The Bored Game
byTracey and I exchanged a coffee together for something to get the kids board.
Tracey and I exchanged a coffee together for something to get the kids board.
I’ve written a few stories in my time, for amusement, and I’m always surprised anew how long it takes me to come up with something as simple as a name for my characters. We place a lot of importance on names. The Percy Jones and the Harry Potters, they matter. They’re part of the magic.
Today I became what I hate most – one of those embarrassing parents who calls things out from the sidelines at their child’s sporting event.
In this house we have one toilet, one bath, one shower, one bathroom sink, two washing machines and one dryer, and they’re all in the one room. It makes for some interesting conversations.
Fresh debate has erupted this week on breakfast telly over men in the delivery ward – whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing to have the big lump of spunk there.
I’d gone to snuggle into her and, unusually, found her head lying directly on the mattress. I could tell the moment her memory kicked in, because suddenly she was sitting upright. “That little thief!”
This is a true story. It happened to a friend of a friend of mine. My ‘nugget’ story has stirred up a hornets…
Last night my friend woke up to her young son tugging on her sleeve.
“I pee in bed,” came the dreaded whisper.
“Poo!” came the cry from the bedrooms. “She’s got poo in her hands!”
Nothing gets us moving quicker than this sort of exclamation because if there’s poo on hands there’s going to be poo on walls and furniture in no time at all.
Surprisingly calm and structured day today, considering it was the first day back to school after a wonderfully, exhausting holiday.
“Um, Bruce,” Tracey called from the dinning room. “The stroller has arrived.”
“Great!” I said, coming in from the lounge. I was keen to test this baby out.
“You realize it’s a jogging stroller?”
I froze.
“Can we hire you a telly?” I asked my dad when I visited him in hospital last week.
“I don’t need it,” he assured me.
He was already well and truly entertained.
A few years ago I accidentally ended up in a French restaurant. I thought it was a pub. This recipe is a direct result of that fateful day.
An afternoon at Tin Can Bay was a real treat, but the drive there was a bit of a worry.
“Dad?” Miss9 began as we drove to pick up tonight’s pizza dinner. “If Hogwarts was real, would you let me go?”