March 2008 Archives

My little girl has spent the last five months practising every Saturday afternoon for a dance show.

She's been in two or three before and always had the uncertain look of a little girl lost, looking at others to see whose lead she should follow for the next step or spin.

But on Saturday night seven-year-old Jess gave an assured performance - confident with a smile and a flourish as she kicked and waved her way through the hits of the Blues Brothers in front of 200 at a proper theatre.

I was rapt and couldn't take my eyes off her for the fluent, near professional 10 minute routine - a Cheshire cat grin carved into my face and tears of joy surrepticiously wiped from my eyes.

Is there a limit to how proud you can be about your kids?

I've just been accused of "dissing" the boys in my previous blog.

They're definitely not happy about me sharing the secrets of da street with you blog-watchers.

"And anyway dad," moaned Alex "If you're going to take the mickey (at last a phrase I understood) at least get the spelling right....you loser"

Just for the record it's braap braap.

I stand humbly corrected.

HARSH, safe, brap brap - all words used variously by my two lads instead of unfair or mean, pretty jolly good and well regarded on the street or the hood as I believe it's now known.

I thought I was pretty au fait with most of the lingo until 12-year-old Alex informed me last night that I was "having a proper stress and needed to chillax."

I can only assume he thought I was extremely agitated and needed either to chill out, relax...or both.

AS any parent will tell you money can be tight when children expect new jeans, school shoes, football boots and all the other teenage paraphernalia that costs the earth.

So when I was pulled over by the police for driving in the A47 Heartlands car sharing lane - for the last 10 yards of it before the roundabout, anyway - I thought of what cost would have to be cut at home.

Today's story in the Mail revealing the crackdown clawed in thousands of pounds simply confirmed what every driver in Birmingham and beyond already knows...schemes like this are simply money making exercises,

Interesting though that the police told me "we don't want to be here - we're only doing it for the council" and the city council - as you'll see in tomorrow's paper - say the money goes to the police.

Someone, somewhere is being economical with the truth.

We drove through the Cotswolds today - my two boys, me and my old dad.

We were headed for a little village in Wiltshire where the old man spent the war years as an evacuee, running in the fields, playing football where he shouldn't have, scrumping apples from unsuspecting neighbours.

The boys were chatty on the way down but they fell silent the closer we got and as another chapter in the story of life was about to draw to a gentle close,

They knew this was more than just a day out - more a last goodbye to the grandad and dad who had made us all the men and the boys were are now.

IT'S the evening of Easter Sunday and I can honestly say I haven't had many more relaxing days.

The boys have been relaxed despite the inevitable whinges about the easter egg hunt clues being too difficult - probably because I was nagged into doing them after Match of the Day and five large-ish glasses of red.

A four mile run just before lunch followed by a stroll with the dog and a cuppa in an old fashioned park caff gave me that wonderfully lazy, achy feeling.

Families are lovely when it's like this...shame it doesn't happen more often.

We've just got back from a walk in the cold, windswept park with seven-year-old Jess and her bike.

Golfers were still swinging, the birds were singing and my wife and I chatted away about nothing in particular as we wandered for three or so miles.

The dog charged off in search of prey and returned tongue flapping, Jess sprinted off on her bike and then waited, then grabbed a stick for a walking aid.

By the end we were all rosy cheeked and feeling good about things...and I hadn't spent a single penny or been asked for sweets or crisps.

The best things in life really are free.

He'd been back from Spain for 24 hours and Nick's school notified him of a County Cup semi-final football match.

Away from home miles away he told me, so I decided to give it a miss and wait for his side to reach the final - apparently due to be played at either The Hawthorns or Coventry's Ricoh Arena.

I played football and went for the ritual beer afterwards before ringing my wife to find the outcome - "they lost..oh, and can you get some milk on the way home? "

Finally the moment we had been waiting for arrived.

I got home from work to be told by my wife that the boys were ten minutes away from school after their day of travelling back from Spain and a four day football coaching trip.

After a minor disagreement over who would collect them and savour that wonderful moment of joyful hugs and tearful reunion, she set off in her car. If only she'd known.

Like most dads my primary role in life as far as the kids are concerned is that of taxi driver.

From football training to dance to matchday to hockey...then by 8pm I might get time to put my feet up for an hour or so and enjoy a relaxing beer.

Yet when the recent budget revealed the two pence a litre hike in fuel tax was to be put on ice, there was hardly joy unconfined in our house.

The reason? Almost every garage in and around Birmingham had seen it coming and jacked up the prices by two pence a litre anyway.

It doesn't seem that long ago that we had fuel protesters outside Kingsbury moaning about diesel going up to 95 pence a litre - now you're lucky if you can find it for less than £1.10.

Have they gone soft or are the British public apathetic and realise there's little point having a go at Gordon Brown and Co?

The garages, in my possibly jaundiced opinion, are cynical money-grabbers operating in an environment where the Government is doing nothing to protect the public.

Surely it's not right that oil companies are raking in massive profits while drivers are hit at the pumps.

But back to the point. It's families - mums and dads in particular - who are being clobbered the hardest.

My kids need to get from A to B and they eat like horses. Petrol costs a fortune and the price of food has rocketed as hauliers pass on the costs to the consumer....effectively we're hit twice.

Time for another beer to calm me down - oh no, that's gone up as well.