Dangers of an Idle Mind

This is the last re-post f0r a while and is rather long. It is a re-posting of two of my favourite pieces dealing with Southern England's Suburban wildlife. Seems foxes are really settling into the suburban lifestyle; even bringing into the well tempered gardens of Surrey the kind of behaviour that normally is reserved for behind the white patterned net curtains of suburbia. Let me explain, just before Christmas 2007 I was in England, staying at my sister’s house in Surrey, I was very intrigued when one morning I opened the curtains and noticed a black object sat in the middle of her, otherwise blemish free, lawn. The object looked about eight inches long and a couple of inches across; it was a glossy wet from the morning dew. Over breakfast I mentioned the object to my bother-in-law. “It’s a fox.” he said. I peered out of the French windows at the black thing; prominent and obvious on the lawn. “No it’s not,” I said, “it looks like a kid’s training shoe.” “I know it’s a shoe,” sai...

Moochy is clearly growing up to be a smart kid - I'd never tell him but he's smarter than i was at that age (his brother is no slouch either). I still have my moments too, those these days they're more often 'senior' moments. So with me and the Moochy's combined brain power you can be forgiven for thinking we never get caught looking really really stupid. Unless you had been in a certain computer games retailer last year. Me and Mooch were looking for a new game. We wanted a multiplayer game and preferably one that didn't just require fast fingers. We were looking at board and card games when we got to discussing poker. "You know it's funny," I said to the 14 year old, "you never see multi player poker games for the Playstation." Moochy looked puzzled too. "You're right, I wonder why?" he mused. We decided to ask The guy behind the counter seemed a little bemused at the question; his head tilted to one side, b...

We haven’t had a ‘silly Connecticut’ story in a while, and I can honestly say I have no idea why I didn’t write this up at the time. Our local sports team is the Bridgeport Bluefish , a non-affiliated, minor league baseball team. Their only real claim to fame is that their coach is a very renown former lefty pitcher whose deserved reputation was eclipsed by his eponymous surgery - one Tommy John . Anyway last summer, pre-teenage Spud and his oh-so-teenage brother were staying with us and so we decided an evening at the ballpark would be nice. Next to the ballpark is the Arena, a multi-purpose venue, and this particular evening the WWE was doing its sweaty man dance thing at the Arena while the Bluefish played the Lancaster Barnstormers. The car-park was more crowded than usual and as we pulled up to the orange vested lady at the gate she said: “Baseball or Arena?” “Baseball.” We said. “Three dollars” said the young lady. I don’t know if it was me, the boys or Christine who actually sa...

Seems foxes are really settling into the suburban lifestyle; even bringing into the well tempered gardens of Surrey the kind of behaviour that normally is reserved for behind the white patterned net curtains. Let me explain, just before Christmas I was in England, staying at my sister’s house in Surrey, I was very intrigued when one morning I opened the curtains and noticed a black object sat in the middle of her, otherwise blemish free, lawn. The object looked about eight inches long and a couple of inches across; it was a glossy wet from the morning dew. Over breakfast I mentioned the object to my bother-in-law. “It’s a fox.” he said. I peered out of the French windows at the black thing; prominent and obvious on the lawn. “No it’s not,” I said, “it looks like a kid’s training shoe.” “I know it’s a shoe,” said my brother-in-law, rolling his eyes at my sister as she entered the room and sat down, “The shoe was put there by the fox.” “What, a real fox?” I asked “Like Basil Brush or Fox...

We haven’t had an embarrassing kid’s story for a while so here is the tale of Moochy and the monster under his bed. Moochy, my eldest son hated going to bed and never more so than when he felt there was something happening that he was missing out on. In those times he would invent all sorts of reasons for why he could not go to sleep or had to keep getting up. This story takes place on one of those occasions when he was about four. One beautiful spring evening we were staying at his Grandparent’s house in southwest London, near where me and his mother both lived before moving about 60 miles away. Anyway, we had arranged for some of our old friends to come around and hang out for a while. They were due around 8 and so just before that we put Moochy and his younger brother, Spud, into their pajamas, tucked them into bed and turning out the light, bade them goodnight. No sooner had the first visitors arrived than a little blond four year old appeared and told us. “I can’t sleep; there’s a...

That same trip to Borders I was looking at an audio book version of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History Of Time. I was wondering if it was read by some famous actor or would it be that computer voice the whole way through - thus proving his assertion that time does indeed lengthen. Next to the audio books were the journals. Leafing through the journals were two young ladies (I'd guess late teens or very early twenties); one young lady turned to the other and said, "I want to keep a journal this summer; I think it is going to be a significant one. But you know what? I don't know when summer starts." Her friend seemed lost for an answer and I caught the eye of the original speaker. "Summer will start the day you start your journal then." I offered. The young lady just smiled. It was a smile that said. "What?" Oh well. <Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here> Bazza

After Saturday I decided to look up the definition of anticlimax . It said: 'An event, period, or outcome that is strikingly less important or dramatic than expected.' And given the definition I guess the end of the world not happening could be classed as a bit of an anticlimax. The calendar did roll over to a new number (see picture) which I am assuming means 100. If that is the case then we must assume the end of the world is probably 900 days away. So the apocalypse is officially rescheduled, by my Hyundai, to a new date of October 26th 2010. I'll try and remember to remind you the day before. Couple of other points. There a fundamentalist Christians and fundamentalist Muslims but you never hear of fundamentalist Atheists Last night on the TV news the new reader said that Ford were recalling thousands of their trucks ‘because of problems with their ho’s’ does Eliot Spitzer have a Ford then? In professional and school life we are taught there is no such thing as a stupid...

Just checked the calendar in the car and it reads Feb99th so just wanna wish you all the best for tomorrow. I have noticed that the calendar changes at 1pm Eastern so you Brits have got a bit more time whilst the Californians have 'til about 10am. Anyway enjoy it - I was gonna video the end of the world but I'm not sure I can be bothered. (Confused? See here and here and here ) <Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here> Bazza

Last ‘my kids’ story for a while – I promise. Back in 2002 I took Spud to his first major sporting event. It was a Cubs against the Cardinals baseball game at Wrigley Field. Spud had been playing Backyard Baseball, the PC game, for a year or so and knew enough about baseball to follow what was happening on the field. It was a bright and warm August afternoon as the Spudster and I settled into our seats, which were behind home plate about half way up the second tier. Spud was 6 and had never been to any type of big sporting event before (closest was a single A game the year before). It was a great experience, we did all the things kids love about baseball games. We had cotton candy, soda, peanuts and I even got him the ubiquitous foam claw. The early innings passed with Spud getting acquainted with the mechanics of a ball game. The peanut throwing, Wrigley’s skanky toilets etc. but we soon settled to watch the actual game. Almost immediately the Cardinals star batter stepped up to the p...

Every parent has a s tory of h ow their children have embarrassed them and here is mine. Back at the end of the summer in 1996 I lived in a small village in Essex, England. That summer had seen the Olympics in Atlanta, an explosion over the Atlantic of a Paris-bound TWA plane and England were beaten by arch rivals Germany in the Euro 96 semi-finals. Oasis and Blur dominated the UK airwaves. By September 1996 my family consisted of my wife, a two year old boy referred to as Moochy and a six month old who become to be known as Spud. Oh, and a nameless Goldfish too. Moochy was as cute as any two year old ever was. He had a shock of white hair and big blue eyes. Overall he was a pretty happy kid. The only concern we had was that he was having some problems with talking, most of the things he was saying were pretty unintelligible but at least he was trying. The story takes place one Sunday afternoon. Spud and his mother were both taking an afternoon nap and I decided Moochy and I should do ...

When I first told my eldest son about Speedy and Sparky, the Chipmunks who live on the grass bank outside my kitchen, he said I should be careful as all Chipmunks are evil (the cuteness is just a cover) and they are all plotting to take over the world. The then 12 year old said that Chipmunk's borrows are full clever machines and computers with lots of flashing lights, some of those tape reel things that go round for no reason. I thought he was joking until recently. Three weeks ago I wrote about not having seen either Speedy or Sparky all winter in 'Missing Speedy and Sparky' . I surmised it was too cold and harsh for them and I even expressed concern about whether they had enough food. Just after the posting one of those machines, deep below the muddy grass bank, must have whirred into life. Speedy wobbles up to the screen and reads a blog in increasing rage: 'Too harsh? Not enough food?" He screams in a Chipmunk, "I'll show the humans!" He waits hi...

We have subscribed to the Shelton Gazette, It recently reached a milestone; its first story using just words. The 'What’s On' section is interesting – it is a white sheet of paper with ‘NOTHING’ written on it. We do enjoy the readers letters though; this week it was “D for Dog” Finally we also enjoy the Gazette's weekly Crossword. Last week was a great one; it was "damn!" In a lot of English villages at some point in the summer there is a weekend where every proud gardener in the village throws open their garden gates for all to admire their tireless horticultural prowess. In Shelton we have the same thing, one Saturday afternoon a year any rusting car enthusiast can tour hundreds of gardens looking at the tireless GMCs and Pontiacs. <Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here> Bazza

As I pushed open the solid white door I had a feeling something wasn’t quite right. There was an unfamiliar smell. However, it was relatively early on Saturday and I was in my third European country this week so you have to make some allowances. I moved through the small anteroom with its hand basins and into the next room. It was odd that there were only two, both vacant, cubicles but it was a small place in an out of the way corner of the Dusseldorf airport so it is possible they just used the space wisely. I pushed open the door to the nearest cubicle and locked it behind me. Once inside I looked around and realised that even in a European toilet, a disposal unit for feminine hygiene items was not normal in a man’s lavatory. Oh boy! Now I was in trouble. I’m in a ladies toilet in a German Airport. But I was sure I had passed the door to the ladies right next to the door I had just come through. Regardless, my major concern was now ‘How was I going to get out of here’? Should I just ...

The other night I was playing my iPod on shuffle and a very disturbing song came on. It told the story of a small boy who befriends a dragon!! I was very concerned about this ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ situation. My immediate reaction was, “Where are the parents?” If your child’s best friend is a dragon does that not ring a few alarm bells? “Mum, I’m just popping off to Hanalei to see my mate the magic dragon,” apparently didn’t cause a ripple of concern to Mrs. Paper. Hanalei is in Hawaii! How is little Jackie getting to Hawaii? Also, I know their lack of existence has meant little is known about dragons but I think we all realize dragons do not make great friends for little boys. Dragons breathe fire, have scales and a big swishy tail. One loss of control and little Jackie Paper ends up resembling the forgotten burger on a July 4th barbecue. I am surprised that Mr. and Mrs. Paper were not arrested on child endangerment – must’ve been the sixties. Another problem with the song is the rep...