2 year-olds will continue to not look at the lovely books you’ve bought for them at great expense and will prefer playing with, and then splaying everywhere the delectable airline meal and related packaging. Oops
Asking for bulkhead seats whilst pleading and offering a pained “please, if only for my sanity” look works surprisingly well. Note: plonking angelic child on check in desk helps with this ploy. Clever daddy.
Mosquito’s are not just for Christmas, chums. Oh no. and they like nothing better than delicious 5-course meals of mini-limbs almost as much as maxi ones. Moy Mal.
Scratching is contagious
Swimming with dolphins is highly recommended, although prolonged treading of water whilst applying intricate pat-pat with 2 year-old in arm can be rather tiring, even for the generously muscled and honed daddy.
Chasing shade is the new black
Sea water is “isgusting” lizards are “nice” “that way” is always the complete opposite of where you need to go.
The Return flight.
2 year-olds are not allowed to sleep in the nice comfortable, spacious bit at the foot of the bulkhead. Unless you tuck them with a blanket and a pillow when the airplane lights are dimmed. Although doing this would never do.
Next time: Wasn’t our Indian summer just the best? And probably other stuff
Yes, it’s time to make the leap to the Big Room at Nursery.
When do you officially draw the line between having a baby and having a toddler?
Roy's money saving tips for Christmas games (please, do not try these at home...).
White suit, yep. Platform shoes, yep. Shirt that looks like you’ve had a scrap in a paint factory, yep. Small, portable child. Yep. The date for public humiliation is set. September it is. I have ...
I’ve had to take it all back. The gentle ribbing, guffawing and outright pointing, as well as the laughing at other people's summer misfortune....
"My Grandad Jack went to heaven recently. I am a little sad about this....
Now that I am big, I have written an open letter to my Daddy. And a list. I hope he's ready for them....
Well now, it’s been a while since my last post. What with house decorating, tickling baby and watching Heroes (the best thing on telly, after Entourage, of course)
I've been wondering whether babies have the power to alter the fabric of time. Using my new (dubiously un-scientific) theory I calculate I've lost five whole days since August 2006.
I’ve polished my shoes, coiffed my hair (it didn’t take long), dug out the wedding suit. The reason? It’s christening time for newly minted daughter.
The hidden cost of flying low-cost, high stress with a new baby in tow...
Fatherhood sneaks up on you. It punches you square in the mush in the midst of the normal. In the supermarket, at the pub (some chance) YOU MUST BE RESPONSIBLE!
She’s here! Oh the joy! The nine months of patiently waiting; the thumb-twiddling; the trying to appear nonchalant while feeling secretly horrified at the sight of instruments of torture....