Games Night

I’m sorry that this blog is late
I’ve been playing games
I’ve barely won a single won
I hide my face in shame.

My five point lead has vanished now
I’m barely hanging on
It’s dropped down to just one point
My mojo’s sadly gone.

The dice are not my friends right now
The cards aren’t falling right
I don’t think that I’m wrong to say
I had a shocking run tonight.

The game I won – all on its own
Was tense right from the start
I genuinely thought I’d screwed it up
Be still my beating heart.

But eight games were played
And that one I won
The other seven?
A lot less fun.

I’ve thrown away my healthy lead
Taken defeat from the jaws of a win
I need to up my game next time
Because my margin’s just too thin,

So bring it on, I say to them
My opponents on the night
Because next time I’ll be in the zone
And my game face won’t be shite.


Deeply Dippy

You could argue that the skeleton – or plaster replica of the skeleton – of a dinosaur hasn’t really been relevant to the modern world since, you know, the Mesazoic era. But that hasn’t taken away from the magic and, even for a 37-year old geek, awe of meandering into the vast, beautiful hall of the Natural History Museum and gazing up at the skull of Dippy the dinosaur suspended above you, an imagined wry smile on her simulated jaw bones.

I first visited the Natural History Museum when I was a very small child and – along with the experience of “walking on the moon” at the Science Museum (illegally, I might add), seeing the skeleton of Dippy is one of the earliest memories I have of visiting the two museums. And even when we visited last year, it still has the same appeal as it always had. It’s hard not to stand in front of it and just be lost in a moment of quiet contemplation (and it’s also one of the areas in the museum which isn’t filled with school children running about being shits for any great length of time).

I’m not sure I’ll feel the same about a whale skeleton. I mean, yes, I kind of see that a whale skeleton is relevant to the world today as it highlight’s man’s destruction of the natural world and things of that nature. You know, it’s very deep and meaningful and thought provoking, but it’s not a fricking dinosaur is it?

If you were making a chart of things that were cool, I don’t think you’d ever put a whale above a dinosaur. I mean, it’s just not done is it?

No-one would have fond memories of watching “One Of Our Whales Is Missing” during a myriad of school holidays.

And anyway, there’s a Blue Whale in the Hall of Mammals. Presumably they’ll have the skeleton in the main hall with a sign that says “If you want to see what it looks like with skin…”. That’s like having a puppetry museum and having Matthew Corbett’s hand on display as you enter it, and Sooty on display in a side room.

I mean, I’m no expert on these things but in all the times I have been to the Natural History Museum, I don’t ever recall anyone shouting out with excitement “Can we go and look at the whales?” as they cross the threshold. Everyone, unless they’re insane (or really interested in that cross-section of tree right at the top of the stairs), enters the museum, goes past the bag check area, down the side of Dippy and turns left into the dinosaurs. Because dinosaurs are amazing. Admittedly, on the after-dark nights when then museum is open for night time visits, people allegedly go and have sex on the blue whale, but I think that’s more because however horny you might be in a museum environment, dinosaurs are just cool and to have sex in, on or near them would just be wrong.

Wrapping Up

Snowy weather in the morning
A sight you do behold
You wrap up warm to leave the house
Protected from the cold.

A hat, a scarf, maybe gloves
And boots upon your feet
You set out like a sherpa
Onto your winter street.

Wrapped up like an eskimo
You head on off to work
Little do you think right then
Coming home you’ll look a berk.

Because you see the snow has gone
It’s no longer on the ground
And you look like you’ve been knitted
And you’re the only one around.

And people that you see in town
On the return commute
Are somehow dressed quite normally
Like they’re weatherly astute.

None of them look like Nanook
Or Sir Ranulph Fiennes
They look like business men
Heading out for post-work wines.

And there you are all decked out
Your jacket zipped up tight.
I hate it when the morning’s snowy
But there’s bugger all at night.

Bedward and Mr Simpson

I think Peppa must read this blog.

Less than twelve hours after I wrote yesterday’s blog about her waking me up with cold paws, she’s already come up with a new – and, if I’m honest, incredibly unexpected – method of waking us up.

This morning, you see, she got Homer Simpson to do it.

Carole has had a Homer Simpson dashboard thing since I’ve know her. I’ve never know it be on a dashboard, it’s always just sat on a bookshelf in the bedroom and periodically one or the other of us has pressed the little yellow button and enjoyed Homer’s traffic-based insights. “Red light turn green…. now! Now! Now! Now! Woohoo!” etc. But recently, no matter how hard you pressed the button, Homer didn’t speak. His batteries had finally given up the ghost. He was an ex-Homer. We coulld have changed the batteries, if we had access to one of the world’s smallest screwdrivers, but we didn’t and so he resided upon the bookshelf for all intents and purposes dead.

He’s recently moved from the bookshelf during a period of tidying up, when we started to declutter the clutter on the front of the shelves. All the nick-nacks and toys and Lego and Muppet beanie babies and… well, you get the idea. Obviously, as Homer is dead, we figured it might be time to remove him. But with every big decision like that there comes a period of indecision in which an object is moved into another room, or put somewhere for throwing away, for a couple of weeks before the deed can be done.

So Homer was living in the spare bedroom. Temporarily on a chair that Peppa was also using as a bed, despite it having things on it. She is nothing if not persistent, that one – she will not let obstacles stand in her way when it comes to lying on something she has taken a shine to.

It would appear that during her slumberings, Peppa has somehow managed to activate Homer, causing him to utter one of his hilarious phrases about other drivers being idiots or his car turning mysteriously into the car park of Krusty Burger. Which woke us up. And scared the crap out of Peppa as well.

We found Homer on the floor. It’s unclear as to whether Homer was pushed and then spoke, or spoke and then pushed. Either way, Peppa seems to have breathed new life into him. And found a brilliant new way to wake us up in the process – there’s nothing better than the unexpected sound of another person in your house to startle you into consciousness, even if it then turns out that the person in question is only about four inches tall and yellow.

So that probably means we won’t be throwing him away anymore.

Stupid indecision period.

Sleep Cat-nea

I didn’t get to sleep until something o’clock in the morning last night.  I didn’t intend for that to happen.

In my defense, when I last saw the time it was something past eleven. And then some Xbox happened. And then it was a bit later than that. But not obscenely late. I think I have some kind of inbuilt sensor which alerts me when the midnight threshold has been crossed. And once I knew I’d just passed midnight I thought it was best to stop doing what I was doing and go to bed. After all, it was a “school night”, and I had to up bright and early to go to work.

So I went to bed and lay there for a bit, enjoying the fact that it was bloody freezing as the hot water bottle in the bed hadn’t been pushed over to my side and was, instead, nestled firmly beneath Carole’s legs.

And I lay there some more, getting increasingly cross with myself for being unable to sleep which, of course, made it harder to sleep. Which made me get cross. And so on and so forth. All of this ate up valuable sleep time. Cutting into the six hours I had left myself to fully recharge my batteries.

I nodded off at some point, though. Just when all hope was looking lost, I slipped into the warm embrace of slumber, dreaming whatever it was that my subconscious thought I needed to further analyse.

I know I nodded off because I was woken, not long after, by the application of two very cold cat paws to my upper body, which resulting in the breath leaving my lungs in some sort of audible gasp. Or not a gasp, because surely that’s air coming in. Whatever the opposite of a gasp is. It was that, anyway.

I can’t wait until summer!