bringing up charlie

One small step...

2010-07-29T06:47:00.000+01:00

Another video today. And isn't this why video cameras were invented? And why we blog for that matter (some of us at any rate)? Today's archive post is from January 14th 2009, and records the Neil Armstrong moment when Charlie took his first small steps.

To see him whizzing around the place today you'd hardly know it's only a year-and-a-half since he became fully bipedal. And when he runs he takes some catching. But the most charming thing is the way he tiptoes around the place, almost dancing little steps from one room to the next. It's very amusing, and I've no idea if it's something other toddlers do or if it's a special Charlie affectation. Anyway, just to bring things up to date, here's a little clip of Charlie training for the 2012 Olympics. Don't forget to click the Tardis link and travel back in time! But come back here to comment. Please?

My first vlog!

2010-07-27T06:47:00.000+01:00

Ok, for today's trip down memory lane I'm going to have to send you back to the page itself. You see, it's a vlog (video-blog) - my first, in fact. Last week's archived post was all about losing my blogging virginity, and today's is about the time I, well, 'lost it' in the company of a video camera. It's only thirty-seconds long. You see, you get better as you get older and I'm now much more confident, practised and established than I used to be. Anyway, you don't want to hear about it, do you? No, you want to see it. Ok then, here it is...

Live action video streaming!!

Don't say I didn't warn you. Actually, it's also a post harking back to the days when the only comments (if I got 'em at all) were from members of the family. This one's from my sister-in-law, in case you're wondering. It must've been her turn that week. Oh how they love it now that other people write responses to my posts and they no longer have to do it. In fact, they probably don't even read it. But back then, a blog-post was a real event and I'd 'phone people up to remind them to have a look. Stats (if I knew about such things) probably ran to, oh... dozens. Per month.

How times change. Actually, I've just thought of a problem. Should anyone want to comment on the archived post, they won't be able to. Because since then I've installed DISQUS and closed the old Blogger comments. So, once you've had a peek, you'll have to come back here if you've anything to say. Which you probably haven't. After all, you're on holiday too, right?

Anyway, see you again soon for more ~~shameless recycling of old material~~ charming little snippets from the Bringing up Charlie back-list.

Old friends...

2010-07-25T06:28:00.001+01:00

It's the summer hols, we're all off school at last (cue Alice Cooper) and as I'm not always here to post I thought I'd schedule a few 'old friends', i.e. posts from the archives to keep you entertained. And where better to start than at the very beginning. It's a very good place to start...

So here's the first-ever post on Bringing up Charlie, back in the days when I still worked full-time in a job I was increasingly unhappy doing, dreaming of a way out and tentatively dipping my big toe in the world of blogging; back in the days when I hardly knew what blogs were, and had no idea where my own blog would lead. It's an appropriate first-post: rather like a manifesto and harkens back to my first-ever url: stayathomedad. That's what I was to become, so I thought it would be an apt name for the blog. Little did I know there was another out there. Hence, Bringing up Charlie: a rather hastily chosen alternative.

It all began on Monday, April 14th 2008 and it was called 'The Big Idea'...

And today’s idea... ...a blog – perhaps called ‘stay-at-home-dad.com’. In fact, I might make that my e-mail address as well. A year in the life of a stay-at-home dad, beginning with the first tentative idea of giving up work, the loss of interest in career, a desire to cut down on conspicuous consumption and – of course – to look after Charlie, my three-month-old son. Ten years ago my daughter went to nursery at just six months old. They had all the parties on her birthday, blowing out the candles on the cake we had provided. They saw her take her first steps, and probably heard her speak her first words too. What I got to do was drop her off at eight o’clock and pick her up at five. If I was lucky, there might be an hour or so when we got home before it was time to have a bath and go to bed. I love my daughter dearly, and the nursery she attended gave her a first-class start in life, it really did. She started school a confident, intelligent and co-operative little girl, used to adult company and at ease with other children. I have no regrets whatever about my daughter’s time at nursery. But I do feel that I missed out somewhat on her early years. We both did. Simply by being at work, we missed things that other parents would enjoy – simple things like going to the park, developmental things like baking cakes or making Christmas cards, all sorts of small and individually insignificant little things that add up to the kind of early life experience that stays with you – and provides a basis for you – right into your adult life and probably forever. All those little things like sitting down and watching kids TV together – things I used to do myself; things that I remember now with great affection. So, I'm going to stay at home with Charlie for a year. And Sarah will go back to work. And this blog will record the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the smiles and words as well as leaky nappies and the temper tantrums.

Short and to-the-point, but a wee bit self-important don't you think? Oh well, I was soon to learn! There'll be more trips down blogging memory lane in a day or so. In the meantime, the anthem of the summer: School's Out FOREVER!

Something for the weekend?

2010-07-23T05:48:00.021+01:00

One of the great things about being a parent, I find, is the slightly surreal nature of the conversations you end up having. This week, for example, we've had enquiries into the nature and purpose of the sky and the proper names of our wheelie bins. Then yesterday afternoon, at the end of a long and tiring stint of motorway driving, I was commanded by a voice from the back seat to observe rather than merely listen as Charlie addressed some new and exciting line of philosophical enquiry. The trouble is, I was driving. And explaining my physical inability to swivel my head like an owl, not to mention the danger of taking my eyes off the road at seventy mph was a challenge even to my persuasive powers. The exchange went something like this:

Look at me daddy, look at me.
...I can't Charlie; I'm driving.
Why not you look at me daddy? Why?
...Because I'm looking at the road; that's what you so when you're driving.

Except when you don't, of course. Except when you're on the 'phone, or eating your lunch, or texting or any of the dozen or so other things I saw other drivers doing yesterday rather than watching the road. And the most frightening culprits were those behind the wheel of some huge articulated lorry.

I can just about (just!) tolerate that thing they do on a two-lane road when one pulls out to overtake just as they start to climb a long, slow incline. I mean, what is that about? Do the two drivers have a conversation as they crawl up the hill side-by-side? Are they having a quiet chuckle at all the frustrated car drivers behind them? But driving several tons of metal bumper-to-bumper while checking your text messages is beyond a joke as far as I'm concerned.

Now, I'm not one for making extra work for the police. They're busy enough. So instead of imposing stiffer penalties on the blighters, I'd like to suggest we all take advantage of the super soaraway Sun's £9.50 holiday challenge and buy these idiots a hands-free 'phone kit before it's too late. (You can get 'em from as little as £2.80 for goodness sake!)

£9.50 might not pay for much of your holiday. But at least you might live to enjoy it!

Make me smile...

2010-07-21T06:46:00.004+01:00

What makes you smarter than a chimp? What makes you you? That's the question the Science Museum is asking as part of its 'Who Am I?' exhibition and they'd like your answer to the question 'What makes me smile?' In my case, it's simple. In fact, I can answer all the Science Museum's questions in one go: what makes me smile, what makes me who I am (and far luckier than a chimpanzee) is the pleasure and privilege of sharing my tiny corner of the universe with such a wonderful family...

How about you? What makes you smile? The Science Museum really wants to know, and you can answer by leaving a comment on this post, on twitter or even Facebook. And the more adventurous, the better.

And you can't have a post about making people smile without a bit of Cockney Rebel.... can you? This always makes me smile...

Goodbye Mr Chips!

2010-07-19T10:19:00.003+01:00

Or rather, Mr Fitton. A legend among English teachers, a true renaissance man with talents ranging from fly fishing (about which he wrote a book) to music-making; so much more than a teacher but - as a teacher - an inspiration to thousands. Quite simply, Nick is remembered by everybody: his are the lessons all his pupils will recall; he will be the teacher sorely missed; it was a pleasure to be a colleague for many years and to attend his retirement gig on Saturday evening.

Yes, retirement gig. Because Nick didn't merely run the English department at Boston Grammar School for years, he also founded and led the school jazz band. It played at our wedding four years ago, and I made several impromptu appearances as guest vocalist. But my rendition of Dr Jazz a la Jelly Roll Morton will have to wait for another time, not least because - on Saturday evening - Sarah had taken Charlie home by the time my performance was reprised, and the video camera had gone with her.

But not before capturing more of Charlie's groovy moves, plus a tribute to her husband written by Nick's wife Hilary and performed by yours truly to the tune of the George Formby classic, When I'm Cleaning Windows. It's not meant to sound like one song to the tune of another. But the song rather challenges my tessitura. And it was performed after the consumption of much beer. You have been warned....

Ah, they don't make 'em like that any more. Thank goodness. And they don't make hard-working, intelligent and multi-talented maverick teachers like Nick Fitton either. At one time every school would have one. I can certainly remember inspirational and memorable teachers from my own days as a pupil. But can they exist in today's target-driven, micro-managed and over-inspected classrooms? I rather suspect not. In which case Nick Fitton is one of the last of the few.

Here's to a long and happy jazz-filled, cricket-watching, trout-fishing and reading-for-pleasure retirement Nick. You've earned it!

Depression

2010-07-17T06:24:00.003+01:00

Here's a description of depression:

When you’re depressed, you stay depressed. Even when you’re ill, you’re still depressed. You’re ill anyway, of course: depression is an illness. But not like any other illness; not like a physical disease. It’s worse. Because when you’re ill, you are ill. You. Ill. There is someone that the illness is attacking. When you’re depressed though, you are depression. There is nothing but depression; there is no-one. That is what you are, forever - depression, desperation, despair. And nothing more.

I've been told (by people who know) that this description pretty well sums up the utter hopelessness of clinical depression, especially the paralysing sense that the disease has completely taken over, even becoming the sufferer in some strange sense.

There's been a lot of discussion lately about mental health in general and depression in particular. Anything that gets such a subject out into the open is to be applauded. Jen (The Madhouse) wrote an especially moving post about her own struggle with depression only yesterday. Public figures like Stephen Fry have had their say, and the list of celebrities with depression contains more than a few surprises and includes names as diverse as Jack Dee, Robbie Williams and Mel C.

And yet the stigma surrounding mental health persists. Thus sufferers have not only to overcome their illness, but also the general prejudice surrounding anything to do with diseases of the mind. I've seen it myself in school: both teenagers in need and teenagers too scared to opt out of the mickey-taking and derision heaped on friends who couldn't take it any more. That was a large part of my motivation in penning my novel, Writing Therapy. The students I taught, like my fictional protagonist, often suddenly disappeared from school for no apparent reason. Rumours circulated; then the truth emerged. And if they returned to school at all it was frequently short-lived, and ended once the whispering and sniggering became too much. But this is not a plug for me or my book. This is a plug for someone doing an epic, coast-to-coast walk this summer raising money for the mental health charity, Mind. Denise and her husband have been training and planning for months, and their aim is to raise money for both the local South Lincolnshire branch of Mind and the national charity.

You can find out more by visiting her blog, Whitefriars Wanderings and Just Giving page. And if you're feeling generous and can donate anything, I'm sure she'd be very grateful. And so, ultimately, will a lot of other people.

Good luck Denise!

Come Outside

2010-07-15T06:53:00.001+01:00

Auntie Mabel, eh... who'd have thought Nurse Gladys Emmanuel would have cast such an amazing spell on my infant son? Although his speech is sometimes stuttering, Charlie's no Arkwright, that's for sure. But he loves Auntie Mabel and Pippin with a passion. And 'hurrah' for that, say I. Because it's such a charming and informative series: 'old-fashioned' in the very best sense of the word. You can find out such a lot: how welly boots are made, what happens to your rubbish, where bread comes from, and how to treat your sewage. Oh yes. And if that wasn't enough, Linda Baron usually sings a lovely little song about it, at which point Charlie unvariably gets up off his 'Graco 3-in-1' (it's far too good to stay in the car) and does a little dance.

I can't say he gets his moves from me.

Anderby Creek

2010-07-13T06:35:00.009+01:00

Sounds like a book by Daphne du Maurier, doesn't it? Something involving smugglers, caves, coves and Cornishmen. But it isn't. It's a lovely beach in Lincolnshire, just a few miles north of Skeggy but a million miles away from tacky. Telling somebody about our day trip there last Saturday, I was amazed to hear them say they'd never heard of Anderby Creek before. Perhaps I should've kept it that way. But no. I like to share. So if you're a fan of unspoilt beaches, free car parking, miles of sand and a day at the seaside, Anderby Creek is for you.

Quite possibly my dream home. Which one? Any of 'em...

Where to, guv?

It's a long way to the sea daddy

Time for un petit rosé...

... and a spot of lunch.

And if the beach should pall after a while, you can always go to the Anderby Creek Cloud Bar, the Cloud Appreciation Society's (no, I didn't know there was such a thing either) official cloud observation platform.

The only trouble is, on a day like last Saturday, there are hardly any clouds to see!

Anderby Creek is one of my suggestions for the Ready for Ten Skillscape project - a map of the UK's best places for kids to play. If you've got a place to add, go to the Skillscape suggestions page and add it to the ever-growing list. There are hundreds of suggestions already, and by entering yours you could win a family holiday!

Sunday Supplement

2010-07-11T07:53:00.010+01:00

Here are a few items which escaped 'big post' treatment this week. Oh, and this is a sponsored post, of sorts...

First, That Car: you know, the Citroen C3. It really is a cool drive and so miserly with fuel you almost get cash back driving it but the boot isn't big enough for our pushchair. And our pushchair isn't big. Last weekend, when we went to Granny's it had to be strapped in next to Charlie. The pushchair, that is. Not Granny.

Next, a little gadget with the potential to clear up a big mess. My daughter has a mobile; I have a mobile; my wife has a mobile. (No, this isn't some old-fashioned conjugation. Bear with me...) They're all different; they all need different chargers. Wouldn't it be cool to dock them on the same device at the same time, and plug them all in to just one socket? Of course, and when the people who make the Premier Family Charging Station told me about it I thought it was the answer to my prayers. And in a way it was. Although you still have to plug in all of the individual 'phone chargers, so it's really only like a glorified extension socket. A bit like asking the Lord for a Mercedes Benz (my friends all have Porches, I must make amends...) and getting sent a Skoda. Or a Citroen C3. Not that's there's anything wrong with Skodas. Or C3's for that matter.

And talking of cars, we've also been trialling a brand new Graco Nautilus 3-in-1 car-seat. Now this really is swish, and as ~~I was too tight~~ didn't need to buy a new one for Charlie (having kept Sally's from years ago) I was keen to see how they'd changed. (She's only twelve by the way, and it hadn't been dropped or involved in an accident before you ring the NSPCC or RoSPA.) Well, in ten years car seats seem to have come a long way, or at least the Nautilus has:

it's almost twice the size;
it weights half as much;
it lasts three times as long (9 months to 12 years);
and I'm sure Charlie would tell you (if he could) that it is at least twice as comfortable.

Trouble is, it was so exciting sitting in my 'noo car seeht' last Friday evening (motoring down to granny's - remember?) that he completely forgot to fall asleep. And it looks so good for falling asleep. It reclines and has the most wonderfully cushioned headrest and lovely soft, padded straps. I wish they made one for grown-ups, I really do. Though clearly not for the driver. Oh, and for the record Charlie did fall asleep in it on the way home. And again the other day.

And finally...

Potty training has begun in earnest this week. We've bought pants, they've been worn with pride ('my noo pants') and the whole thing has been so exciting Charlie's wee'd in them within minutes. But as it's been sunny and warm, we've also been able to go naked in the garden. Well, I haven't: Charlie has. (Well, actually I have but that's another story and one I'm not divulging here.) Anyhoo.... having briefly retreated to the shade of the kitchen the other day I noticed it had suddenly gone rather quiet in the garden. And as any parent knows, quiet is NOT GOOD. So turning from the cricket for a moment I noticed what looked like a dead mouse on the patio, with Charlie (naked, remember) doing a little war-dance and shouting 'go way flies'. I got there just before he started stamping on them - and it - with his feet. Oh, the joys or parenting.

Enjoy Sunday lunch everyone!

Last of the few

2010-07-09T06:42:00.000+01:00

We've had a car this week, a very nippy (and unbelievably economical) Citroen C3. It's compact, comfy and incredibly easy to drive. Getting back behind the wheel of our Toyota Verso the other day was like driving a tank. And another thing the C3's got is the perfect windscreen for spotting 'planes.

Lincolnshire is famous for two things: cabbages (as well as sprouts and spuds and other veg.) and the RAF. Ok, there are other things too like Tennyson (Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do or die, Into the valley of death rode the six hundred...) Lincoln Cathedral and Skegness, but it's not called 'Bomber County' for nothing. During the Second World War there were more active airfields in Lincolnshire (49) than in any other county; the famous 617 'Dambusters' flew from Scampton, just north of Lincoln, which is home now to the Red Arrows. And just up the road from us lies one of the most active military airfields and home of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight: RAF Coningsby.

Now I'm no 'plane spotter. Seriously, there are some guys there (and they all seem to be men) with special walkie-talkies things tuned in to the control tower and lenses longer than, well... you get the picture. But now and again I like seeing my taxes being spent as well as watching a free air-display, and you can usually rely on Coningsby for that. Charlie likes it too. So a car with a retractable roof and extra-large windscreen was ideal. Mind you, these planes sometimes get a bit too close for comfort.

Having watched through the perimeter fence, I decided it was time to get up close and personal. As Coningsby is home to the RAF's squadron of WW2 historic aircraft (one of two remaining Lancasters, five Spitfires, two Hurricanes and a Dakota) members of the public can get onto the base (or at least, part of it) and be taken on a guided tour by a man with swagger stick and waxed moustache. You think I'm joking, don't you?

Anyway, if you're in the area it's worth a visit. And it's free. Well, the guided tour isn't; but it's worth a fiver to get this close to part of our island's history...

As Churchill memorably put it, "Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few..." This year marks the seventieth anniversary of the Battle fought between 10th July and 31st October 1940, and there are displays by the BBMF up and down the country. So if you don't live near Lincolnshire, it doesn't matter. The last of the few will come to you.

Lest we forget.

Wordless Wednesday... Cybermummy caption competition

2010-07-07T07:42:00.000+01:00

Number One:

What is Karin thinking?

Number Two:

What is Potty saying?

Number Three:

What are they all eating?

Number Four:

Why is Emma laughing?

Number Five:

Why is Josie smiling?

Actually, I think we all know the answer to that one, don't we?

What a day!

Nobody expects...

2010-07-05T06:49:00.001+01:00

... the Spanish Inquisition! I certainly didn't. In fact, I was so nonplussed that I totally forgot who'd tagged me (it was Kailexness) and in spite of putting out an APB on twitter I only discovered it again by accident on Friday. Anyway, here's the test set for me by Julie. You can mark my answers.

1. Which (in)famous person (alive or dead) would you like to take out to dinner, where would you go and what would you like to talk about?
Hmmm, difficult. I'd quite like to bring Mozart back from the grave just to ask him how on earth he did it, but he'd probably never tell me. Still, he'd be quite good company. So would Jimi Hendrix if he wasn't stoned. Nelson Mandela's probably getting a bit old for dinner (he's 92 later this month!) and Edward Elgar's no longer able to use his own money, so... I'm going to go for Charlotte Gainsbourg. Possibly.

2. What is the best gift someone could give you (tangible please)
A vineyard. And the means to harvest, press, ferment and bottle my own wine. Failing that, an apple orchard with the same facilities for making cider.

3. Where in the world would you most like to live?
Italy. Tuscany, to be precise. That vineyard's Tuscan. I can almost taste the olives.

4. What do you most enjoy cooking?
This might surprise you (in view of my previous answer) but Italian food. I love the Italian attitude to food as much as anything. And pasta, of course. I love pasta.

5. What is your favourite Novel?
Why, Writing Therapy of course. (What do you mean you've never heard of it?)

6. You have your own personal Tardis, where do you go first?
Battle of Hastings, 1066 or to be more precise, Bosham harbour. When Guillaume the Corn-curer steps ashore and falls flat on his face (he does - read the history books) I give Harold a hand and make sure he can't get up. Honestly, what have the Norman's ever done for us?

7. How old is the inner you?
Three. And three-quarters. No, about seventeen or thereabouts. I wish I was about to do all that again, I really do. Oh....

8. Theatre or Cinema?
Theatre

9. Would you be famous, with all that means?
Yes

10. You are able to learn anything at all, a skill, a language, whatever, what would it be and why?
A language - Italian.

Well Julie? Have I passed? Have I Miss? Have I?

Oh well, while I'm waiting to have it marked, I'd better play the game and dream up some questions of my own. Here goes:

1. If Hitler had won, Goebells had none and Franz Joseph was blessed with three, what was the score after extra time after the match had gone to penalties?

2. How is it that a calendar - which had no moving parts - can, unlike a stopped clock, still record the passage of time?

3. Is the King of France bald?

4. Seaside or countryside?

5. Why is the sky blue?

6. Does God exist?

7. What is the meaning of life?

8. Why do flies always find a way through the smallest of gaps even though they've got the entire WORLD to fly around, yet find it impossible to find their way out once they're in your house?

9. Do bees have ears?

10. Are blogs the future?

Give reasons for your answers, and show your workings out @goonerjamie, @cate, @bloggertropolis @cafebebe and @DumDad.

And I want your answers on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. No excuses!

As easy as ABC

2010-07-02T09:28:00.003+01:00

Some music for you today folks. I don't know how these things happen, but suddenly in the middle of an otherwise normal day you find yourself doing things like this:

Does this happen in other families? We're forever creating little mini-musical moments and I can't decide if it's normal or not. Anyway, the Alphabet Song's quite educational, so there's no harm in it. We'll get on to D, E, and F later, when Charlie's learned them. And when I can remember the lyrics.

At this point I was going to add that classic Morecambe and Wise version of the song, you know - the one with Angela Rippon. It's on YouTube. I found it. And got very excited. But you can't view it. Apparently Channel Four has blocked this video in your country for copyright reasons, although what it's got to do with them I don't know. They weren't around when that show was made. Anyway, if you're not in the UK and you want to wander through the alphabet, click the link. And for the rest of us, here's Eric and Ernie with the legendary Tom Jones in another classic. Charlie's learning the 'yeh yeh yehs' even as we speak.

Incidentally, my karoake performance of 'Delilah' still lives in the memory. Sadly, no other more reliable record of the event exists. Although I do still have a pair of someone's knickers.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

2010-06-29T08:41:00.000+01:00

Hi, my name's Tim and I'm going to Cybermummy. But I'm not a mum. That must make me...

*drumroll*

"Cyberdaddy!"

Faster than a speeding ferret, stronger than a plastic locomotive, capable of leaping tall kerb-stones in a single bound...

Well, you get the idea.

Yes, I seem to be gate-crashing the mum fest on Saturday. I've no idea if I'm the only one, but in case there are other delegates with beards I thought I'd better accept the invitation extended by MummysShoes the other day to introduce myself. So...

Name: see above...
Age: too old
Blog: this one
Twitter id: @dotterel
Hair: less than there used to be
Eyes: bloodshot
Height: 6' 3"

Not good enough? Ok then, here's a photograph. I'm the one in the hat.

And that's my outfit. Like it?

See you on Saturday!

Showtime!

2010-06-25T08:19:00.003+01:00

Lincolnshire Show-time, that is. Despite living in the County for fifteen years, I'd never been to the Lincolnshire Show before. So when I saw their claim this year to be entirely family-friendly, I thought I'd test their assertion and take Charlie to his first-ever country show. Here's the verdict.

I paid (myself) the £18 to get in (under fives go free - so far so good); if Sally had come she'd have cost an extra fiver but a family ticket costs under £40 so the pricing structure certainly backs-up their 'family friendly' claim (although it's not cheap). Getting to the show is quite straightforward thanks to the A15 being closed to through traffic and becoming, effectively, the show's private driveway. We dropped Sarah at work at 8.15a.m. and were parked and wandering round by 9a.m. And you need to start early - there's plenty to see.

Some of these, for example

Plenty of these...

...of all vintages!

A little bit of this

...and some of this

There's plenty to do too, although most - if not all - of the activities for children cater for an age-group older than Charlie's and - given the crowds attending (the organisers anticipated over 60,000 would visit the Show over the two days) - there aren't many opportunities to let a toddler 'off the leash'. Food, as you'd expect, is rather pricey (£5 for a burger?) but I noticed all the experienced show-goers gravitate towards the cookery demonstrations at lunch-time and then leap from their mobility-scooters to be first to grab the free samples.

Changing facilities are located only in the main stand, which means you've got a hefty walk if you've got a nappy to deal with and you're at the other side of the Show Ground. I'm afraid I used the grass: there's plenty of it, and I just hope I didn't put the expert police sniffer-dogs (doing a demo at the time in the countryside ring) off the scent.

Having seen show-jumping, pony-and-trap racing, dog-training, falcon flying and sheep-shearing, sat in fire-engines, met TV presenters and watched an Abba tribute band we thought - well, I thought - it might be time to head for home. But that was the moment when the highlight of the show for Charlie began.

Lincolnshire's an agricultural county, as you probably know. We're responsible for growing over 20% of the stuff you eat and farmer's have got to keep getting better at producing it to meet our insatiable appetite and feed a growing population. So the dance of the agricultural machinery - from £350 vintage Massey Ferguson the £350,000 brand-new combine-harvester (sorry, I haven't got the key!) was a sight to behold. Not everybody's taste, perhaps; not strictly mine, if I'm honest. But it made one very happy little boy...

Wordless Wednesday

2010-06-23T06:50:00.000+01:00

The News Headlines

2010-06-21T08:39:00.000+01:00

What an excellent start to the week: waking up to bright sunshine, a gin-clear blue sky and the news that Christine Bleakley has 'left' The One Show, following that gurning fool Adrian Chillies to ITV. Ah, bliss. Now, if only the rest of the week's news could follow suit. Perhaps it will, who knows? And if it did, what would my dream news headlines be? Well, not counting enormous lottery wins and world peace (not to mention an end to the Gulf of Mexico oil spill) my fantasy news headlines might read something like this...

Tuesday:
As part of the austerity budget, Chancellor Nigel Osborne abolishes local democracy. No more grindingly slow local authority procedures as the gentleman (and look at the figures folks, they are overwhelmingly 'gentlemen') councillors meet to debate the minutiae of urban living while drawing an average of £3000 per annum in expenses. Let's have an elected mayor instead.

Wednesday:
England stumble out of the World Cup after their third lacklustre performance, thus allowing everyone to concentrate on Wimbledon instead. On their return to the UK the players announce that they will all take a voluntary 50% pay-cut to alleviate the worst excesses of Osborne's public-sector pay squeeze. England players' popularity and credibility (not to say humanity) restored at a stroke.

Thursday:
Yesterday's announcement by the England soccer team is followed by a similar declaration by the entire English Premier League. In the light of this development, Nigel Osborne returns to Parliament to amend his budget, announcing that the National Debt is now paid off. In full. With interest.

Friday:
Andy Murray refuses to bow to the Queen at Wimbledon, but one doesn't mind. In fact, one rejoices in his Britishness as he storms through the early rounds and on into the second week. Gordon Brown returns to our TV screens in the guise of his alter-ego, weatherman Philip Avery, to announce unbroken sunshine, gentle breezes and light rain only during the hours of darkness for the rest of the summer. Sightings of airborne pigs reported at RAF Brize Norton.

Well, you can always dream can't you... Why don't you have a go?

And in the meantime... could they be, in any way, related?

Gordon Brown

BBC Weatherman Philip Avery

A new deal for dads?

2010-06-18T06:33:00.002+01:00

A couple of headlines caught my eye yesterday. One - Boyle takes charge of Olympic ceremony - gave me a bit of a shock until I realised it was Danny, not Susan they were talking about. The other - Clegg offers flexible leave for dads - really warmed my heart. Ok, so the country's in the mire and there are cuts on top of cuts but at least they seem to have an eye on what really matters: kids, parenting, the future.

In a speech announcing the creation of a new Families and Childhood taskforce, the Deputy PM mocked the miserly two-weeks paternity leave he was entitled to when his son was born and declared an end to the tradition that women do the lion's share of parenting, suspending their career and making all the financial sacrifices. He talked about bringing an end to the 'stigma' that discourages men from taking a more hands on role, giving more rights to grandparents and 'empowering' families to take control of their own lives.

It's a subject close to my own heart, obviously. Not only am I bucking the trend by staying at home taking on the traditional 'mums' role, I'm writing a book about it. Why? Because almost all the books already in existence assume that it's the mums who will be reading. Dads don't always get a good press, and it's not every dad who wants to do what I've done (or mum who'd want him to) but there's not much doubt that - generally - dads need to have a bigger role, to be given a greater opportunity, to be allowed to be more hands on if they want to.

But do they? That's the $64,000 question. And many of the dads I speak to say things like 'I'd never be able to do what you do: I'd not have the patience' or 'I'd be bored witless' or worse. I once said nothing while a dad told me he didn't really like his kids and certainly didn't want to spend more time with them; inside my heart was breaking for his children. Maybe mums are naturally more suited to the 'motherly' role? Even the language seems to suggest it.

So what do you think? Should men be entitled to more parental leave? Can a dad ever be as good as a mum? And would you be happy (if you're a mum) to let your children's father stay at home? I'd love to know what you think. I'm pretty much unique in my local area. And maybe that's because the dads round here don't have the chance to do what I do.

The question is, would they want to? And if they did, would the mums be happy letting them?

Wordless Wednesday...Could they be, in any way, related?

2010-06-16T07:05:00.000+01:00

Cerrie Burnell

Makka Pakka

Get help renewing your tax credits

2010-06-14T09:19:00.003+01:00

**Sponsored post**

Please don't think that - because I'm posting this video-guide to negotiating the maze that is the tax credits system - I'm some kind of expert. Far from it. Mind you, neither (in my experience) is the bloody Inland Revenue. Having claimed child tax credits for a few years after Sally was born, promotion suddenly took me above the claims threshold (those were the days...) and I duly wrote to them informing them that my claim was no longer valid.

Somehow, somebody up in the frozen wastes of Darlington (or was in Stockton? Might even have been Newcastle...) decided to enter the date on my letter (yes, I wrote!) as my daughters date of birth, thus making it appear that I'd been claiming before she was born and thus sending the computer into a spluttering apoplexy of rage, churning out threatening letters informing me of my evil, criminal, money-grabbing, scrounging wrong-doing and demanding immediate re-payment on pain of imprisonment, death, excommunication and transportation. Now, as a fairly law-abiding citizen whose transgressions thus far amounted to being shouted at once by a police-sergeant and given the cane at school, I was rather taken aback. Mind you, I thought, a simple 'phone call to the tax-man would put the world to rights.

And it did. And we all lived happily ever after. And if you believe that, you've been doing too much of my creative writing e-course. Of course it didn't. Cue phone calls, letters, reassurances, promises, apologies and the like every year for the next five years until finally I threatened to write to my MP, Esther Rantzen (no, she's not my MP or anyone elses), Paul Lewis, John Lewis, Victor Lewis-Smith and Nancy Banks-Smith of The Guardian.

So, dear reader, watch this clip and follow the advice with care. But do so entirely at your own risk. Really, there ought to be easier ways of getting what we're entitled to...

Aches and pains

2010-06-12T06:44:00.002+01:00

Right, I'll come straight to the point. Arthritis Research has asked me to help spread the word about a campaign they're working on. It's not one of those 'sponsored posts' type-things; just a 'would you like to help'? And, yes, I would. Because I've got a particularly keen and personal interest in the subject.

About fifteen years ago the kind of aches and pains everyone gets from time to time seemed to be happening to me almost all the time. And when you're in your twenties you don't expect to have difficulty getting out of a chair or into a car, opening a bottle of beer or even putting on your shoes. So I had it checked out and was told I'd got - and had probably always had - psoriatic arthritis. There's little or no sign of the former, and - now it's under medical control - fewer signs of the latter but it's an auto-immune disease and with Charlie's allergic tendencies I suppose there's a chance I could have passed an unwanted genetic gift to him. It's something I've often thought about. And not something that makes me happy. But I've really only considered it as a future possibility.

Yet children of all ages can develop the disease, and juvenile idiopathic arthritis - the subject of the current campaign - is especially nasty as it occurs for no apparent reason. In my case, an overactive immune system (I wish the coughs and sneezes knew that) is to blame. In the case of junior idiopathic arthritis (which is really only the name for a group of illnesses sharing similar symptoms) there is no known cause. It can affect the eyes, the joints and the skin and apart from stiffness and fatigue, children can experience such things as fever and mood swings.

With treatment, the disease can be successfully controlled and in children can sometimes go into permanent remission. A diagnosis of juvenile idiopathic arthritis doesn't mean a child will necessarily go on the develop an adult form of the disease either. And - as with almost all illnesses - exercise and a healthy diet are vitally important. There are times when a flare-up can make even sitting on the sofa less than comfortable. But wherever possible, children should be encouraged to be as active as possible. One childhood sufferer - Cat Bull - recently completed part of the London Marathon as part of her attempt to raise £2000 for Arthritis Research. The website lists many different ways of getting involved and although Charlie and I won't be doing any marathons in a hurry, putting up this post - spreading the word - is at least a start.

If you want to help spread the word too, please tweet the links or otherwise refer either to this post or the main Arthritis Research site. And if you want the chance to win a free ticket to Cybermummy in July, make sure you follow Arthritis Research UK on Twitter.

I'll let Cat have the last word....

Radio Charlie

2010-06-10T12:50:00.001+01:00

Never work with children or animals, they say. Undaunted, the BBC Lincolnshire Breakfast Show this morning entertained its youngest-ever sofa guest. Here he is arriving at the studio...

Making himself at home...

With the cans....

On Air...

And in the hot-seat afterwards...

Don't worry if you missed Charlie's radio debut. You can listen again on BBC iPlayer (zoom to 2 hours 15 mins). And you can read all about it on the BBC Lincolnshire website. Thanks to Breakfast Show presenter William Wright (@MrWilliam) and his producer, Nick Smith (@producernick) for the invitation. I've just heard our double-act for the first time, and one thing's certain - someone's definitely a right Charlie. Only that's not quite my name.

Oh and William... what happened to the sofa?

Carry on Eurocamping

2010-06-08T08:00:00.003+01:00

Ok, what Charlie (plus mummy and daddy and Sally) did next. If you don't know what we did first, you'd better start here.

Day Two

Having been asked specifically to look at the site's facilities we thought we'd better give them at least a full day's trial. Thankfully the sun shone and the temperature soared so the day went: walk - pool – lunch – mini-club - 'rickshaw' ride around the campsite – pool – supper, then visit to the bar for a drink and email collection (yes, the site's got wifi). In fact, I can't think of many things the site's not got although – once again – the enigmatic riddle of the regulations sometimes makes it difficult to work out what's available when, though I suspect this time it's due at least in part to the vicissitudes of the tourist industry.

Anyway, the walk revealed more of the campsite than we ever thought possible. The website describes it as being in the grounds of the old Chateau; I'd say it is the grounds, and then some. There's even a football pitch in one corner. And the amazing thing about the scale if the site is, well, that it's amazing. Everything seems neatly partioned with greenery and the entire site is surrounded by so many trees that the sound of birdsong can become a serious problem. (Only joking - when is birdsong ever a serious problem...?)

You'd think with all that room they might've avoided putting bloggers in adjacent chalets, wouldn't you? But no, poor Trish (@mumsgoneto) was forced to endure the constant too-ing and fro-ing as we returned from our walk to change for our first visit to the pool. Not a pretty site. Me, I mean, in swim-trunks. Sorry, Trish. The pools, though, were lovely. Yes, there are two: one indoors (of sorts) under a retractable greenhouse-style roof, one unheated, outdoors. And it was hot enough for us to have a dip in both.

I'll spare you the details of our lunch that day, but once we were sufficiently refreshed it was time to take a ride in one of these contraptions (below). I've no idea what it's called. Needless to say, for Charlie it was a 'choo-choo'. And it was more difficult to pedal round the campsite than you'd think. Needless to say, another dip was required shortly afterwards, just to cool off.

DayThree

The little port of St Valery is well worth a visit: William the Conqueror assembled his fleet here in 1066, and we all know the end of that story. There are the remains of a mediaeval castle and walled citadel, as well as a sparkling modern marina. And walking round the narrow streets is a like a walk in the park thanks to the town's commitment to encouraging – if not cultivating – a variety of wild flowers and herbs along the road margins. It also has un petit train (and one that looks a lot like 'Thomas') but we didn't see it. Sshhhhh! Charlie's none the wiser, and he spent a happy afternoon at the campsite's Mini Fun Station where there was a variety of activities for the under fives, including bricks and blocks, books and puzzles and an art and craft area. Charlie loved it, but... You've guessed it! Once again, the pool beckoned.

How Trish managed to get any of that book read with acres of wet naked male flesh passing her decking on a regular basis I shall never know. Or maybe I made it easier by momentarily blocking out the sun? Seriously, it was a delight to meet Trish Burgess and her family. In spite of living less than 20 miles apart in real life and having mutual friends, it took a 250 mile journey to France to finally meet face-to-face. Mind you, I don't know what Trish thought of it all. Perhaps you'd better find out? Here's her take on the whole thing. Hope she didn't mention the inflatable toy.

I don't know, you wait all year for a blog review of Eurocamp then two come along at once.

Bon voyage!

Eurocamp

2010-06-06T07:33:00.001+01:00

This is a sponsored post. I've only ever spent the odd night (some decidedly odd!) under canvas. So asking me to go camping is a bit like asking normal people to do the kind of things (marathon running, baked-bean bathing) that they do when being sponsored. But when Eurocamp got in touch to ask if Charlie and I would like to review the Mini Club facilities at the Domaine de Drancourt campsite, near St Valery sur Somme, I was pleasantly surprised to find they don't just do tents but chalets and cabins too. Naturally we chose the latter and thus it was that we found ourselves aboard a cross-flannel cherry bound for la belle France last Tuesday.

The Crossing

P&O might make for swift and easy crossings (it never ceases to amaze me just how quickly they load and unload those enormous boats) but the rest of the experience can leave a bit to be desired. Are you a man? And do you want to change a nappy? Be prepared to search the entire ship in vain only to find, when the contents are beginning to leak along your arm, that the first loo you visited has a changing station cunningly disguised as an ordinary cubicle in a row of identical, unmarked cubicle doors. And as for the convoluted pricing system in the cafeteria (or 'food zone' as they like to call it), a degree in philological symbology is probably required to interpret the pricing structure, and trying to pay at the till is like answering the riddle of the Sphinx. Do you want the 'kids eat free' or the 'family meal' option? But you haven't selected a pudding. Yoghurt doesn't count as a dessert. Do you want to go back and start at the beginning?

Driving

Driving in France is a real pleasure. Apart from the fact they insist on using the wrong side of the road, almost everything about the experience is a real joy. Even the roadworks seem less stressful than those on the M25. And the great thing about driving through torrential rain is that you know the weather can only get better. Ok, so our pristine chalet/cabin was a little damp with the grass we brought in on our shoes within a matter of minutes on arrival, and a walk round the camp site had to be deferred. But by day two the sun was shining weakly from behind the milky haze of yesterday's cloud and discovering the camp shop sold fresh bread, croissants, and pain au chocolate suddenly made everything a whole lot better.

Day One

Eurocamp's little leaflet detailing the local attractions gave us plenty of inspiration. My interest in WW1 and Charlie's interest in choo-choos was neatly integrated (so we thought) by the remains of a supply line which served the troops on the Somme. It's about an hour's drive, but through some of the most resonant historical landscapes of recent history: countless allied war cemeteries, the golden angel atop the restored bassilica at Albert, and more. But arriving to find that the railway only runs on Sundays an public holidays until July was a tad disappointing to say the least. Surely a sentence in the brochure could have told us so? Or better still, the Eurocamp reps? ('Where are we?' I asked when we arrived at the site. 'France,' replied Dan... I suppose I asked for it!) Still, the enormous lego-style memorial at Thiepval puts your own problems into perspective, and we had time to visit the unique Canadian memorial at Beaumont-Hamel where – unlike so many other war-graves – the landscapes retains the shell-holes and trench-lines that were made on that fateful July morning 94 years ago. Here's a selection of the photos from the first full day of our holiday. More to come - both words and pictures - on Tuesday.

The Basillica at Albert

Thiepval, designed by Edward Lutyens

The strange landscape of Beaumont-Hamel