http://markjt.blog.co.uk/Wine. Truth. Lies. Humour.en-UKMokoFeed10http://markjt.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/05/82583b86db0a3aa071584b8ddb0362_160x200.jpghttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/all-the-president-s-men-7325768/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-11-07:/2009/11/07/all-the-president-s-men-7325768/Sat, 07 Nov 2009 14:57:53 +0100 <p>It’s possible that H, R and P see me in a different light these days. I see them regularly, of course, and try to ensure that I’m involved in the things they do.</p> <p>But, inevitably, I have more time to myself now. So I get involved in other things. Like the local Rotary Club (don’t ask).</p> <p>It has meant making new acquaintances (often several decades older than me) and making new promises. Like promising to be at the meeting that Roger was going to be inaugurated as the next president.</p> <p>I phoned him whilst R was in her violin lesson and P was waiting to go in for hers. I was still in my suit and hadn‘t had time to change.</p> <p>‘I’ll do my best to be there Thursday night,’ I said, P listening in. ‘It’s an important meeting for you seeing as you’ve taken over as president.’</p> <p>P’s brow furrowed and a look of incredulity spread over her face.</p> <p>‘Bye then, look forward to it Roger,’ I said and hung up.</p> <p>‘Has he taken over as president?’ said P.</p> <p>‘Who?’ I asked</p> <p>‘Roger,’ she replied.</p> <p>‘Yes, as from last week,’ I told her.</p> <p>‘What’s happened to Barack Obama then?’ </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/all-the-president-s-men-7325768/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>presidentrogerhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/all-the-president-s-men-7325768/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/10/03/love-pease-but-no-understanding-7091320/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-10-03:/2009/10/03/love-pease-but-no-understanding-7091320/Sat, 03 Oct 2009 16:17:36 +0200 <p>Security staff at airports weald enormous power. It’s no use trying to outfox them. Just comply.</p> <p>I’m becoming a regular user of one particular airport and over the past few months have had a few things confiscated. They’re building up quite a collection of my stuff now.</p> <p>Last time it was pease pudding. Yes. Pease pudding that I’d bought for Chief Nurse. It was sealed in an airtight container but nevertheless constituted a significant threat for it to be taken from me. Maybe the chap in question was having boiled ham for his tea.</p> <p>Somehow he managed to miss the lemon cake and corned beef pie that I cunningly concealed under a t-shirt. Maybe I should lodge a complaint that he’s not doing his job properly.</p> <p>But I realize that complaining will get me no where except a request to drop my trousers and bend over. Instead, I’ve come up with a plan.</p> <p>I’ve heard that they’re going to be testing a device that can detect suspicious substances and liquids. Next time, I’m going to pee in a bottle and put it in my hand luggage. </p> <p>Then, when I go through, they can really take the piss. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/10/03/love-pease-but-no-understanding-7091320/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>pease-puddinglovehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/10/03/love-pease-but-no-understanding-7091320/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/09/11/totally-weird-6944486/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-09-11:/2009/09/11/totally-weird-6944486/Fri, 11 Sep 2009 20:13:15 +0200 <p>Colin at work loves The Wire. He’s the only one who watches it but we all have the feeling that we’ve watched it too. Several times. Apparently it was the 58th consecutive episode last night. Or something.</p> <p>I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks and on my way out of the office I asked how things were going.</p> <p>‘Great actually!’ he said</p> <p>‘Good. Have you been away?’ I enquired.</p> <p>‘Been to Brighton actually. Had a great time!’</p> <p>‘You must have some catching up to do!’ I immediately realised that this was a silly thing to say. I was now going to have to endure a conversation about his favourite subject.</p> <p>‘Oh no. I’ve managed to watch it. Have you ever seen it?’</p> <p>‘No Colin. I haven’t,’ I said looking round for something to lean against, resigned to the fact that I would be here for at least quarter of an hour.</p> <p>‘In fact, I’ve got a funny story about The Wire actually. Do you know Sister Sledge? You know ‘We are fam–i-lee…’ he asked.</p> <p>‘Yee-ee-s…..’</p> <p>‘Well I met the band in a laundrette in Brighton’</p> <p>‘Really?’</p> <p>‘Yeah. They were washing their clothes’</p> <p>‘That’s a relief,’ I said. ‘But what’s this got to do with The Wire?’</p> <p>‘Hang on and I’ll tell you!’</p> <p>‘Sorry.’ <em>I </em>was saying sorry!</p> <p>‘She came in for a service wash and gave some tickets to the staff’ </p> <p>‘That was nice’</p> <p>‘I got speaking to the guitarist. I noticed his American accent. He was in there doing his washing as well’</p> <p>‘What did you say to him?’</p> <p>‘I asked him where he was from. Well actually I asked if he knew where Baltimore was’</p> <p>‘And did he?’</p> <p>‘Yes! He said he lived in Philadelphia which is about a 3 hour drive away!’</p> <p>‘Why did you ask him where Baltimore was?’</p> <p>‘Because that’s where The Wire is set!’</p> <p>‘Oh!’ It was sort of becoming clear now. Sort of. ‘Then what did you say?’</p> <p>‘Well I asked if him if he’d ever seen it, of course!’</p> <p>‘And has he?’</p> <p>‘No’.</p> <p>Not every one has, Colin.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/09/11/totally-weird-6944486/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>the-wiretvhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/09/11/totally-weird-6944486/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/09/05/rise-and-shine-6897193/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-09-05:/2009/09/05/rise-and-shine-6897193/Sat, 05 Sep 2009 13:17:55 +0200 <p>The Chief Psychiatrist loves his garden. And, I must admit, so do I.</p> <p>It has taken a lot of loving care and attention but it’s worth it - especially at this time of year when it is full of colour.</p> <p>It’s his pride and joy. I haven’t yet inherited his green fingers but I took great pleasure in walking round it with H, R and P. There was a particular flower that was clambering up some trellis, bursting forth through the green foliage. My knowledge of plants doesn’t extend far so all I could really say was ‘Ooh, look at that nice blue one.’</p> <p>Which is just as well I suppose.</p> <p>I nearly spilt my cornflakes when he pointed out the same plant to me at breakfast and asked me if I liked his Morning Glory.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/09/05/rise-and-shine-6897193/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>gardenflowershttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/09/05/rise-and-shine-6897193/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/08/23/sprightly-betty-6801553/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-08-23:/2009/08/23/sprightly-betty-6801553/Sun, 23 Aug 2009 15:25:34 +0200 <p>Betty lives two doors down and for an 80 something is more energetic than most.</p> <p>I found myself accompanying her down town today. We took the shortcut down a country lane then across a field.</p> <p>In the distance, coming towards us, was a middle aged couple. Suddenly, I started to panic.</p> <p>‘<em>I bet they think I’m about to mug her or something</em>,’ I worried.</p> <p>Betty clearly knew them because she waved at them.</p> <p>‘<em>Oh no!</em>’ I thought. ‘<em>Now they think she’s waving for help!</em>’</p> <p>As they got closer I made sure that I was speaking to Betty in the most polite manner possible and ended every sentence with her name. I didn’t want the couple getting the wrong impression or, even worse, calling the police.</p> <p>You’ll be pleased to know that my strategy worked although I think I overdid it a little when I bowed after opening the five bar iron gate for them all. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/08/23/sprightly-betty-6801553/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>muggingshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/08/23/sprightly-betty-6801553/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/05/02/lodgers-and-dodgers-6044773/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-05-02:/2009/05/02/lodgers-and-dodgers-6044773/Sat, 02 May 2009 10:07:16 +0200 <p>I look forward to my weekly trips to The Menagerie. Well, it’s not actually the menagerie I look forward to – it’s seeing H, R and P. They’ve always got so much to tell me and inevitably they all try to do it at once. I’m thinking of investing in a Dictaphone so I can record what they say and play it back later ( I might have to think that through properly first).</p> <p>This week, as I got through the door the first discernible word I heard was ‘Squirrel!’ </p> <p>‘Squirrel?! What? Huh?’ I said desperately trying not to believe they now had a squirrel as a pet (since I last wrote they have acquired another ‘dog’ but I shall write about it – sorry, him – another time).</p> <p>‘Next door have got a squirrel!’ P said.</p> <p><em>And now they’ll want one too no doubt,</em> I thought.</p> <p>‘Next door have got a squirrel in their roof!’ H clarified.</p> <p>Things were beginning to make sense. A squirrel had chewed a whole in the eaves of the house next door and was now nesting in their roofspace. I have to confess that the first thought I had was <em>‘At least I don’t have to shell out for a new roof and pest control’.<br> </em><br> Then something occurred to me. </p> <p>The girls’ Uncle has been staying at The Menagerie for free for the last few weeks. I don’t mind, of course, but I have yet to install self-mowing grass for his pleasure if you get my drift.</p> <p>He’s struggling for work at the moment but he’s a roofer by trade. Ideal then that a job should come up next door! Surely he can’t argue about that not being local.</p> <p>And if I can capture the rogue squirrel maybe I can let it loose on other roofs in the street to keep Uncle in regular work.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/05/02/lodgers-and-dodgers-6044773/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>dodgerslodgershttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/05/02/lodgers-and-dodgers-6044773/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/04/05/plonkers-5893672/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-04-05:/2009/04/05/plonkers-5893672/Sun, 05 Apr 2009 13:43:20 +0200 <p>At The Priory, Friday and Saturday nights invariably involve wine tasting sessions. What started as a ruse to squeeze a glass of wine or two out of the Chief Psychiatrist has now become a weekly ritual.</p> <p>We take great pleasure in setting everything up – from lovingly washing and drying the wine glasses to carefully decanting the wine. More often than not, different types of cheese and pate are involved too.</p> <p>But now we’ve reached new heights. We’ve devised a scoring system (it’s still in a prototype version so I can’t divulge it yet). I’ve printed off some scoring sheets and hope to transfer everything to a spreadsheet. I never knew a single bottle of wine could give so much pleasure.</p> <p>In fact, Chief Psychiatrist and I plan to write a book about our experiences and publish it later this year.</p> <p>We’ve not thought of a name for it yet although the Chief Nurse has suggested ‘The Plonkers’ Guide to Plonk’.</p> <p>I think she’s trying to tell us something.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/04/05/plonkers-5893672/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>cheesewinehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/04/05/plonkers-5893672/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/03/20/what-s-cooking-5797883/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-03-20:/2009/03/20/what-s-cooking-5797883/Fri, 20 Mar 2009 20:23:14 +0100 <p>Even though I’m living at The Priory I am still fairly self sufficient. I cook for myself most nights (although I allow Chief Nurse to do the Sunday Roast, of course). It’s a habit I can’t get out of I suppose.</p> <p>The only difference these days is that the ingredients are all ready for me when I get in, courtesy of Chief Nurse.</p> <p>I arrived home tonight and sauntered through to the kitchen to see what was in store.</p> <p>Chief Nurse was there, filling up the kettle at the sink (a seemingly automatic response when someone comes in through the front door).</p> <p>‘I thought you could do yourself a stir fry,’ she said nodding over to the ingredients by the stove.</p> <p>‘Great, thanks!’ I said. ‘Chicken or beef?’</p> <p>‘Neither. Pork sausages’.</p> <p>It was different but I’m beginning to like her ideas.</p> <p>Like the time she suggested we have brussel sprouts with mussels. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/03/20/what-s-cooking-5797883/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>musselsbrusselscookinghttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/03/20/what-s-cooking-5797883/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/03/08/tune-in-turn-off-5719240/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-03-08:/2009/03/08/tune-in-turn-off-5719240/Sun, 08 Mar 2009 22:28:37 +0100 <p>During our journeys to the train station the Chief Psychiatrist and I listen to local radio. It beats listening to the doom and gloom on Radio 4 at the moment (besides the presenters never seem to ask the questions you want to ask) and there’s often useful gardening tips or cooking tips. I would never have thought to plant my summer fruiting raspberry canes.</p> <p>But I have to say that it came as a bit of a surprise when the host said, ‘And now we’re going to be discussing what turns a woman on……’</p> <p>Chief Psychiatrist and I glanced at each other.</p> <p>‘Got a pen?’ I asked, as I simultaneously searched in the glove box and turned the radio up.</p> <p>We listened intently as the discussion began. One of the presenters, a female, started off the discussion.</p> <p>‘Well, number one on my list is laughter,’ she said.</p> <p>Chief Psychiatrist and I nodded in agreement.</p> <p>‘Second on my list,’ she continued, ‘is intelligence.’</p> <p>We nodded again.</p> <p>‘But I think having big muscles and the ability to kiss tenderly are most important,’ she concluded.</p> <p>We both sighed. </p> <p>We were doing well up until that point.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/03/08/tune-in-turn-off-5719240/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>womenradiohttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/03/08/tune-in-turn-off-5719240/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/26/flip-nearly-missed-it-5656188/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-02-26:/2009/02/26/flip-nearly-missed-it-5656188/Thu, 26 Feb 2009 21:16:05 +0100 <p>I returned to The Menagerie for a couple of days this week. As I made my way there on Tuesday (Shrove Tuesday!) I suddenly realised it was Pancake Day as well.</p> <p>I just had to remember to get some ingredients and the only way I could was to keep muttering ‘pancakes, pancakes’ as I travelled my journey.</p> <p>At the local shop I was confronted by all the usual ingredients in a special display entitled ‘Don’t Forget Pancake Day’.</p> <p>‘<em>Yes ok don’t rub it in</em>,’ I thought to myself.</p> <p>I filled the shopping basket with pancake mix, golden syrup, nutella, lemon juice and sugar. Peanut butter and picalilli briefly entered my mind but I thought better of it.</p> <p>When I arrived at The Menagerie I was greeted by a chorus of excited children.</p> <p> ‘Dad! You remembered!’ they shouted excitedly.</p> <p>‘How could I forget?’ I replied with a twinkle in my eye.</p> <p>So we made pancakes. And a lot of mess. But it was fun. R even invented pancake dumplings – they have exactly the same ingredients as pancakes but involve the cack handed use of a spatula. Tasty though – once you could stop them sticking to your teeth.</p> <p>We even had fun seeing who was best at flipping them over. Overall, it was brilliant fun.</p> <p>Well it was until H said, ‘Dad, we think you’re the world’s greatest tosser.'</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/26/flip-nearly-missed-it-5656188/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>pancakestossinghttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/26/flip-nearly-missed-it-5656188/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/19/the-joy-of-text-5611039/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-02-19:/2009/02/19/the-joy-of-text-5611039/Thu, 19 Feb 2009 21:51:03 +0100 <p>I’m in a routine now.</p> <p>Every week day, I get up at the same time, I get to work at the same time, I leave work at the same time, get picked up at the same time and arrive at The Priory at the same time.</p> <p>But sometimes I don’t. It’s not my fault you understand but the nature of public transport. </p> <p>And that’s where mobile phones come in handy. They’re almost an extension of our anatomy and I wonder how we survived before they were invented. Honestly, I tried to resist getting one years ago but now even I try to get the latest release on the market.</p> <p>To H, R and P, mobile phones are second nature but I’ll admit that I’m proud of the fact that I can text nearly as quickly as they do (but I do like to use full punctuation!).</p> <p>Even the Chief Psychiatrist has a mobile phone. When I say ‘mobile’ it’s really better described as ‘portable’ – in the same way a brick is portable. He’s never really used it but now brings it with him on his way to pick me up from the station – ‘just in case.’</p> <p>I have called him on it once or twice before but I’ve never known him use it for texting. </p> <p>So I thought I’d try him out.</p> <p>The trains were running late so instead of phoning him I fired off a text letting him know about the delays. After a couple of stops I sent another one to update him.</p> <p>I was half expecting him to ring me but instead I received a reply to my text!</p> <p><em>at the statio</em></p> <p>Not a bad effort. I replied back congratulating him on sending a text.</p> <p>‘You managed to work it out then!’ I replied.</p> <p>Beep, beep. Another text from him!</p> <p><em>at the statio</em></p> <p>‘Well, sort of.’ I thumbed back.</p> <p>When I walked up to his car there he was, in the driving seat, tongue in the corner of his mouth in concentration, clutching his mobile in one hand and prodding his phone with the forefinger of his other hand.</p> <p>He hardly noticed me get in.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/19/the-joy-of-text-5611039/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>communicationtexthttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/19/the-joy-of-text-5611039/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/01/where-there-s-wine-there-s-a-way-5489088/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-02-01:/2009/02/01/where-there-s-wine-there-s-a-way-5489088/Sun, 01 Feb 2009 23:22:46 +0100 <p>I’ve been gradually moving my stuff from The Menagerie to The Priory over the last few weeks. When H, R and P are in bed, I pack another box of stuff. Oddly, it’s quite a cathartic experience – I’ve come across old books I’d forgotten I had, old CDs and even some old notebooks (I’ve had the notebook habit for longer than I thought).</p> <p>This week I came across an old wine diary I used to keep. I can’t remember where I’d got the diary (emblazoned ‘What Wine Was That?’!) but I used to write notes in it after ‘sampling’ wines. I can’t believe I used to take it so seriously!</p> <p>Anyway, as I packed it away in the box, it led to me hatching a cunning plan……</p> <p>‘<em>I could show this to the Chief Psychiatrist and maybe it might persuade him to open some of those bottles in the rack in my room</em>,’ I thought.</p> <p>Back at The Priory I was unpacking my box.</p> <p>‘This might interest you,’ I said to the Chief Psychiatrist, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.</p> <p>I pulled out the wine diary and laid it on the table. He picked it up and started flicking through it.</p> <p>‘Hmm. A 1997 Zinfandel. Bouquet – bubblegum. Bubblegum? How can wine have a bubblegum bouquet!’ he exclaimed.</p> <p>‘It’s what I smelt at the time….,’ I offered. ‘The first smell that came to me….’ I’m sure that I’d read somewhere that you described the first thing that came into your head. </p> <p>He continued flicking through the book. ‘There are some nice wines here,’ he said, starting to sound interested in my wine tasting adventures.</p> <p><em>Any minute now</em>.</p> <p>‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go up to your room and bring down a bottle of that claret you’ve had your eye on? We can start keeping our own record of the wines we drink’ he said.</p> <p>We’ve completed 6 new entries already.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/01/where-there-s-wine-there-s-a-way-5489088/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>whiteredrosehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/02/01/where-there-s-wine-there-s-a-way-5489088/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/25/milk-two-sugars-5445783/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-25:/2009/01/25/milk-two-sugars-5445783/Sun, 25 Jan 2009 20:19:31 +0100 <p>I ended up going to the party. As I’ve mentioned, it was a James Bond theme. I didn’t have time to organise and outfit so I went as myself.</p> <p>‘It’s Oddjob!’ chorused the assembled guests as I walked into the venue.</p> <p>I glanced behind me. No-one.</p> <p>Unperturbed, I carried onto to the bar and ordered a drink. It was free after all (come on, why else would I be there?).</p> <p>It didn’t take long before I was renewing some old acquaintances and even making some new ones. I got on like a house on fire with Dr No – although I still haven’t worked out if I knew him. Or her, come to think of it.</p> <p>I had been hoping to meet Pussy Galore but by 8pm I was gone – because I had to meet the Chief Psychiatrist who was picking me up. </p> <p>As promised, he was there at the time and place he said he would be. By 930pm I was back at The Priory and by 10pm I was in bed with a nice cup of tea – with milk, two sugars, nicely stirred.</p> <p>I must be getting old.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/25/milk-two-sugars-5445783/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>oddjobpartyhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/25/milk-two-sugars-5445783/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/19/pick-me-up-5408169/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-19:/2009/01/19/pick-me-up-5408169/Mon, 19 Jan 2009 21:13:20 +0100 <p>Being at The Priory means I have less opportunity to socialise (not that I did much before) because I have to rely on the Chief Psychiatrist for a lift home.</p> <p>It’s only fair that I keep him informed of any plans that I have; last minute arrangements tend to throw his whole world into disarray.</p> <p>‘I’ve been invited to a Chamber’s party tomorrow night……..’ I tried to say as nonchalantly as possible in the car on the way to work.</p> <p>Silence.</p> <p>‘Yes, it should be quite a good do. It’s a James Bond theme apparently….,’ I continued, trying to generate a bit of interest and, ultimately, determine whether there was a lift home on the cards.</p> <p>Silence again. I didn’t want to ask outright as it didn’t seem polite so I left it there and didn’t mention it anymore.</p> <p>At work, I got a couple of calls asking if I was going.</p> <p>‘It’s a bit late notice,’ I said. ‘It’d be difficult getting home.’</p> <p>‘Don’t be silly, you can kip at mine!’ came the immediate reply. But I knew what that meant. A long train journey or cab ride to an unfamiliar destination whilst completely off my trolley and then trying to get to The Priory on Saturday.</p> <p>Which would mean asking for a lift from the Chief Psychiatrist.</p> <p>‘Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll take a raincheck. I’ll come to the next one though,’ I said, trying not to sound forlorn.</p> <p>Next morning, the Chief Psychiatrist dropped me at the station as usual.</p> <p>‘What time do you want picking up tonight?’ he asked, as I was getting out of the car.</p> <p>‘Eh?’ I responded.</p> <p>‘Aren’t you going out?’ he said.</p> <p>‘Yes…but….I thought….’ I hesitated.</p> <p>‘Well, you only have to ask me if you ever want picking up anywhere’</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/19/pick-me-up-5408169/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>liftaskhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/19/pick-me-up-5408169/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/15/mii-myself-and-i-5384381/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-15:/2009/01/15/mii-myself-and-i-5384381/Thu, 15 Jan 2009 21:37:09 +0100 <p>I went to The Menagerie this week and saw H, R and P for the first time in a few days. Silly, I know, but I was excited!</p> <p>I was expecting a rapturous welcome and but came across indifference instead. Of course, it wasn’t right to show any disappointment because they’re children after all. In some ways I was glad that they’re getting used to the new arrangements and feel comfortable with them.</p> <p>I sat on the sofa in the living room trying to engage them in conversation. H was doing her homework. R and P were bouncing around playing on the Wii.</p> <p>‘Everything ok at school?’ I enquired.</p> <p>‘Yes, Dad’ they said in unison.</p> <p>‘All the animals ok?’</p> <p>‘Yes, Dad.’ Their disinterest started to bug me a little, I must confess.</p> <p>‘Come on!’ I enthused. ‘I haven’t seen you for nearly a week!’</p> <p>‘But we see you most nights, Dad,’ said H.</p> <p>‘What do you mean?’ </p> <p>Then it dawned on me. They had created a version of me on the Wii – even down to the glasses and strawberry blonde (some say, ginger) hair.</p> <p>It was spookily accurate.</p> <p>It was shit at tennis as well.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/15/mii-myself-and-i-5384381/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>miiwiihttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/15/mii-myself-and-i-5384381/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/11/theory-of-relativity-5358956/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-11:/2009/01/11/theory-of-relativity-5358956/Sun, 11 Jan 2009 17:08:16 +0100 <p>I always knew that the theory of relativity had something to do with distance and time. I think I've got it now.</p> <p>It goes something like this; the further you are away from someone the quicker time passes. Or is it the other way round?</p> <p>Anyhow, I’ve watched H, R and P grow up from the moment they were born and it’s only when I look at photographs of them when they were babies do I realise how much they’ve changed.</p> <p>You don’t notice any changes at the time because you see them every day. And can’t necessarily understand when someone says ‘Oooh, hasn’t she grown up?’</p> <p>But now I’m at The Priory I’m beginning to understand. I had a conversation with R yesterday that brought it home.</p> <p>We were talking about what she’d like to be when she grows up. Her latest ambition is that she wants to be a film director. No wait, an author. Make that a professional violinist.</p> <p>I told her that whatever she chooses she should live her dreams (as long as she becomes famous and earns loads of money, obviously).</p> <p>‘I can’t do them all, Dad,’ she said.</p> <p>‘Yes, you can R!’ I replied.</p> <p>‘Well, maybe I could play violin as a weekend job.’</p> <p>That's my girl.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/11/theory-of-relativity-5358956/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>theoriesrelativityhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/11/theory-of-relativity-5358956/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/09/fathers-who-d-have-them-5350858/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-09:/2009/01/09/fathers-who-d-have-them-5350858/Fri, 09 Jan 2009 22:27:08 +0100 <p>I think it must be in my genes. I love playing silly games with H, R and P whenever I get the chance.</p> <p>Even when I call them at The Menagerie I can’t resist the temptation. </p> <p>‘Hello Dad,’ said P when she picked up my call.</p> <p>‘You ok?’ I said.</p> <p>‘Yes,’ came the reply.</p> <p>‘Do you want to play the Yes/No game quickly?’ I asked eagerly.</p> <p>‘Yes!’</p> <p>‘Ah ha! Got you!’ I said triumphantly.</p> <p>‘Dad! Start again,’ said P.</p> <p>‘Ok. Do you want to play the Yes/No game?’ I repeated.</p> <p>‘No,’ she responded.</p> <p>‘Ah ha! Got you again!’ I triumphed.</p> <p>Silence for 10 seconds. ‘Do you want to speak to H or R?’</p> <p>I’m sure she thinks I’m calling from a lunatic asylum rather than The Priory. But I think I get it from the Chief Psychiatrist because he likes to play silly games too.</p> <p>He drives me to the train station most mornings and, at this time of year, it’s dark when we leave. As we're driving the country roads, he loves to play ‘See how many cars we can spot with only one headlight working'.</p> <p>It’s great fun I can tell you. He refers to them like they’re one-eyed wild animals that have escaped from the surrounding fields.</p> <p>‘There’s one! There’s another one! There’s loads of them!’ </p> <p>We saw 8 this morning.</p> <p>Nine if you include the one he saw in his rear view mirror.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/09/fathers-who-d-have-them-5350858/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>gamesfathershttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/09/fathers-who-d-have-them-5350858/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/07/great-escape-5340248/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-07:/2009/01/07/great-escape-5340248/Wed, 07 Jan 2009 23:32:58 +0100 <p>‘Fancy a few beers, Bruv?’</p> <p>‘Have you got an Escape Plan?’ I replied.</p> <p>‘What do you mean?’</p> <p>‘Well, the Chief Psychiatrist will want to know where we’re going,’ I said.</p> <p>‘Don’t be silly. Come on. Let’s go.’</p> <p>And with a quick ‘see you later’ we were out of the door.</p> <p>‘<em>That was easy</em>,’ I thought to myself as we made our way to the local. Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe it’s, despite being in my early 40s, I will always think ‘it’s their house, so it’s their rules’.</p> <p>I ended up having a great evening. In fact, I was enjoying myself so much that by 10-30pm Bruv announced that he’d had enough.</p> <p>‘I’m off home. You coming?’ he said as he was putting his coat on.</p> <p>‘I’m going to stay for a couple more as it goes,’ I replied finishing off my pint.</p> <p>I’m glad I did because I got chatting to the locals and had a great time. It was gone midnight when I finally left the pub.</p> <p>I walked – zigzagged – home in the chilly night air. I hadn’t done this for over 20 years and I felt oddly contented.</p> <p>I arrived at The Priory and let my self in just as Chief Nurse was coming down the stairs. Without saying a word she went to the kitchen and poured me a glass of water.</p> <p>From upstairs, the Chief Psychiatrist called out.</p> <p>‘What time is it?’</p> <p>‘It’s 42 o’clock!’ I called back.</p> <p>Bad move. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/07/great-escape-5340248/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>homeescapehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/07/great-escape-5340248/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/06/the-priory-5334908/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-06:/2009/01/06/the-priory-5334908/Tue, 06 Jan 2009 23:25:28 +0100 <p>There are obvious advantages to living back at ‘home’ with your parents. Shirts magically iron themselves and you get cups of tea as you’ve always liked them. And there’s a constant supply of Hobnobs.</p> <p>But sometimes it feels like I’m in rehab. (I do have withdrawal symptoms but they’re for H, R and P – which, incidentally, are three consonants in the right order in the word ‘therapy’).</p> <p>Whereas before I’d pour a glass of wine without so much as looking at the label there is now an almost nightly ritual (torture?) as I wait to see if the Chief Psychiatrist – sorry, my Dad - is going to open a bottle.</p> <p>If he decides he is, he returns from his well stocked wine rack in the garage and then treats me to a brief history of the wine, the expected bouquet and whether the year was a particularly good one. Well, when I say brief…….</p> <p>The added torture is that there is another well stocked rack of ‘special’ wines in a cupboard in the room I’m in. I try not to look at it (It’s 5 x 5, French wines on the top row, New World in the middle 3 and Italian on the bottom. I have my eye on a 1979 Barolo).</p> <p>I know I sound ungrateful. But my Dad (and Mum) would laugh if they read this – probably safe in the knowledge that they were right all along.</p> <p>But I have escaped on occasions.</p> <p>Like the other night when I went down the pub with ‘Bruv’……….. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/06/the-priory-5334908/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>whinewinehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/06/the-priory-5334908/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/05/could-be-worse-5328467/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2009-01-05:/2009/01/05/could-be-worse-5328467/Mon, 05 Jan 2009 21:14:09 +0100 <p>It was the first day back at work and the first opportunity I had to wish my work colleagues a Happy New Year.</p> <p>‘Have a good one Colin?’</p> <p>‘Not really. My mum nearly died on Christmas Day.’</p> <p>Naturally, I was gobsmacked. You could even say my flabber was gasted.</p> <p>‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Colin. What happened?’</p> <p>He then proceeded to tell me how his Mum is not a well person. She has suffered two heart attacks and received treatment for cancer. On Christmas Day she ‘came over all funny’ and Colin got worried.</p> <p>‘My God, Colin. Is she ok?’</p> <p>‘She's fine. She’s only got a cough now.'</p> <p>I still haven’t worked out if he’s pleased to be back at work.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/05/could-be-worse-5328467/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>coughcoldhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2009/01/05/could-be-worse-5328467/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/12/31/purely-better-5303215/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-12-31:/2008/12/31/purely-better-5303215/Wed, 31 Dec 2008 13:20:44 +0100 <p>Things have changed quite dramatically for me over the last few months. But the dust is beginning to settle so those ‘things’ should start to become clearer.</p> <p>The only constant has been my trusty notebook. Having said that it’s not been that trusty this year. I left it lying around – accidentally, not deliberately – and it was like a time bomb going off.</p> <p>Anyway! It has meant that I have spent more time with my parents and brother over the Christmas Holiday – and it was as though I went back in time 30 years. </p> <p>Except instead of going ‘Down the Field’ to kick a ball about, my brother and I went down ‘The Betting Shop’. I’m not a gambling man and it was pretty obvious as I tried my hardest to look as though I knew what I was doing.</p> <p>I put the pen between my teeth trying to look as contemplatitive as possible. I used the following method; any horse that reminded me of H, R or P or Arsenal.</p> <p>Although one name of a horse jumped out at me.</p> <p><em>Elusive Dream.</em></p> <p>I just had to put £5 on it. And I did.</p> <p>And guess what?</p> <p>It fell at the last fence.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/12/31/purely-better-5303215/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/12/31/purely-better-5303215/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/10/04/no-laughing-banker-4819818/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-10-04:/2008/10/04/no-laughing-banker-4819818/Sat, 04 Oct 2008 13:20:04 +0200 <p>I walked past a bank the other day. There was a big sign in the window that said;</p> <p>'Recommend a friend and get £50'.</p> <p>So I went in and queued up. When it was my turn I said to the bloke on the counter, 'My friend John's pretty good. Can I have my £50 now?'.</p> <p>Guess what? He didn't laugh.</p> <p>It must be the credit crunch. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/10/04/no-laughing-banker-4819818/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>bankingmoneyhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/10/04/no-laughing-banker-4819818/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/24/are-you-talking-to-me-4632395/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-08-24:/2008/08/24/are-you-talking-to-me-4632395/Sun, 24 Aug 2008 22:51:05 +0200 <p>I like visiting the barber’s. Not the hairdresser’s. <em>The Barber’s</em>. It’s an all male zone with car magazines, sports magazines, FHM and Carp Angler.</p> <p>I can even get to read The Sun or The Mirror (well, flick through).</p> <p>Sat there in the comfy leather benches waiting to be called forward. It’s funny how, without saying a word or acknowledging one another, we know who’s next. It’s all so civilised and orderly.</p> <p>I enjoy the physical sensation of having my hair cut. Not in any sexual sense but in a relaxing way. I am prone to twiddle my hair; it helps me to relax so to have someone do it for me is a bonus.</p> <p>I even enjoy the conversation. No matter what you end up talking about all conversations in the barber’s start with the question,</p> <p>‘Busy then?’</p> <p>One day I’m going to answer, ‘Not really, I’m having my haircut’ just to confuse them.</p> <p>One thing I can’t work out though is why all barbers look at themselves in the mirror while they’re talking to you. I can be sat there making all sorts of funny faces whilst I’m being told about the latest betting or where he and his wife are planning going on holiday and they still won’t notice. It’s a bit disconcerting to be honest – like watching twins have a conversation.</p> <p>I wonder if that's what they do at home when they’re shaving or combing their hair in front of a mirror.</p> <p>‘Looking good Eric! Have a good day!’</p> <p>Actually, didn’t Robert De Niro do something similar in a film? </p> <p>You know, the one where he played a nutter.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/24/are-you-talking-to-me-4632395/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehairhttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/24/are-you-talking-to-me-4632395/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/23/phwoar-factor-4628570/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-08-23:/2008/08/23/phwoar-factor-4628570/Sat, 23 Aug 2008 23:32:05 +0200 <p>TV has ‘talent’ shows up to its eyeballs now. It all started with ‘Pop Idol’ (I’d audition for a programme called ‘Bone Idle’).</p> <p>It was a good idea. And like all good ideas, it gets flogged to death. So we had Maria and Joseph and Britain’s Got Talent.</p> <p>And X Factor, of course. Once you’ve seen one X Factor, you’ve seen them all.</p> <p>Although, when I was cooking my lamb chops for tea earlier, I noticed Cheryl Cole was one of the judges.</p> <p>I’ll be watching next week. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/23/phwoar-factor-4628570/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifecheryl-coleleisurehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/23/phwoar-factor-4628570/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/21/shot-the-bolt-4620282/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-08-21:/2008/08/21/shot-the-bolt-4620282/Thu, 21 Aug 2008 23:10:05 +0200 <p>I went for a drink with my brother during the week.</p> <p>We don’t see each other that often but when we meet the discussion is always about love lives (usually his) or sport.</p> <p>I won’t go into the former but during a pregnant, if slightly embarrassed pause, I asked him if he’d seen the Men’s 100m Final at the Olympics.</p> <p>‘I caught the end of it.’</p> <p>He must be a busy man.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/21/shot-the-bolt-4620282/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/21/shot-the-bolt-4620282/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/12/a-waste-of-energy-4578377/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-08-12:/2008/08/12/a-waste-of-energy-4578377/Tue, 12 Aug 2008 17:46:41 +0200 <p>I had to pop to the local Co-op earlier. I took my own bags with me as is usual these days.</p> <p>When I got to the till I put my basket on top of a pile of plastic carrier bags.</p> <p>‘Those carrier bags shouldn’t be there really,’ said the cashier as she was scanning my items.</p> <p>‘Why not?’ I replied.</p> <p>‘Well. We’re trying to encourage people to recycle and bring their own bags,’ she said.</p> <p>‘ You might as well let people use those ones until they run out,’ I said.</p> <p>‘Oh no. Can’t do that. My boss will kill me,’ she explained.</p> <p>‘What are you going to do with them then?’ I asked.</p> <p>‘Throw them away,’ came the reply.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/12/a-waste-of-energy-4578377/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/12/a-waste-of-energy-4578377/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/12/silly-games-4577123/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-08-12:/2008/08/12/silly-games-4577123/Tue, 12 Aug 2008 13:47:21 +0200 <p>In between the jobs and chores I had to keep H and P entertained.</p> <p>I resorted to the old favourite, ‘I spy’. But P couldn’t win or guess any before H or me and she was getting a little upset.</p> <p>It was my turn, again, so I lent over and whispered in her ear.</p> <p>‘It will be Toaster,’ I said, conspiratorially.</p> <p>I don’t know why but mischief got the better of me.</p> <p>‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with <em>R</em>,’ I recited.</p> <p>‘TOASTER!’ shouted P victoriously.</p> <p>I hope I haven’t put her off playing.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/12/silly-games-4577123/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/12/silly-games-4577123/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/11/hideout-4572435/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-08-11:/2008/08/11/hideout-4572435/Mon, 11 Aug 2008 17:09:21 +0200 <p>I’ve got a couple of weeks off work. It’s time to do all those chores and jobs that I don’t quite find the time for otherwise. H, R and P have got things lined up for me too – unfortunately, they’re not all the same things. H wants to go and ride her horse, R wants to go to dance classes and P wants to build a camp.</p> <p>One of the jobs I’ve been meaning to do was clear out the cupboard under the stairs. It’s like a black hole. But a black hole that’s packed to the rafters with all sorts of stuff. </p> <p>Opening the door requires a particular skill if you want to put anything in – it must be a very quick motion of ‘open – shut’, not more than 2 seconds, so that all the other stuff inside doesn’t fall out. Of course, if you want to retrieve anything from inside you’re best off just opening the door as wide as possible to let everything fall out in the hope that the object you’re looking for lands at your feet.</p> <p>It was quite a cathartic experience actually. I came across my collection of vinyl LPs. I sat there flicking through them remembering all the bands and the songs. God knows, where the Kajagoogoo album came from though – that’s definitely not mine.</p> <p>There was a skipping rope, enough bags to open a bag shop, an old favourite coat of mine, board games (two boxes of the game Scattergories, oddly), 7 odd shoes (someone must be hopping mad), a pole, a fishing net, an old copy of the Yellow Pages, cookery books, several torches and two litre bottles of Evian. And that’s only the half of it.</p> <p>I put everything into separate piles; girls’ rooms, my office, charity shop, eBay, junk. Sorted.</p> <p>But I still can’t get into the cupboard.</p> <p>P has built a camp in there.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/11/hideout-4572435/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/08/11/hideout-4572435/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/07/29/new-kit-on-the-block-4517795/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-07-29:/2008/07/29/new-kit-on-the-block-4517795/Tue, 29 Jul 2008 22:18:51 +0200 <p>I’m used to furry animals in my house. At last count, including my children, I have 37 mouths to feed. The mouths belong to children, dogs, guinea pigs and rabbits. In no particular order, all competing for food.</p> <p>Actually make that 38.</p> <p>Maisy has arrived. Maisy is a black cat. Well, a kitten to be more precise.</p> <p>She was shy at first but, boy, has she settled in. The dogs, Gizmo and Murphy, treated her with disdain at first. </p> <p>‘There’s no way she will muscle in on the food stakes’ you could almost see them discussing.</p> <p>How wrong they were.</p> <p>Last night, I cooked myself a nice lamb chop. I ate it down to the bone. As usual, Gizmo and Murphy sat patiently, their own chops salivating.</p> <p>After I finished, I left it on the plate and sat back to let my meal go down. Usually I break the bone up and throw it out the back door for them to take it to bury or chew or do whatever they do with bones.</p> <p>Except it was different last night.</p> <p>Maisy had somehow negotiated a way onto the table and was contentedly helping herself to it. </p> <p>Gizmo and Murphy treated her with more respect today. </p> <p>I think she might be recruited by one of them.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/07/29/new-kit-on-the-block-4517795/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/07/29/new-kit-on-the-block-4517795/#commentshttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/07/19/boys-don-t-cry-4470373/tag:markjt.blog.co.uk,2008-07-19:/2008/07/19/boys-don-t-cry-4470373/Sat, 19 Jul 2008 19:31:01 +0200 <p>Having three daughters means I rarely get the chance to kick a ball about or engage in more ‘rough and tumble’ stuff. It’s all Barbie and Littlest Pet Shop.</p> <p>When I take them over the park I mustn’t push them too high on the swings or too fast on the roundabout. </p> <p>But today was different. C and L, my two nephews came to visit.</p> <p>‘Can we go over the park, Uncle Mark’ they asked more or less as soon as they arrived.</p> <p>I was already stood by the front door with my trainers on and a football tucked under my arm.</p> <p>‘Come on! Let’s go!’ I said excitedly. They broke into a run as we neared the park gate and I joined them. And what a joy it was to kick the ball high into the air as we entered – I felt like the captain of Arsenal coming out of the tunnel onto the pitch at the start of a game.</p> <p>There we were, the three of us, in our own little football world kicking a ball about.</p> <p>After a while they wanted to have a go on the swings and roundabout.</p> <p>‘Higher, Uncle Mark!’ they shouted. ‘Faster!’</p> <p>I was in heaven. L even come off the roundabout and did one of those little wobbly walks because he was so dizzy. I’d never been responsible for making anyone do that before.</p> <p>Then they wanted to go back onto the swings.</p> <p>‘Uncle Mark! Uncle Mark! See if you can hit us on the head with the ball!’ shouted L.</p> <p><em>‘It doesn’t get any better than this,’</em> I thought.</p> <p>So I took aim and kicked the ball. I missed but it hit the metal frame and bounced straight back in my face. Giving me a bloody nose.</p> <p>‘Are you alright Uncle Mark?’ said C.</p> <p>‘Hmmpphh, I’m fide,’ I managed.</p> <p>‘I think we’d better get you home,’ replied C, taking my hand.</p> <p>I wonder if they want to play Littlest Pet Shop when they next come round?</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/07/19/boys-don-t-cry-4470373/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>lifehttp://markjt.blog.co.uk/2008/07/19/boys-don-t-cry-4470373/#comments