiet, away from the world, one day. If you live in a city, you can fall into the rent trap (your job keeps you going but you can't afford to buy, ever. From a psychological standpoint, too, I don't think it's healthy to keep renting... unless you live in London, or like listening to people you don't know fucking people you don't like through a thin, chipped-magnolia wall while you're trying to watch Eastenders, of course.

So yeah, we're moving, and I dislike that as a concept. I am physically OK with being close to Nigel and Pam, but I have reservations about how all this is going to pan out once Tam returns to work. I am sure it will all be good, but until we know that for sure, first we must pack everything, chuck out a load of stuff and shell out money all over the gaff. Yay. The prize at the end of the rope is considerable, but the rope is long.

Love you, Ma x

Susan Anne Cranidge, 17/1/47-6/4/11

Open your mouth wide/A universe'll sigh

There's a reason there's so much Radiohead in my Top 50 Albums list. They are, repeatedly, astonishing. Not to mention humble and wholly unimpressed by cliche and shenanigans. Ladies and gentlemen, 20% of Radiohead. I actually do want this at my funeral. Not the recorded version. This version:

Open your mouth wide
The universal sigh
And while the ocean blooms
It's what keeps me alive
So why does this still hurt?
Don't blow your mind with whys

I'm moving out of orbit
Turning in somersaults
A giant turtle's eye
And jellyfish float by
It's what keeps me alive

It's what keeps me alive

Dream Baby Dream

As well as being an excellent single by minimalist synth-botherers Suicide, this post highlights just how cute you are when you're off in Pepperland. I love you mate x

This is the Suicide song. Don't bother with the Springsteen version, it's ghastly:

Here you are now, entertain us...

I have been collecting video footage of you since you were knee-high to a tiny grasshopper. All my videos are in a locked Youtube channel, so I might have to review how that works, but for now, here are some bits of your youth you probably haven't seen before:

Jan 07, 2018 - you're nearly ten months old now...

Leo in the Forest, December 2018 

Leo's New Car Seat, Jan 7th 2018

Dog Training, December 2018

An email to Neil

I thought I'd put this here, to save me typing it twice. Neil is an excellent man. If ever you need any legal advice, money advice, general pointers with tax, work, the law etc, you should refer to a massive post I'm doing for this blog, which will be up in due course. 

If you can't use that for some reason, ring Neil. The man knows a lot of things, and will help wherever he can. He is there for you if you need him, always.



Dad x

Morning fella,
You well? We are all good here. Step-Pater tells me that you are in possession of several videos of me and Lucy playing with baby Jessica etc via an old camcorder you've dug up from the distant past. I would love to see them, as I am collecting old bits of footage for a family/legacy project for Leo so I'd like to add whatever you've got if I can? Let me know if you need any expertise digitising etc, as that is also very much in my wheelhouse.
I have also taken on a bit of freelance (and yes I am technically signed off). This is with a company who approached me out of the blue via LinkedIn. As they were in a bit of a pickle time-wise in the run up to xmas I was able to quote an astronomical fee with no hourly-rate attached, and then get the work done in much less than the maximum hours for permitted work under the PIP/DSA rules. Almost no time at all, actually.
Since I am not on means-tested PIP, I think I am ok to just do a tax-return by May 30th and all will be well... I think. There is a possibility of more work subsequently, but until challenged, I will just keep a note of what I'm doing and register for self-assessment as and when necessary.
Since none of the money's being spent and it's going into a tertiary savings account (not the one the DWP would be interested in) I see this as ok. What do you think? In a way it reminds me of the way several other people in my position or similar have operated, naming no names...
​Hope you had a good new year mate. Spent much of ours nursing Leo through a developmental leap which left him unable to settle at all, and his first go at bronchitis can't have helped either. Not a great deal of fun, really. ​He is back at full-speed now though. We have had a tired start to 2019.
Oh, and I am tentatively looking at the British GP next summer, as the doctors flippantly told me that Xmas 2019 looks ok for me. Monaco would be sunnier of course, but I have just looked up the prices. Ever wondered what a two-bed apartment overlooking Rascasse can be rented for over race weekend? The answer is £18,000. EIGHTEEN THOUSAND. Ha!
Al

On the Mend/2019 Ashes

Good news - your arse is healing up nicely, son. Also, your horrendous attack of the shits seems to be abating, too. Well done, you plucky thing.

We have just returned from a hack around Zeal Monachorum, with you in the sling, me with no sticks or other support, and your Ma on dog-wrangling/stick-chucking duties. It was a lovely crisp afternoon, and a total pleasure.

Later, after I've tackled the notoriously challenging North Face of the post-Christmas recycling mountain and your mother has whittled a meal from nought but the last sweepings of the fridge, I intend to watch The Greatest Showman, featuring Neighbours reject Guy Pearce.

Despite this being a musical that isn't Cabaret or Catherine Zeta Jones' Chicago, I have high hopes for it. No doubt my aim to accompany said tits'n'teeth extravaganza with the last of the Stoli will reap untold dividends. Looks alright, to be fair:

Even more uproariously, my old mucker Chris has offered me at ticket to a day at the final Test Match against Australia next September. Now, it's probably going to mess up our wedding anniversary, but I'd still like to go quite a bit. You never know, though - England may have it all wrapped up by then. Or I might be dead. Who knows? If you want to win, first you must accept the risk of losing. 

Your Sore Arse and Other Stories

So, you've got your first taste of proper nappy rash (pictures, sadly, are unavailable on taste grounds). You've also got a properly sore throat, and are on the verge of a notoriously complex developmental leap.

We are tired people so far this year. LOVE YOU!

On the upside, I met a complete stranger in the middle of the road in Bow today while I was out with Dog. Her husband died of a brain tumour, and her tale (he was diagnosed at 54 and lasted six weeks) made me feel humble, sad, and extremely lucky. I am exhausted a lot of the time, but I am also busy, and my meds work as well as can be expected. I should be grateful. I am grateful when the Fates put someone in my way (she was literally in the middle of the road) with wisdom to impart. This sort of random happenstance makes me think Everything Will Be OK. It won't of course, but at least I've created a sufficiently nuanced self-delusion to enable me to carry on.

My head was a bit 'buzzy' today - by which I mean it feels wobbly, too big, and a bit heavy sometimes. Almost as if there's a rotten orange in there that shouldn't be, I dunno. I guess I'm just aware of what's gone on. If I convince myself to ignore little wobbles and twinges, they go away. How much of this is mental, and how much physical? I've not a clue. I know it is Tuesday, and I'm broadly OK, and I won £9 gambling on Arsenal today, so all's not shit.

Now then, baby - if you wouldn't mind getting some kip we'd be most grateful. As I said, LOVE YOU.