The Society In Favour Of Liberating Saturday Mornings

Tomorrow will be Saturday, and Saturday morning is 'Busy Parent Morning'. Little Tarquin or Jennifer being ferried around to swimming, brownie cubs, 'bunched up/every child chasing the ball' football and duller-than-dishwater cup cake parties.

Being currently childless I don't have such concerns but this does seem to me a generation thing. Why do parents of my generation do it? Don't do it! Be free and let them be free.

When I was a child I was left to fester in bed all Saturday morning. It was a treat. I loved my parents for leaving me be. I would eventually get up just before Grandstand, make a slide out of my mattress and the staircase and make a one-way trip down to the kitchen to rustle up a Sandwich Spread sandwich before running out to play, unsupervised, in disused air raid shelters with Mark Foxall.

And I grew up alright didn't I? (Rhetorical if you know me – if you don't, read back over the previous 128 blogs and make your own mind up).

Cupid v Moira Stewart

Had a novel idea today. I've recently submitted my tax return for 2011/2012. To avoid the usual panic a few days before the deadline next year I thought I should start organising 2012/2013's tax return now. But there again yesterday was Valentines Day and I had a helluva lot of cards to file away...

Post Lunch Fatigue Syndrome - A Remedy!

I have a great tip for when you've just finished a pub Sunday lunch and the friend you're with says 'Oooh, I wish they had beds in here. I could just do with a lie down now'.

Hurry them into a car and drive them down the Botley Road to Dreams Superstore. Once there lead them to a really comfy bed and tell them to lie down on it and have a doze. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO THIS. It is acceptable. Even if you do drop off the staff will leave you to it. And there will be no charge afterwards. It's a free lie down. Your friend will forever be thankful.

A Short and Curly Tale

I have curly hair. Sometimes I forget that. It's part of my identity. How people distinguish me.
'Do you know Adrian?'
'Is that the curly haired one?'
'Aye.'
'Yes, I know him. He owes me a goldfish.'
'Me too!'
'Son of a bitch.'
But that's another story. The barman at The Bell this evening really took a shine to my hair.
'It's amazing. Can I touch it?' he asked
If anyone ever asks to touch my hair I always say 'yes'. It's a rule I have. Like only walking on the cracks in pavement or always kicking over ladders.
'Wow. It feels great. It looks great. I wish I had hair like yours.'
'Thank you kindly. I wish you had hair like mine too. Now tell me, have you got a couple of goldfish I can borrow?'