Yesterday’s corner time: 2 Minutes.
Matthew: “I want a badger.”
Dad: “No, you can’t have a badger.”
Matthew: “I want a badger now.”
Dad: “Not now. Not ever.”
Matthew: “But I really want a badger.”
Dad: “No.”
Matthew: “What’s a badger?”
Matthew: “I want a badger and I want one now!”
Dad: “Stop badgering me.”
Matthew.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Is it a bird?
Yesterday’s corner time: 3 Minutes.
Nanna has bought me a Superman costume, giving me delusions of grandeur. I now only answer to Superman or alternatively, from close friends and other superheroes, Supey.
I’m hoping that my latest incarnation as the Man of Steel will help to impress Emily. However, I don’t think the outfit by itself will be enough. I think I’ll need to do some heroic stuff too to really clinch it.
I’ve been practicing at home. The first hurdle was finding a damsel in distress that wouldn’t mind being in distress until I could perfect my rescues. I looked around everywhere: under the sofa, behind the curtains and in the garden but I couldn’t find a damsel anywhere.
Eventually, I resigned myself to having to use Becca. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in distress but that could easily be remedied.
I rigged up a large catapult like device, placed Becca into the sling and fired her across the garden.
As she flew through the air, I screamed out “Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s Superman!” at which point I realized that it should have been me that did the flying and not the damsel.
Faster than a speeding bullet, I ran to where Becca’s feet were protruding from the hedge. She definitely appeared to be distressed now. Perfect.
I stood and postured for a while with chest thrust forward and hands on hips pronouncing “Do not fear, Superman is here!” before finally dragging her out of the bush.
This flawed experiment certainly helped to reinforce the importance of practice. Just imagine if I had made such a rudimentary mistake with Emily. I think even Superman may have struggled to save our relationship then.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Emily, Bubbly, Hard to Get, Play Date, Overbearing, Madness, Aftershave
Nanna has bought me a Superman costume, giving me delusions of grandeur. I now only answer to Superman or alternatively, from close friends and other superheroes, Supey.
I’m hoping that my latest incarnation as the Man of Steel will help to impress Emily. However, I don’t think the outfit by itself will be enough. I think I’ll need to do some heroic stuff too to really clinch it.
I’ve been practicing at home. The first hurdle was finding a damsel in distress that wouldn’t mind being in distress until I could perfect my rescues. I looked around everywhere: under the sofa, behind the curtains and in the garden but I couldn’t find a damsel anywhere.
Eventually, I resigned myself to having to use Becca. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in distress but that could easily be remedied.
I rigged up a large catapult like device, placed Becca into the sling and fired her across the garden.
As she flew through the air, I screamed out “Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s Superman!” at which point I realized that it should have been me that did the flying and not the damsel.
Faster than a speeding bullet, I ran to where Becca’s feet were protruding from the hedge. She definitely appeared to be distressed now. Perfect.
I stood and postured for a while with chest thrust forward and hands on hips pronouncing “Do not fear, Superman is here!” before finally dragging her out of the bush.
This flawed experiment certainly helped to reinforce the importance of practice. Just imagine if I had made such a rudimentary mistake with Emily. I think even Superman may have struggled to save our relationship then.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Emily, Bubbly, Hard to Get, Play Date, Overbearing, Madness, Aftershave
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Tennis Foot
Yesterday’s corner time: 7 Minutes.
Well, predictably, Dad returned home yesterday from the Tennis club hobbling. The only surprising thing about this, considering his proneness to injury, was that he was actually still alive.
Apparently, having safely completed two sets before poor light stopped play, it was on his way to the net to shake his opponent’s hand that he somehow managed to cripple himself.
After hurting himself playing golf, I think Dad was reluctant to admit that he had sustained yet another injury and initially, pretended that nothing was wrong. It was only after he howled with pain when Becca knelt on his foot as she stormed past him on the stairs, that the truth came to light.
It was bad enough when Dad fell down a hole playing golf but it now appears that even walking is a potentially hazardous pastime.
Dad always compares his body to a highly coiled spring - a finely tuned and supremely fit piece of apparatus that treads the fine line between outstanding performance and hospitalization.
Mum compares his body to that of a knackered horse that should be shot as an act of mercy by anyone who happens to be passing.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Anyone for Tennis?
Well, predictably, Dad returned home yesterday from the Tennis club hobbling. The only surprising thing about this, considering his proneness to injury, was that he was actually still alive.
Apparently, having safely completed two sets before poor light stopped play, it was on his way to the net to shake his opponent’s hand that he somehow managed to cripple himself.
After hurting himself playing golf, I think Dad was reluctant to admit that he had sustained yet another injury and initially, pretended that nothing was wrong. It was only after he howled with pain when Becca knelt on his foot as she stormed past him on the stairs, that the truth came to light.
It was bad enough when Dad fell down a hole playing golf but it now appears that even walking is a potentially hazardous pastime.
Dad always compares his body to a highly coiled spring - a finely tuned and supremely fit piece of apparatus that treads the fine line between outstanding performance and hospitalization.
Mum compares his body to that of a knackered horse that should be shot as an act of mercy by anyone who happens to be passing.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Anyone for Tennis?
Friday, August 25, 2006
Gloating
Yesterday’s corner time: 8 Minutes.
I’m getting rather fed up of Becca gloating whenever I’m in the corner. I get put in the corner for whacking her. She gloats at me. I whack her again which results in even more corner time. She then gloats some more and so on.
Dad says it’s a vicious circle. After his revelation the other day about plants that attack, I’m more than slightly disturbed to discover that geometry also has its nasty side. What about the other shapes? Can rectangles be spiteful? Can squares be cruel? I like the sound of love triangles though.
For the time being, I think I’ll stick with astronomy. Mum and Dad have stuck some fluorescent stars and planets on my bedroom ceiling and they glow at night when I’m going to sleep.
I heard on the news today that after several weeks of discussions, a group of world renowned astronomers have finally reached a consensus and agree that Pluto is not actually a planet.
Of course Pluto isn’t a planet, he’s a dog! I thought these guys were supposed to be clever. I could have saved them all the time and trouble.
What are they going to debate next? Whether or not Goofy is an asteroid? I hope when I grow up I can spend weeks discussing cartoon characters too. That sounds like a very good job.
In the meantime, where can I find one of these love triangles?
Matthew.
Related Posts: Ambush
I’m getting rather fed up of Becca gloating whenever I’m in the corner. I get put in the corner for whacking her. She gloats at me. I whack her again which results in even more corner time. She then gloats some more and so on.
Dad says it’s a vicious circle. After his revelation the other day about plants that attack, I’m more than slightly disturbed to discover that geometry also has its nasty side. What about the other shapes? Can rectangles be spiteful? Can squares be cruel? I like the sound of love triangles though.
For the time being, I think I’ll stick with astronomy. Mum and Dad have stuck some fluorescent stars and planets on my bedroom ceiling and they glow at night when I’m going to sleep.
I heard on the news today that after several weeks of discussions, a group of world renowned astronomers have finally reached a consensus and agree that Pluto is not actually a planet.
Of course Pluto isn’t a planet, he’s a dog! I thought these guys were supposed to be clever. I could have saved them all the time and trouble.
What are they going to debate next? Whether or not Goofy is an asteroid? I hope when I grow up I can spend weeks discussing cartoon characters too. That sounds like a very good job.
In the meantime, where can I find one of these love triangles?
Matthew.
Related Posts: Ambush
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Ambush
Yesterday’s corner time: 3 Minutes.
Dad mostly works form home, travelling into the office one or two days every week.
Yesterday, he arrived home slightly earlier than usual with a graze above his left eye. After much interrogation, he eventually explained how he had received his injury. It appears that a new and rather large potted plant had been placed in a corridor where previously there had been none.
As he doesn’t venture into his office that frequently, this new herbaceous obstacle had caught Dad rather by surprise. He claims that he didn’t, in fact, walk into the plant but that it had instead, leapt out from behind a filing cabinet and ambushed him. However, I wasn’t convinced.
Dad maintained that this was the true course of events leading to his grazed forehead and went on to explain that the term “ambushed” originally meant “one who is attacked by a shrub”.
Hmm, that sounded more plausible. Perhaps, he was telling the truth after all.
I’m now a bit worried about going out into the garden, in case I’m ambushed. I’ve whacked hell out of most of the trees with my sword, so I’m probably due some payback.
Matthew.
Dad mostly works form home, travelling into the office one or two days every week.
Yesterday, he arrived home slightly earlier than usual with a graze above his left eye. After much interrogation, he eventually explained how he had received his injury. It appears that a new and rather large potted plant had been placed in a corridor where previously there had been none.
As he doesn’t venture into his office that frequently, this new herbaceous obstacle had caught Dad rather by surprise. He claims that he didn’t, in fact, walk into the plant but that it had instead, leapt out from behind a filing cabinet and ambushed him. However, I wasn’t convinced.
Dad maintained that this was the true course of events leading to his grazed forehead and went on to explain that the term “ambushed” originally meant “one who is attacked by a shrub”.
Hmm, that sounded more plausible. Perhaps, he was telling the truth after all.
I’m now a bit worried about going out into the garden, in case I’m ambushed. I’ve whacked hell out of most of the trees with my sword, so I’m probably due some payback.
Matthew.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
GPS
Yesterday’s corner time: 4 Minutes.
We actually missed our ferry back to England on our return from France.
Dad has recently bought one of these new global positioning systems which allow him to pinpoint his exact location anywhere in the world.
I don’t know why he just doesn’t ask me, as I’m generally sat directly behind him and can tell him precisely where he is, which is normally in the front seat of our car. Sometimes, I think he just buys gadgets for the sheer sake of it.
So, it was surprising when six minutes 40 seconds away from the port of Calais, Dad took a wrong turning onto a toll road bearing towards Paris. This unplanned detour added an extra 40 minutes to our journey time, resulting in our missed departure.
For some unknown reason, Dad believed that I was responsible for this deviation. I’m not sure why I should be blamed for us heading off in the wrong direction, especially when he has state of the art technology guiding him.
Was I bombarding him with senseless questions distracting him from listening to the GPS?
Well, perhaps.
Was I shouting about not wanting to go home but at the same time demanding to immediately see Nanna and Grandad John?
Hmm, quite possibly.
Was I responsible for launching my Superman doll into the front of the car, dislodging the GPS from the windscreen at the crucial moment?
Definitely not. It slipped out of my hand. I can’t be held accountable for its greasy surface.
When I heard the GPS mumbling something about Paris from the floor of the Car, I enquired if we were taking the scenic route to Calais at which point, Dad suggested that he was going to take my Superman doll and shove it somewhere that was far from picturesque.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Camping Trip
We actually missed our ferry back to England on our return from France.
Dad has recently bought one of these new global positioning systems which allow him to pinpoint his exact location anywhere in the world.
I don’t know why he just doesn’t ask me, as I’m generally sat directly behind him and can tell him precisely where he is, which is normally in the front seat of our car. Sometimes, I think he just buys gadgets for the sheer sake of it.
So, it was surprising when six minutes 40 seconds away from the port of Calais, Dad took a wrong turning onto a toll road bearing towards Paris. This unplanned detour added an extra 40 minutes to our journey time, resulting in our missed departure.
For some unknown reason, Dad believed that I was responsible for this deviation. I’m not sure why I should be blamed for us heading off in the wrong direction, especially when he has state of the art technology guiding him.
Was I bombarding him with senseless questions distracting him from listening to the GPS?
Well, perhaps.
Was I shouting about not wanting to go home but at the same time demanding to immediately see Nanna and Grandad John?
Hmm, quite possibly.
Was I responsible for launching my Superman doll into the front of the car, dislodging the GPS from the windscreen at the crucial moment?
Definitely not. It slipped out of my hand. I can’t be held accountable for its greasy surface.
When I heard the GPS mumbling something about Paris from the floor of the Car, I enquired if we were taking the scenic route to Calais at which point, Dad suggested that he was going to take my Superman doll and shove it somewhere that was far from picturesque.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Camping Trip
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Camping Trip
Yesterday’s corner time: 0 Minutes.
No corner time yesterday as I was travelling back from a long weekend away camping in France. Having said that, I think I actually prefer corner time to travelling, as it generally doesn’t involve me having to listen to Becca either singing or snoring for hours on end.
Mum likes to take us camping to give us some memories that we will cherish for the rest of our lives. Well, I’ll certainly remember driving for six hours through heavy rain to camp in a wet French field next to over a hundred other British people.
Despite it being August, we had an awful lot of rain. I’m beginning to think that camping is another word for a torrential downpour followed by flash floods.
We went with my friends and their parents, Aunty Su and Uncle Bill, so we still had a great time. On Sunday, in a rare dry spell, we visited the local zoo. I especially enjoyed the train that took us around the park. All the commentary was in French but Uncle Bill kindly translated.
I didn’t know that Uncle Bill knew French but he seemed to understand the Guide’s narrative regarding the animals. According to Uncle Bill, we passed Funny Goats, Funny Dogs, Funny Cows and some Tigers. I’m assuming that the Tigers weren’t funny at all.
I never realised that Uncle Bill was such a keen naturalist and apparently, he particularly enjoys ornithology because Dad says that he has always had an eye for the birds. This probably explains why, on several occasions, I overheard him pointing out some Great Tits to my Dad.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Tent, Camping
No corner time yesterday as I was travelling back from a long weekend away camping in France. Having said that, I think I actually prefer corner time to travelling, as it generally doesn’t involve me having to listen to Becca either singing or snoring for hours on end.
Mum likes to take us camping to give us some memories that we will cherish for the rest of our lives. Well, I’ll certainly remember driving for six hours through heavy rain to camp in a wet French field next to over a hundred other British people.
Despite it being August, we had an awful lot of rain. I’m beginning to think that camping is another word for a torrential downpour followed by flash floods.
We went with my friends and their parents, Aunty Su and Uncle Bill, so we still had a great time. On Sunday, in a rare dry spell, we visited the local zoo. I especially enjoyed the train that took us around the park. All the commentary was in French but Uncle Bill kindly translated.
I didn’t know that Uncle Bill knew French but he seemed to understand the Guide’s narrative regarding the animals. According to Uncle Bill, we passed Funny Goats, Funny Dogs, Funny Cows and some Tigers. I’m assuming that the Tigers weren’t funny at all.
I never realised that Uncle Bill was such a keen naturalist and apparently, he particularly enjoys ornithology because Dad says that he has always had an eye for the birds. This probably explains why, on several occasions, I overheard him pointing out some Great Tits to my Dad.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Tent, Camping
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Aftershave
Yesterday’s corner time: 1 Minute.
So, apparently I smell of pooh. This insightful and rather disturbing observation was made by Emily. This was definitely not the impression that I was hoping to make and unfortunately, I don’t think she was referring to Winnie.
This was during a walk in the woods and when we got back home, I first checked the underneath of my shoes before rushing upstairs to check my brand of aftershave, or rather Dad’s.
No mention of pooh on the label. Perhaps, I hadn’t administered enough. So, just to be sure, I doused myself with the remaining half a bottle. Now, just let anyone accuse me of smelling of pooh.
“You smell of pooh”, volunteered Emily again as I strode confidently into the kitchen, flammable aftershave fumes trailing behind me. Dad immediately screamed for everyone to get as far away from me as possible and that under no circumstances, should anyone light a match.
Things had moved on quite dramatically from being told that I smelt of pooh to being a potential explosive fire hazard. Aunty Su, who was also visiting at the time, was all for phoning the fire brigade but Mum quickly hid the phone.
I glared at Emily as I was marched outside and made to stand down wind from everyone else. She smiled knowingly back and mouthed the word “pooh” through the glass patio doors.
The course of true love rarely runs smoothly and whoever charted this particular course needs a new compass.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Fire Station, Hoax Calls, Madness
So, apparently I smell of pooh. This insightful and rather disturbing observation was made by Emily. This was definitely not the impression that I was hoping to make and unfortunately, I don’t think she was referring to Winnie.
This was during a walk in the woods and when we got back home, I first checked the underneath of my shoes before rushing upstairs to check my brand of aftershave, or rather Dad’s.
No mention of pooh on the label. Perhaps, I hadn’t administered enough. So, just to be sure, I doused myself with the remaining half a bottle. Now, just let anyone accuse me of smelling of pooh.
“You smell of pooh”, volunteered Emily again as I strode confidently into the kitchen, flammable aftershave fumes trailing behind me. Dad immediately screamed for everyone to get as far away from me as possible and that under no circumstances, should anyone light a match.
Things had moved on quite dramatically from being told that I smelt of pooh to being a potential explosive fire hazard. Aunty Su, who was also visiting at the time, was all for phoning the fire brigade but Mum quickly hid the phone.
I glared at Emily as I was marched outside and made to stand down wind from everyone else. She smiled knowingly back and mouthed the word “pooh” through the glass patio doors.
The course of true love rarely runs smoothly and whoever charted this particular course needs a new compass.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Fire Station, Hoax Calls, Madness
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Icy Waters
Yesterday’s corner time: 2 Minutes.
A strange thing happened yesterday, I caught Mum and Dad hugging. I’m not used to seeing them demonstrate affection towards each other and instead, assumed that Mum must be attacking Dad.
My first instinct was to save him. I quickly looked around and picked up the nearest thing to hand, which just happened to be Becca, and belted Mum across the back of the legs. This had the desired effect but unfortunately, Mum then turned her attention to me.
In the afternoon, once she had forgiven me, Mum took us to visit Grandma Gerry and Grandad Peter who were house sitting. The house had a swimming pool and I was very excited. Grandpa Peter had confirmed that the water temperature was alright, so I leapt straight in.
However, the water was absolutely b#’$%y freezing. I think even a penguin wearing gloves, a scarf and possibly even a wetsuit would have taken a sharp intake of breath on diving into this pool.
I was instantly paralysed and could hardly draw breath. Meanwhile, my brave relations were hurriedly skirting around the side of the pool, unwilling to jump in themselves having just seen my reaction to the icy waters. In the end, a rubber ring was thrown in to me and I was fished out.
In future, when Grandad Peter suggests that anything is “alright”, including water temperature, I shall seek a second opinion and throw Becca in first.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Chocolate and lots of it
A strange thing happened yesterday, I caught Mum and Dad hugging. I’m not used to seeing them demonstrate affection towards each other and instead, assumed that Mum must be attacking Dad.
My first instinct was to save him. I quickly looked around and picked up the nearest thing to hand, which just happened to be Becca, and belted Mum across the back of the legs. This had the desired effect but unfortunately, Mum then turned her attention to me.
In the afternoon, once she had forgiven me, Mum took us to visit Grandma Gerry and Grandad Peter who were house sitting. The house had a swimming pool and I was very excited. Grandpa Peter had confirmed that the water temperature was alright, so I leapt straight in.
However, the water was absolutely b#’$%y freezing. I think even a penguin wearing gloves, a scarf and possibly even a wetsuit would have taken a sharp intake of breath on diving into this pool.
I was instantly paralysed and could hardly draw breath. Meanwhile, my brave relations were hurriedly skirting around the side of the pool, unwilling to jump in themselves having just seen my reaction to the icy waters. In the end, a rubber ring was thrown in to me and I was fished out.
In future, when Grandad Peter suggests that anything is “alright”, including water temperature, I shall seek a second opinion and throw Becca in first.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Chocolate and lots of it
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Madness
Yesterday’s corner time: 5 Minutes.
Am I going mad? Am I losing my mind? Am I ill? I think I must be because, since Becca’s been walking, I’m actually kind of enjoying her company.
Just in case I was sickening for something, I tried taking my temperature. During a farm visit the other day, I’d seen a vet do this when he was treating a sick pig. So, I knew what to do.
However, try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to get Mum’s yoghurt thermometer up my bottom. Eventually, I gave up and put the thermometer back in the kitchen before Mum noticed it was missing.
I had visited the farm with Emily. This was our third official play date and she is now my longest girlfriend by two and a half dates.
She’s certainly no push over and is more than a match for me. Her Mum describes her as a stunning blonde and, as I found after attempting another kiss, this proved to be an accurate description when she caught me with a right hook, knocking me out cold for two whole minutes.
Dad once told me that it's possible to like someone so much that it actually physically hurts but surely he didn’t mean like this?
I’ll certainly be giving stunning blondes a wider berth in future.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Emily, Bubbly, Hard to Get, Play Date, Overbearing
Am I going mad? Am I losing my mind? Am I ill? I think I must be because, since Becca’s been walking, I’m actually kind of enjoying her company.
Just in case I was sickening for something, I tried taking my temperature. During a farm visit the other day, I’d seen a vet do this when he was treating a sick pig. So, I knew what to do.
However, try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to get Mum’s yoghurt thermometer up my bottom. Eventually, I gave up and put the thermometer back in the kitchen before Mum noticed it was missing.
I had visited the farm with Emily. This was our third official play date and she is now my longest girlfriend by two and a half dates.
She’s certainly no push over and is more than a match for me. Her Mum describes her as a stunning blonde and, as I found after attempting another kiss, this proved to be an accurate description when she caught me with a right hook, knocking me out cold for two whole minutes.
Dad once told me that it's possible to like someone so much that it actually physically hurts but surely he didn’t mean like this?
I’ll certainly be giving stunning blondes a wider berth in future.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Emily, Bubbly, Hard to Get, Play Date, Overbearing
Monday, August 14, 2006
What's in a Name?
Yesterday’s corner time: 9 Minutes.
I met a boy yesterday who was only slightly younger than me. When I enquired as to his name, there was no response. I asked again but still nothing. I thought that this was very rude. I asked a third time and again, this was met with silence.
Therefore, when his mother eventually replied “Joaquim”, I did so. Repeatedly. But he still refused to surrender his credentials. Who was this guy – a CIA agent?
When I was finally dragged off him, I discovered that “Joaquim” was his name and not an instruction to batter him within an inch of his life. Whoops.
This was a rather unfortunate misunderstanding but judging by the way that he looked, I don’t think that it was the first time that someone had made this mistake. It’s no wonder that he was reluctant to reveal his identity. What were his parents thinking?
It gets even worse when you consider that his surname is “Offen”. Joaquim Offen - the poor chap really doesn’t stand much of a chance.
Dad said that it was fortunate that I wasn’t introduced to his sister, Beata.
Matthew.
I met a boy yesterday who was only slightly younger than me. When I enquired as to his name, there was no response. I asked again but still nothing. I thought that this was very rude. I asked a third time and again, this was met with silence.
Therefore, when his mother eventually replied “Joaquim”, I did so. Repeatedly. But he still refused to surrender his credentials. Who was this guy – a CIA agent?
When I was finally dragged off him, I discovered that “Joaquim” was his name and not an instruction to batter him within an inch of his life. Whoops.
This was a rather unfortunate misunderstanding but judging by the way that he looked, I don’t think that it was the first time that someone had made this mistake. It’s no wonder that he was reluctant to reveal his identity. What were his parents thinking?
It gets even worse when you consider that his surname is “Offen”. Joaquim Offen - the poor chap really doesn’t stand much of a chance.
Dad said that it was fortunate that I wasn’t introduced to his sister, Beata.
Matthew.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Nibbler
Yesterday’s corner time: 2 Minutes.
It turns out that Becca has a penchant for toes. She’s a toe nibbler. No one can relax when she’s in the vicinity but, on the plus side, we’re saving a fortune on pedicures.
Becca seems drawn to toes like a fish to its bait and once she has you locked in her sights, she’s virtually impossible to shake off. Yesterday, I had to climb a tree to flee her.
Even then, she circled the base of the trunk for a good few minutes before becoming distracted by Dad, who having just arrived in from work had unwittingly kicked off his shoes and socks, exposing his succulent flesh.
I waited for his inevitable yelp of pain before deciding it was probably safe to break cover.
I had only taken a few steps before being almost bowled over by Dad, hopping out into the garden clutching his left foot, closely followed by Becca, arms outstretched and teeth gnashing.
I turned and raced back to my tree only to find that Dad had already ensconced himself on my branch. What would I do now? Becca was almost upon me. I was trapped with no visible means of escape.
I backed up against the trunk, closed my eyes and waited. Waited for the nibbling to commence. Next thing I knew, I felt a hand grab my shirt collar and was being hauled upwards. When I reopened my eyes, I was beside Dad on the branch. I’d been saved.
Becca circled below but as dusk fell, she grew tired and eventually fell asleep on the grass, her snores signalling that it was now safe for us to come down.
For the time being, Mum has relaxed her “no shoes on inside the house” policy.
Matthew.
It turns out that Becca has a penchant for toes. She’s a toe nibbler. No one can relax when she’s in the vicinity but, on the plus side, we’re saving a fortune on pedicures.
Becca seems drawn to toes like a fish to its bait and once she has you locked in her sights, she’s virtually impossible to shake off. Yesterday, I had to climb a tree to flee her.
Even then, she circled the base of the trunk for a good few minutes before becoming distracted by Dad, who having just arrived in from work had unwittingly kicked off his shoes and socks, exposing his succulent flesh.
I waited for his inevitable yelp of pain before deciding it was probably safe to break cover.
I had only taken a few steps before being almost bowled over by Dad, hopping out into the garden clutching his left foot, closely followed by Becca, arms outstretched and teeth gnashing.
I turned and raced back to my tree only to find that Dad had already ensconced himself on my branch. What would I do now? Becca was almost upon me. I was trapped with no visible means of escape.
I backed up against the trunk, closed my eyes and waited. Waited for the nibbling to commence. Next thing I knew, I felt a hand grab my shirt collar and was being hauled upwards. When I reopened my eyes, I was beside Dad on the branch. I’d been saved.
Becca circled below but as dusk fell, she grew tired and eventually fell asleep on the grass, her snores signalling that it was now safe for us to come down.
For the time being, Mum has relaxed her “no shoes on inside the house” policy.
Matthew.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Green Fingers
Yesterday’s corner time: 9 Minutes.
I was in trouble again yesterday for swearing. I was also in trouble for gardening. I was then in trouble for swearing whilst gardening. Or perhaps it was gardening whilst swearing – I’m not quite sure.
In any case, I was doing some painting out in the garden. It was quite a blustery day and my paper kept blowing all over the place. Several of my masterpieces were ruined due to ill-timed gusts.
Luckily, being an abstract surrealist, no one else could really tell but I knew and I could be heard cursing quite loudly. After having being warned about my language, I could then still be heard cursing but less loudly. Apparently, it wasn’t so much about the volume and more about the words.
I decided that the weather conditions were not conducive for art and instead, turned my attention to gardening, weeding all the flower beds. I’m still mostly unsure as to what actually constitutes a weed and played safe by removing everything.
Then, in the space that I had just cleared, I dug a deep hole and buried Becca up to her waist. Unfortunately, I had stood her on her head, so that only her feet protruded and could be seen swaying quite dramatically in the wind.
Obviously, this was far from ideal and I could see Mum frantically gesturing from the Kitchen window for me to immediately remedy the situation. I quickly inserted a stake and attached Becca’s legs.
Problem solved – no more swaying. Phew, that was close.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Art Attack, D.I.Y
I was in trouble again yesterday for swearing. I was also in trouble for gardening. I was then in trouble for swearing whilst gardening. Or perhaps it was gardening whilst swearing – I’m not quite sure.
In any case, I was doing some painting out in the garden. It was quite a blustery day and my paper kept blowing all over the place. Several of my masterpieces were ruined due to ill-timed gusts.
Luckily, being an abstract surrealist, no one else could really tell but I knew and I could be heard cursing quite loudly. After having being warned about my language, I could then still be heard cursing but less loudly. Apparently, it wasn’t so much about the volume and more about the words.
I decided that the weather conditions were not conducive for art and instead, turned my attention to gardening, weeding all the flower beds. I’m still mostly unsure as to what actually constitutes a weed and played safe by removing everything.
Then, in the space that I had just cleared, I dug a deep hole and buried Becca up to her waist. Unfortunately, I had stood her on her head, so that only her feet protruded and could be seen swaying quite dramatically in the wind.
Obviously, this was far from ideal and I could see Mum frantically gesturing from the Kitchen window for me to immediately remedy the situation. I quickly inserted a stake and attached Becca’s legs.
Problem solved – no more swaying. Phew, that was close.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Art Attack, D.I.Y
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Anyone for Tennis?
Yesterday’s corner time: 3 Minutes.
I’m worried about my Dad. I’m worried that he’s going to harm himself. I’m really very concerned.
He’s joined the local Tennis and Squash Club. You may think that this sounds innocent enough but you don’t know my Dad. He seems to be at that age now when, whatever sport he does, he injures himself.
Dad started off with Martial Arts a few years ago, just before I was born. I always thought Martial Arts was like an extreme form of painting, where you had someone standing over you, barking orders as you painted for all your life’s worth. But apparently, it’s not like that at all.
Anyway, Dad was training in Kung Fu and within a few weeks, he had dislocated his thumb. Apparently, this was around the time that I was born and he was unable to lift or carry me for a few weeks. Mum is still quite bitter about this.
Dad carried on with the Kung Fu for quite a while, right up until last year. Following a resolution to get super fit, he ended up in the ER by lunchtime on New Year’s Day. He had ruptured his Achilles tendon whilst out jogging.
Next, he took up golf and fell down a ditch. The ligaments in his left foot were torn and he had to retire from the round. He hasn’t played since. That was last November and his foot is just about better, although his pride still has some way to go.
So, you can see why I’m worried. If a man can injure himself playing golf then surely, Tennis must be life threatening?
Matthew.
I’m worried about my Dad. I’m worried that he’s going to harm himself. I’m really very concerned.
He’s joined the local Tennis and Squash Club. You may think that this sounds innocent enough but you don’t know my Dad. He seems to be at that age now when, whatever sport he does, he injures himself.
Dad started off with Martial Arts a few years ago, just before I was born. I always thought Martial Arts was like an extreme form of painting, where you had someone standing over you, barking orders as you painted for all your life’s worth. But apparently, it’s not like that at all.
Anyway, Dad was training in Kung Fu and within a few weeks, he had dislocated his thumb. Apparently, this was around the time that I was born and he was unable to lift or carry me for a few weeks. Mum is still quite bitter about this.
Dad carried on with the Kung Fu for quite a while, right up until last year. Following a resolution to get super fit, he ended up in the ER by lunchtime on New Year’s Day. He had ruptured his Achilles tendon whilst out jogging.
Next, he took up golf and fell down a ditch. The ligaments in his left foot were torn and he had to retire from the round. He hasn’t played since. That was last November and his foot is just about better, although his pride still has some way to go.
So, you can see why I’m worried. If a man can injure himself playing golf then surely, Tennis must be life threatening?
Matthew.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Hoax Calls
Yesterday’s corner time: 6 Minutes.
My corner time pales into insignificance following Aunty Su's arrest for placing false calls to the Fire Service.
After the 117th time, they finally took action.
The breakdown is as follows:
- 3 Calls: Thought she could smell gas.
- 12 Calls: Cat stuck in tree. She doesn’t even own a cat. She doesn’t even own a tree. She borrowed Fluky from our neighbour and was spotted tossing him up into a nearby tree by a passing pedestrian.
- 26 Calls - Locked out of her house.
- 32 Calls – Locked out of her house, only wearing her underwear.
- 43 Calls – Locked out of her house, wearing nothing at all.
- 1 Call – Locked out of her house, stuck up a tree, naked, with a cat and thought she could smell gas.
Both the Firemen and the cat had to seek counselling after that last incident.
Aunty Su’s also been arranging for numerous fire safety assessment visits and now has 253 smoke detectors fitted. Her whole family were hospitalized yesterday with perforated eardrums after she burnt some toast.
It took several calls to the emergency services before they eventually realised that it wasn’t a hoax. It wasn’t helped by the fact that due to their injuries, no one in Aunty Su’s family could actually hear anything and kept shouting down the phone.
The judge has awarded Aunty Su five days community service helping out at the local Fire Station. I’m not convinced that this is much of a deterrent.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Fire Station
Monday, August 07, 2006
Fluky
Yesterday’s corner time: 5 Minutes.
Although we have a cat flap through which I shoved Becca last week, we don’t actually own a cat.
I think my parents are reluctant to buy a pet having witnessed my interaction with our neighbour’s cat. It’s called Fluky as it was initially deemed to benefit from good fortune. However, I think that its luck ran out the day that it moved in next to us.
Now, I understand that cats normally have nine lives but by my calculations, Fluky probably only has about seven remaining.
This was partially due to an elementary mistake in assuming that cats were related to catfish. Fluky wasn’t too bad at the doggy paddle but when I insisted that he try the backstroke and then the butterfly, he started to encounter real difficulties.
The coup de grace was strapping a brick to his back to improve its underwater techniques.
After Fluky’s first demise, he never quite looked the same. I’m not quite sure what it was about his appearance that prompts me to say this. It may have had something to do with the fact that he was a different colour, a different size and a different sex.
Fluky certainly also behaved as if he had never laid eyes on me before. Instead of making his usual bolt for the trees, he actually approached me voluntarily and rubbed up against my leg.
Things were still remarkably cordial when a few moments later, Fluky had been bound, gagged and placed between two ramps for me to jump over on my tricycle.
As my wheels left the take-off ramp, I’m sure that I caught a glint of recognition in Fluky’s eyes as he realised that I was going to land woefully short of the landing ramp.
After Fluky’s second demise, Dad suggested that perhaps he should be renamed to something more appropriate, such as Pancake.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Cat Flap
Although we have a cat flap through which I shoved Becca last week, we don’t actually own a cat.
I think my parents are reluctant to buy a pet having witnessed my interaction with our neighbour’s cat. It’s called Fluky as it was initially deemed to benefit from good fortune. However, I think that its luck ran out the day that it moved in next to us.
Now, I understand that cats normally have nine lives but by my calculations, Fluky probably only has about seven remaining.
This was partially due to an elementary mistake in assuming that cats were related to catfish. Fluky wasn’t too bad at the doggy paddle but when I insisted that he try the backstroke and then the butterfly, he started to encounter real difficulties.
The coup de grace was strapping a brick to his back to improve its underwater techniques.
After Fluky’s first demise, he never quite looked the same. I’m not quite sure what it was about his appearance that prompts me to say this. It may have had something to do with the fact that he was a different colour, a different size and a different sex.
Fluky certainly also behaved as if he had never laid eyes on me before. Instead of making his usual bolt for the trees, he actually approached me voluntarily and rubbed up against my leg.
Things were still remarkably cordial when a few moments later, Fluky had been bound, gagged and placed between two ramps for me to jump over on my tricycle.
As my wheels left the take-off ramp, I’m sure that I caught a glint of recognition in Fluky’s eyes as he realised that I was going to land woefully short of the landing ramp.
After Fluky’s second demise, Dad suggested that perhaps he should be renamed to something more appropriate, such as Pancake.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Cat Flap
Friday, August 04, 2006
Fire Station
Yesterday’s corner time: 1 Minute.
What a great day - a trip to a Fire Station.
I was very excited and my Mum blackmailed me all day prior to the visit, that if my behaviour wasn’t perfect, then I wouldn’t be allowed to go.
Naturally, this restricted my activities to a large extent, especially with respect to harassing Becca.
When we arrived at the Fire Station, I was initially disappointed to see that I wasn’t the only child there but then spotted some of my friends. It was also strange to see all the Mums looking remarkably smart and grinning inanely at the Firemen.
It soon became apparent that the Mums were somewhat distracted by our hosts. This became ridiculous to the point where the kids were prevented from boarding the Fire Engine because it was already filled with our Mothers.
We were given a tour of the Fire Station but we weren’t allowed to slide down the Fire Fighter’s pole. One of the officers demonstrated this for us and was met by choruses of “Ooh” and “Again, Again, Again” from all the Mums.
My friend’s Mother, Aunty Su, was eventually thrown out after she started performing some of her routines on the pole. This was deemed inappropriate viewing for the children but the Fire Fighters didn’t appear to object too strongly.
We were then asked if we wanted to have a play with the Fire Fighter’s hose, prompting more giggles from the Mums. What was wrong with them?
Anyway, this was great fun, the water jet was really powerful and I was allowed to knock over some plastic chairs. I tried to blast Becca but the Fire Fighter suggested that it was time for someone else to have a go.
The Fire Fighters were also offering free house visits and safety appraisals. Aunty Su was most annoyed that she already had five smoke detectors installed and was last heard muttering something about getting a ladder and a hammer.
Matthew.
What a great day - a trip to a Fire Station.
I was very excited and my Mum blackmailed me all day prior to the visit, that if my behaviour wasn’t perfect, then I wouldn’t be allowed to go.
Naturally, this restricted my activities to a large extent, especially with respect to harassing Becca.
When we arrived at the Fire Station, I was initially disappointed to see that I wasn’t the only child there but then spotted some of my friends. It was also strange to see all the Mums looking remarkably smart and grinning inanely at the Firemen.
It soon became apparent that the Mums were somewhat distracted by our hosts. This became ridiculous to the point where the kids were prevented from boarding the Fire Engine because it was already filled with our Mothers.
We were given a tour of the Fire Station but we weren’t allowed to slide down the Fire Fighter’s pole. One of the officers demonstrated this for us and was met by choruses of “Ooh” and “Again, Again, Again” from all the Mums.
My friend’s Mother, Aunty Su, was eventually thrown out after she started performing some of her routines on the pole. This was deemed inappropriate viewing for the children but the Fire Fighters didn’t appear to object too strongly.
We were then asked if we wanted to have a play with the Fire Fighter’s hose, prompting more giggles from the Mums. What was wrong with them?
Anyway, this was great fun, the water jet was really powerful and I was allowed to knock over some plastic chairs. I tried to blast Becca but the Fire Fighter suggested that it was time for someone else to have a go.
The Fire Fighters were also offering free house visits and safety appraisals. Aunty Su was most annoyed that she already had five smoke detectors installed and was last heard muttering something about getting a ladder and a hammer.
Matthew.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Overbearing
Yesterday’s corner time: 2 Minutes.
I had what was possibly my final play date with Emily yesterday, around at my house.
I think I may have been too excited. My parents had informed me of the forthcoming arrangement the night before and had explained that when I woke up in the morning, Emily would come to visit. Well naturally, I was pretty restless after that and didn’t sleep at all well.
I awoke early the next day in eager anticipation and looked forlornly out the window, awaiting her arrival. When then was no sign of her, I languished on the lounge floor.
Then, on the dot of 10am just as planned, I heard the footsteps coming up our path. I ran into the hall, swung open the front door and threw my arms around the first thing that I could grab.
However, Emily was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a rather surprised Postman stood on our doorstep with me attached to his leg like a limpet. Used as he was to being attacked by house owners’ dogs, I think this was a welcome change. That was until I bit him.
Anyway, Emily arrived 5 minutes later with her Mum. I was the perfect host, helping her off with her Jacket. I then tried to help her off with her shoes, her shirt and her trousers. Apparently, that was taking hospitality too far.
Dad had warned me that I should be nice to Emily and look after her. Therefore, I felt it was important not to give her any space whatsoever, just in case she came to harm.
I remained within 10 centimetres of her at all times. When she objected, I shouted at her. I couldn’t tolerate any dissent, not when her wellbeing was at stake.
I think my behaviour may have been perceived as being slightly overbearing. Once again, Dad’s advice has turned out to be rubbish.
It’s lucky he has Mum, otherwise I think he’d be single for ever - just as I will be, if I continue to follow his advice.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Emily, Bubbly, Hard to Get, Play Date
I had what was possibly my final play date with Emily yesterday, around at my house.
I think I may have been too excited. My parents had informed me of the forthcoming arrangement the night before and had explained that when I woke up in the morning, Emily would come to visit. Well naturally, I was pretty restless after that and didn’t sleep at all well.
I awoke early the next day in eager anticipation and looked forlornly out the window, awaiting her arrival. When then was no sign of her, I languished on the lounge floor.
Then, on the dot of 10am just as planned, I heard the footsteps coming up our path. I ran into the hall, swung open the front door and threw my arms around the first thing that I could grab.
However, Emily was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a rather surprised Postman stood on our doorstep with me attached to his leg like a limpet. Used as he was to being attacked by house owners’ dogs, I think this was a welcome change. That was until I bit him.
Anyway, Emily arrived 5 minutes later with her Mum. I was the perfect host, helping her off with her Jacket. I then tried to help her off with her shoes, her shirt and her trousers. Apparently, that was taking hospitality too far.
Dad had warned me that I should be nice to Emily and look after her. Therefore, I felt it was important not to give her any space whatsoever, just in case she came to harm.
I remained within 10 centimetres of her at all times. When she objected, I shouted at her. I couldn’t tolerate any dissent, not when her wellbeing was at stake.
I think my behaviour may have been perceived as being slightly overbearing. Once again, Dad’s advice has turned out to be rubbish.
It’s lucky he has Mum, otherwise I think he’d be single for ever - just as I will be, if I continue to follow his advice.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Emily, Bubbly, Hard to Get, Play Date
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Cat Flap
Yesterday’s corner time: 6 Minutes.
I'm dedicating much more time than usual to the Becca issue. Now that she’s walking, it’s more important than ever that she understands her place in the pecking order, which is right at the end of the queue.
Unless of course, it’s a giant chicken doing the pecking, in which case, the queue order is reversed and she’s in pole position.
You’d think this would be an easy concept for her to grasp, especially as there are no giant chickens in our neighbourhood. But no, she keeps muscling in where she has no business being.
I decided enough was enough yesterday and I shoved her head first through our cat flap. This was only supposed to be a temporary measure but when I tried to extricate her again by pulling on her ankles, her ears prevented her immediate re-emergence.
After pausing for thought, I decided that the best course of action was to remove Becca’s head, pull the rest of her body through and then reattach the head with some super glue.
Simplicity itself and no one would be any the wiser.
However, the saw from my tool box just wasn’t up to the job. I asked Dad if I could borrow his power tools but he was remarkably negative when I explained the situation and my exit strategy. My alternative proposal, which only involved removing her ears, wasn’t greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm either.
Instead, Dad rescued Becca by adjusting her position and then easing her gently out.
Naturally, this would have been my third solution but as I hadn't received much encouragement for the first two, I had decided not to suggest it.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Pitter Patter, Here, There and Everywhere
I'm dedicating much more time than usual to the Becca issue. Now that she’s walking, it’s more important than ever that she understands her place in the pecking order, which is right at the end of the queue.
Unless of course, it’s a giant chicken doing the pecking, in which case, the queue order is reversed and she’s in pole position.
You’d think this would be an easy concept for her to grasp, especially as there are no giant chickens in our neighbourhood. But no, she keeps muscling in where she has no business being.
I decided enough was enough yesterday and I shoved her head first through our cat flap. This was only supposed to be a temporary measure but when I tried to extricate her again by pulling on her ankles, her ears prevented her immediate re-emergence.
After pausing for thought, I decided that the best course of action was to remove Becca’s head, pull the rest of her body through and then reattach the head with some super glue.
Simplicity itself and no one would be any the wiser.
However, the saw from my tool box just wasn’t up to the job. I asked Dad if I could borrow his power tools but he was remarkably negative when I explained the situation and my exit strategy. My alternative proposal, which only involved removing her ears, wasn’t greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm either.
Instead, Dad rescued Becca by adjusting her position and then easing her gently out.
Naturally, this would have been my third solution but as I hadn't received much encouragement for the first two, I had decided not to suggest it.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Pitter Patter, Here, There and Everywhere
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Here, There and Everywhere
Yesterday’s corner time: 4 Minutes.
Becca is everywhere. She’s an omnipotent being.
Wherever I go, she follows behind me like a poodle. Well, that is if poodles walked upright, with their paws outstretched like a zombie from the night of the living dead. She doesn’t really have curly hair or a wet nose either but she is smelly and she does have questionable toilet habits. So, I think the comparison is still valid.
Anyway, she tags along and there’s no escape. As I still can’t reach the “Art of War”, I decided that I should approach the problem logically and methodically.
With some limited experimentation, I have tested the boundaries of her agility and identified that she does have issues avoiding certain obstacles, especially those which suddenly appear from out of nowhere.
My initial studies commenced simply with the scattering of everyday objects on the lounge floor. Drawing pins were particularly effective at slowing her relentless progress but eventually, she learnt to brush them aside with her bear.
Next, I tried springing open cupboard doors as she was passing. With some string attached to the door handle, a sharp tug and some good timing I was able to judge it so that the door would smack her square in the face. This had the added advantage of stunning her for a few seconds, allowing me plenty of time to escape.
I’m currently working on a device which is a cross between a demolition ball and the game of skittles. Not only should this take out Becca but we can also have a highest score contest too.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Pitter Patter
Becca is everywhere. She’s an omnipotent being.
Wherever I go, she follows behind me like a poodle. Well, that is if poodles walked upright, with their paws outstretched like a zombie from the night of the living dead. She doesn’t really have curly hair or a wet nose either but she is smelly and she does have questionable toilet habits. So, I think the comparison is still valid.
Anyway, she tags along and there’s no escape. As I still can’t reach the “Art of War”, I decided that I should approach the problem logically and methodically.
With some limited experimentation, I have tested the boundaries of her agility and identified that she does have issues avoiding certain obstacles, especially those which suddenly appear from out of nowhere.
My initial studies commenced simply with the scattering of everyday objects on the lounge floor. Drawing pins were particularly effective at slowing her relentless progress but eventually, she learnt to brush them aside with her bear.
Next, I tried springing open cupboard doors as she was passing. With some string attached to the door handle, a sharp tug and some good timing I was able to judge it so that the door would smack her square in the face. This had the added advantage of stunning her for a few seconds, allowing me plenty of time to escape.
I’m currently working on a device which is a cross between a demolition ball and the game of skittles. Not only should this take out Becca but we can also have a highest score contest too.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Pitter Patter
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