Bild Von A Duck

I was checking out my sitemeter stats like a saddo, now we are a whole year old and came across something strange whilst browsing the entry page referrers.*

A German translation of POAD aka Bild Von A Duck. So I dusted off my O Level and started to read. All seems well, until you see what they do with the About Me blurb:

JP (7), USB-Stick (5), Herr Duck, und ich wohne in suburbanen Osten Lancs. Mein Leben ist ganz normal. Die Jungs sind außergewöhnlich, der Garten ist violett und Fußball ist meine Religion.

Tiddler is USB-Stick in German! I like it! I think we'll change his name by deed poll.

*For non-techies, the stats thingy at the bottom of the page that tells me who you are and when you visit, also tells me how you got here. A surprising number of you look for pictures of ducks on Yahoo or Google - hello and welcome. Kind of makes me wish I'd called it Picture of a Cock - I might get more traffic.

The Secret of Happiness - Part V

Gardening: Has a positive effect on your happiness which doesn't diminish over time.

So: The Secret of Happiness

If you want to be happy for a few hours - get drunk.
If you want to be happy for a few years - get married.
If you want to be happy for life - get a garden.

I thank you.

Oh, and while you're here, today is POAD's first birthday.

The Secret of Happiness - Part IV

Having Children: Contrary to what you'd expect, the graph is negative when they're very young. There are little happy spikes along the way*, but the effect on your overall happiness is bad**, until they start to develop into interesting individuals - like JP and Tiddler.


*beyond my graph-making capabilities
** no sleep, no social life, just endless pee, poo and puke.

The Secret of Happiness - Part III

Getting married: The bad news from the research is that the year in the run up to your wedding is the happiest! So if you're engaged right now - make the most of it.

Of course there are some gluttons for punishment...

The Secret of Happiness - Part II

Getting Drunk: A brief peak at the point of being roaring drunk, followed by the crash into hangover on the negative axis. Not sure if the hangover dip shouldn't be sharper than the happiness peak, but I suppose that depends how much Guinness has been consumed.

The Secret of Happiness - Part I

I told you on my birthday that I would share the secret of happiness with you and now the day has come.

The theory comes via Richard Reeves of Making Slough Happy fame.

If you're Salvadore Vincent, you can make genius diagrams of this. I will have an amateur go and make it last over a few days.

On the vertical axis you have degrees of happiness and on the horizontal axis you have elapsed time. The research asked people what made them happy and how long did it last and the results were then plotted.

You get graphs that look like this:



Winning the lottery: You get an initial uplift in happiness, but then it levels out and might even tail off. Money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy some of the things that will contribute.

More tomorrow.

Can you guess what it is yet?

To raise funds for the school, the PTA offers personalised coasters, t-shirts, placemats, mugs, mouse mats and so on, with pictures drawn by your children. The ideal gift for those hard-to-please grandparents.

This week, sample coasters have come home for our consideration.

JP has drawn a dog and a rabbit on a green hill, under a rainbow-filled blue sky. Perfect Wrinklie Ducks material - lots of aaah factor.

Tiddler has drawn a dog and a head sticking out of a large brown object floating in mid-air. The caption reads 'Tiddler and his dog practising for the sack race, 2007'.

Mmm.

a) to my knowledge the sack race is a solo event, not human/animal pairs

b) he has never seen, nor participated in a sack race

c) we don't have a dog.

I think he's sneaking cheese at night.

Virginity

Every now and again, it's good to help someone lose their virginity.

When they utter those words 'it's my first time', you stop in your tracks. You know you need to make it really special for them. An experience they'll remember for ever.

After all, it's not every day you get to take someone to Heaven and back. I got my latest opportunity last Saturday.

I have never forgotten my first time.

I was breathless with anticipation and my heart was pounding. I couldn't believe it was finally happening. We'd planned it for weeks and weeks and when the day finally came, I could barely contain my excitement. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, knowing that I would never be the same again. I chose my outfit with care. I wore red - but there was never any question really.

And it was Heaven. It was everything I had dreamed of and more.

We won 4-1.

On Saturday it was 4-0. I'm sure J will never forget his first visit to Old Trafford either.

Go As You Please

My uncle lost his battle with cancer recently, so family and friends gathered to celebrate.

Not his untimely death at 66, but the life of a fell-running, music-loving free spirit.

The day dawned with sunshine and clear skies. Two of my brothers*, my niece and I headed for Whitley Bay.

The funeral was organised by appropriately named Go As You Please.

The day was a genuine celebration of his life, rather than the mourning of his passing. His fellow members of 10th Avenue Band played, as we walked and danced from the sea front to the crematorium, flanked by the permanent and conformist reminders of the more usual face of death.



The band were dressed in their signature black and white costumes; ostrich feathers, hats, polka dots, checks and stripes making the monochrome display anything but sombre. My uncle himself would have probably worn an outrageous black and white kaftan, had he been walking and playing his flute or tenor saxophone, instead of being carried behind by his children.

The simple coffin was vibrant with flowers from his garden, woven into the wicker with ivy, by the family that morning.

Inside the building, his photographs watched us from the walls as one by one, friends and relatives stood up to share stories and memories. The building resonated with laughter and smiles and love.

As we left, Carl from Go As You Please, showed us the photographs they had taken of the procession - already printed out on sheets, to the delight of the family.

We proceeded to the wake to hear both 10th Avenue and later, one of his other bands - the Cradlewell Jazz Band - perform. We drank, ate, looked at countless pictures and news clippings, and shared more stories and tributes.

He would have loved it.




*sister in china and the ginger one - for interested commenters

Black, White and Bling...

... is the name we have settled on for the new Pink Palace.

It does exactly what it says on the tin. It is all black, white and silver and has sparkly bits in the polished, black floor tiles*. Even the Human Bacardi Breezer**, keeps it monochrome for work - apart from hair (pink) and flip flops (turquoise).

The polish has gone upmarket too. The house red is 'Merlot' here - in the PP it was 'Cranberry'.

Some things do stay the same though - like the tea and gossip with the regulars.

Yesterday, the conversation turned surprisingly to football. 'Guess who Blonde Salon Owner is dating?' asks HBB.

'A Manchester United player!' - she continues, without giving me a chance to rattle off a random list of contenders. (This still gives me 35 to choose from so the game is not over yet.)

I make my pitch.

I am wrong.

Several times over.

'Ooh' I rejoin - non-committally, when I fail to guess and the answer is revealed.

'But I'm not sure I believe him' - adds Blonde.

She lays the evidence before us. We are all ears.

1. He claims to be 27, but official sources put him at 23 (and I've checked this).
2. She has been to his house which has a waterfall in the garden and a Lamborghini in the garage, but thinks it might not be his.
3. He looks like the player, but his hair is longer than the current squad photo - but that was taken a while ago.
4. He complains of soreness in the place where this player is currently injured, but could be faking.
5. He does not have the accent of the country for whom he is a capped International, which is correct.

Now, I'm no Lazlo Woodbine, but I offer to help out. As I scrutinise him from my seat, watching the second-half demolition of Wigan with his injured team mates, I draw up my plans.....


* which BTW I'm giving serious consideration to laying in the kitchen
** formerly of the PP, who does my nails

Not To Do List

While Anna has been driving herself crazy with Lists of Things to Do over at Little Red Boat, I decided that as an antidote I would have an antilist. So here is my Not To Do list, so far.

1. Go shopping regularly

2. Run too far with my iPod*

3. Keep banging my head on the same shelf in the kitchen

4. Leave the pub before closing

5. Watch football quietly

6. Put the milk in before taking the Tea-Bag out


It's a work-in-progress, but has more more of a feel-good factor than a To Do list don't you think?

* Went out again without a swanky armband yesterday. Decided to action point 1 on the list and didn't buy one. Legs in working order though, (as far as I can tell). I must be forgiven. Switched the playlist order so Joy Division comes on during the big uphill. Inspired!

Retired Hurt

The love affair is over.

I hate my iPod.

Flushed with the success of the shopping trip, I made a new 'Run with Me' playlist* and road tested it on my usual route - tucking iPod into the waistband of my cycle shorts in lieu of a swanky armband**.

Instead of focusing on my persistantly niggly left knee and the tortured rhythm of my breathing, the music filled my head and I pounded the route without my usual rest stops - even uphill! I reached the end, still listening, endorphins aflowing, so I carried on, and on, and on. Paula Radcliffe diminished as an icon with every yard. I pictured myself crossing the finish line in next year's Great North Run - lifting a bottle of Moet to my lips, (or at least Lucozade Sport).

The slightly euphoric and smugly self-satisfied mood stayed with me all day and all evening.

It was only the following morning when I rolled out of bed and had to stagger to the bathroom like Zara Phillips after Badminton that I realised my folly. I couldn't bloody walk! For two days!

So. iPod. I know the cycle shorts were not the most pleasant spot to spend time, and it got a bit sweaty and slippy, and having me dive to retrieve you when you slipped southwards wasn't ideal. But how could you trick me like that? Why didn't you stop me? A duck's got to stay in shape and I did promise you the armband for next time....



* She Sells Sanctuary - Cult; Love is a Stranger - Eurythmics; Insomnia - Faithless; A Midnight's Summer Dream - Stranglers; Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division; The Passenger - Iggy Pop; Black and White - Upper Room; Laid - James; Waterfall - Stone Roses; Hey There Delilah - Plain White T's.

** On my shopping list along with a docking station (if you're reading this Father Christmas, please make a note to save me a stamp in December)

Now You See Me..

I had to visit the Shopping Centre in town on Saturday to get winter pyjamas for Tiddler*. This would normally fill me with utter dread, but for my new Invisibility Cloak.

No-one spoke to me.
No retail advisors came to assist me.
No-one gave me nightclub leaflets.
No-one approached me with a clipboard.
No-one offered me double glazing.
There was no white noise.

There was no noise of any colour,

except for the playlist on my iPod, making its debut appearance in town.

The tell-tale white leads trailing from the ears must flash subliminal messages to the masses. Do Not Approach - Shopaphobic at Large.

Transactions were fantastic. Hand over goods, insert card, enter pin, remove card, take bagged goods and receipt, smile, move on. Not a word exchanged. It was like virtual shopping.

I am so in love.



* The Simpsons and Glow-in-the-Dark Scooby Doo if you're interested.

Who are you and what have you done with Tiddler?

It started in the first week of term.

Friday - week 1. I pick the Little Ducks up and discover a Head Teacher's certificate in Tiddler's school bag. I am on the point of returning it to whichever child he'd stolen it from, when I notice it has his name on the front.

Awarded to Tiddler for 'a fantastic first week back'.

This is only his second Head Teacher's certificate - he got one for yoga* last year.

Monday - week 2. I collect Tiddler and discover a massive Gold Star on the back of his chair and a Gold Star pin badge on his marker-pen-personalised school jumper.

'I'm Gold Star for the week**'.

I check my ear to ensure my Babel Fish is inserted correctly.

'There's a cape and a crown too' he adds.

Friday - week 2. Another Head Teacher's certificate -

Awarded to Tiddler for 'exemplary behaviour at lunchtimes'

I make a mental note to check the garden again for tell-tale pods.


* yes, Tiddler does Yoga - directly before football training on Mondays - stops him from actually killing anyone.
** a child is selected each week to be Class Monitor based on the number of good behaviour points they've accumulated in the previous week.

Music To My Ears

Tiddler has his delayed 5th birthday party this Sunday - finishing in time for me to get to Old Trafford for the Chelsea game. I am a master of organisation.*

He has whittled his class of 34 down to a final 20 invitees.

'Has he picked any girls?' I checked with Mr Duck, who was in charge of invitations in my absence.

'Which girls have you invited, Tiddler?' - he asked, relaying my phone question.

'The pretty ones I like' - he responded, unashamedly un-pc. Perhaps that's why we haven't had the early morning serenades lately.

Speaking of serenades. JP had an MP3 player off M for his birthday and I have been uploading his favourite tracks. Unfortunately he hasn't really mastered the art of not singing along out loud...**

'This bed is on fire with passionate love' - he announces as he dances down the stairs. Mmm. Maybe I should upload some Tweenies, in case he decides to use it in public.


* Having also dumped Mr Duck with the Little Ducks and all the luggage at Manchester airport to hail a taxi straight to OT for the Sunderland game after flying home from Italy.
** To be fair, neither have I with my new iPod. I got caught doing Mrs Robinson by the pool on holiday. (Well not 'doing' Mrs Robinson - I leave that to Dustin Hoffman).

Lost in Translation

We returned to Italy this year to the same place as last year. It is an idyllic spot in Umbria called Le Case di Lisetta. Last summer JP and Tiddler spent the week catching crickets in the morning and systematically jumping in the pool, climbing out, jumping in, climbing out, jumping in, climbing out in the afternoon with two little Italian Anatras holidaying at the same estate. This meant Mr Duck and I got to lie by the pool, drink beer, read and talk football with Mr and Mrs Anatra, rather than entertaining and refereeing the offspring.



All summer they have been asking if Nicolo and Stefano would be at the Case again. We tried to keep their expectations low.

5 minutes after we pulled up at our stone cottage, a familiar blue Peugeot appeared with two grinning Little Anatras waving madly. Apparently they had also spent weeks asking if JP and Tiddler would be coming to Italy.

I read 5 books, listened to my new iPod, ate fresh figs off this tree outside our house, drank cold Peroni in lieu of Guinness (sorry Bli, sorry Dave) and gained a tan.




The night before we returned home, JP and Tiddler put the TV on instead of a DVD.

'Are you watching Italian Telly?' enquired Mr. Duck.

'Tagliatelle?' Tiddler retorted. 'Don't be silly, Daddy. You can't watch pasta.'

I have brought a note..

It has been two weeks since my last post and a pretty poor showing for August overall, as I'm sure you'll agree. I have been on holiday twice (Devon two weeks ago and Italy last week) and haven't figured out this in absentia posting mullarky to keep you entertained. Whilst the holidays are a big part of my excuse, the main reason for my silence is that I have been suffering with insomnia.

I can't get no sleep.

It started with a ringtone. I have had Insomnia by Faithless as my ringtone for some months and it has seeped into my consciousness and infected my normally reliable, 7 hours per night, still and quiet sleep pattern.

For the past month, I have barely slept. I've never given insomnia a second thought, let alone donated money to its support groups, beyond it being a great dance tune and a reason to mock Mr and Mrs Duck Senior for their nocturnal tea-brewing habits on account of their poor sleep patterns.

Now Sleep has been suddenly and unexpectedly torn from me. I feel like I've lost one of my best friends. I didn't realise how much his presence in my life meant to me until it was gone. As my eyes fly open at 2 something or 3 something every night, I know with certainty that I will not sleep again. I find myself watching the unfamiliar night time numbers on the clock, unable to stop the whirring and turning of the cogs in my mind. Night after night after night like some tortuous Groundhog Day parody*.

I feel sick and miserable. I have no appetite, no energy, no enthusiasm. I am stumbling in an ashen netherworld, breathing in and breathing out and just getting through the days. At night I lie there, dreaming of being back in the arms of Morpheus. If we each have our own private hell, then welcome to mine.


* but without Sonny and Cher singing I Got You Babe, which is a small blessing.

43 Things

1. I draw smiles in my Guinness
2. I am slightly colour blind
3. I was a finalist on The Weakest Link
4. I once said I Love You to Ian Botham
5. My favourite food is sausage and mash
6. I have a phobia about balloons7. I can do the Rubik's Cube
8. I love the perfect stolen kiss in The Wedding Singer
9. I have tiny feet
10. I carry a Mighty Sword*
11. Technology baffles me
12. I am a blood donor
13. I speak fluent french
14. I don't like tomato ketchup
15. I would love to have a tattoo
16. I rub my nose after playing a pool shot
17. Old Trafford is my favourite place in the world
18. I drink warm milk at bedtime
19. I would like to model for a life class
20. I own a set of flying ducks
21. I have medals for ballroom dancing
22. I am terrible at geography
23. I am proud to be Welsh
24. My talisman is a tiny wizard.
25. I know how deja vu works
26. I make great cheesecake
27. I remember everything
28. I am completely buoyant
29. I do not park
30. I love the Beatles31. I hate shopping
32. I have no pain threshold
33. I once held a tarantula
34. I shared a lift with Brad Pitt on my honeymoon
35. I wish my teeth were straight
36. I cry at Coronation Street37. I wear red underwear to football
38. I get cranky when I'm hungry
39. I know the secret of happiness**
40. I hate being tickled
41. I can say the alphabet backwards
42. I like toy boys
43. Today is my birthday





*Aka Swiss Army Knife

** which I will share with you soon

Quoting Cannonball

Update: (in case you were wondering)

We have just returned from our holiday in Devon where JP turned 7 and Mr Duck slightly more. Happy Birthday both. As the luckiest Ducks in the world, we had fabulous weather all week and it lasted long enough for me to renew my relationship with Swing Seat at the weekend. I am even sporting a mild tan.

Onwards:





The Cannonball Run was a defining film of my early 20's. A favourite with siblings and friends and oft quoted. Out of mischief one day, I made a Captain Chaos cape and mask for one of our gang who bore a close resemblance to 'Him'. Late that night - well after closing time as I recall, we crouched by the side of the main road and at the onset of approaching headlights, with no thought for his personal safety or the consequences for the mental health of the drivers, the Captain jumped out into the road crying 'Dan Dan Daaaaa', frightening the bejesus out of each passing motorist. It is a memory that has stuck with me for 20 years.

Prior to the holiday, I bought a copy of the DVD and was delighted to discover (in an obsessive and only slightly worryingly anal way) that I could still remember 90% of the script.

With only a few 'shits' and one 'mother' to worry the censor, I took a chance and let the Little Ducks watch - knowing how much Tiddler would enjoy the car chases - and he did.

They enjoyed it so much, they watched it again the next day.

Imagine my pride when after only two viewings, I overhear JP and Tiddler replaying the cop scene with Sammy Davis Jr, and Dean Martin.

Cop: 'Get out of the car, Shorty'

SDJ: 'Why'd he call me Shorty?'

DM: 'Because you're small, small, S M all.'


If you're chuckling with recognition right now, leave a comment.

And So We Begin Again

The Little Ducks are at Football School this week as part of a wide and varied programme of summer holiday activities.*

With Tiddler's football career in the balance, the intense skills training will come in handy. By 6.15 this morning the wake up question was 'which shinnies shall I wear?' and 'shall I take these goalie gloves or these?' In the early morning gloom I dispensed my sage advice.

'Whatever!'

The real excitement for me this week is the first home game of the season. A friendly against Inter Milan on Wednesday. The football drought is ended and the ritual begins again. I can't wait.

To celebrate, let's relive those glorious goals against Roma.


Click the play button in the bottom left corner.


*known in our house as 'WTF can we do with the kids this week?'