Sabbatical.

I can hear the wean in the room next door, she’s practicing her Spanish with Dora.  She would watch telly all day long if I let her.  And eat grapes and snacks for every meal if I let her.  

I’ve been back in Glasgow for 2 weeks now.  A typical sojourn.  I’ve already eaten my 4 months’ worth of hummous.  Mad addicted.  So far I have seen a few pals, hunnersa family, been jumping off trees on a hen do in the lake district and spent the morning in a pretend circus in a primary school.  I’ve also had a wee bit of irn bru but no haggis or fish suppers yet.  Gads man, pure would LOVE a fish supper n bottla bru for dinner tonight.  Mmmmm cliches.

 

Obviously this page is pretty much redundant.  I haven’t touched in so long due to lack of access to a normal fucking keyboard and utter laziness on my part.  I could have obviously sought out an internet cafe or just brass necked it at work or whatever but I didn’t.

I tried to blog on our ipad once and that was a terrible experience.  Utter typing nightmare.  Too cheap to buy a luxury that is a keyboard for a non-essential item like a fucking ipad so I let the blog die out.  I don’t even look like my picture anymore.  But I’ll keep it anyway because I look at it and go weeeeeeeeeeeeet weeeow inside my vain little brain.  Purr.

So where is the karaoke in this city?  Let’s do some for I need to let out some loud vocals to some music and accompanied by cold iced alcoholic drinks in glasses of varying sizes.  These things go together for me.  I love them heaps like haggis and neeps.  Mmmmm, stereotypes.  I haven’t been home in a year and I needed to pencil in some dinner date action with a few of my oldest and boldest pals.  We are not scheduled in until fucking mid May.  Middle age anyone?  

I know that I swear too much.  No weans are reading this and for many folk, foul language is mere dialect in Glasgow.  We can all switch it on and off when necessary because awareness is key to social cohesion but honestly, it’s just a completely adult and valid way of expressing oneself.  And it’s massively cathartic.  I was up a tree last weekend, many trees actually, in a harness and edging my way about a krypton factor-like course when I was seriously concerned for my safety.  So clearly, the only way these fears escaped my person was in the form of a loud declaration of the f-word.  It burst out of me.  Twice.  There were young children on the ground below me and when I had gathered my wits whilst hanging to a cargo net suspended many, many metres in the air, I apologised to the silent Maw.   Because awareness and consideration of others is important to social cohesion.  She didn’t seem too affronted, thank fuck.  But aye, dialect.

Peppa Pig is on now.  I should stage an intervention.  

Tomorrow will be Friday, I think I need to get the wean sheared.  Her fringe is emo as fuck and she looks scruffier than I do.  Unacceptable!  I also should deliver some souvenir noodles to a pregnant Japanese lass whom I have actually never met but am looking forward to.  Aye.  Tomorrow.  

Maybe the next time I write something on here it will be less than the year or so hiatus that I’ve had.  And I will write about more than weans and swearing n that.  Cripes, there is dinner somewhere that I can smell and twasn’t I that cooked it.  Must investigate.  

Nae chips but.  Gutted.

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No lessons, thanks Pops.

I don’t care what anyone says, I have been busy.

I have been working and eating and flying home to the fatherland (sunny Glasgow, Scotland) and enjoying the best weddings in the universe and then coming back again and working and sweating and wee bit of drinking and absolutely no cooking at all.  It’s been marvellous and tiring.   I also have completely lost sight of any sort of updating I should be doing here.  I had to search for it and to remember my login because it is not bookmarked on this computer as it is not my computer because I don’t have a computer (sad face), so I had to search.  And lo and behold, it was still there.  My rantings and colloquialising (what are you bleating about, red underscore, it IS a word) and blah blah blah-ings are all still there with not one peep changed.  I thought at least that words could get better with age?  Naw?  Ach well.

I went home this summer, it was the first summer in Glasgow since 2006 and I even experienced some good weather!  I also experienced a big greet fest at the afore-mentioned weddings of forever and ever amen.  We can’t always get to the weddings of our nearest and dearest and I’ve missed two already this year that make my soul ache.  So, I was thrilled and honoured to be a part of them both.  I even got to be half a best man.  I suppose that’s legit given my lack of boy parts (honestly) that I should only be half a best man.  But since the flamboyantly self-indulgent Mr Park required two best men and the collected and distinctly UN-bridezilla-like Ms Mc Callum required only one bridesmaid,  I felt good to be throwing an odd number into the mix of their beautiful happy day.  And I got to wear a nice dress, with amazing heels and make a fucking speech.

When I typed that I conjured images of the angry, curly Adam Sandler a bit there, don’t know why.

I was nice!  I PROMISE!  I wasn’t exactly that nice to Graeme, truth be told, but I wasn’t supposed to be.  I also did let slip a wee expletive without really thinking too much about it.  “Arseholes” isn’t that offensive, is it?  I also lobbed a sandwich at the groom’s dad since the speeches were before the meal.  Mental.  Having said that, I would not have enjoyed my dinner if they were after, not one bit.

Urk, on an infectious note, Anna got hands, foot and mouth disease.  Thankfully she’s all right though.  It sounds more rank than it is.  Her mouth is fine.  It is still absolutely full of requests for ice cream, cuddles and other such Anna banter.  In school last week when I was her “Mummy-Sensei” I asked all the boys to go and get a chair and come and sit down.  She promptly got up and went for a chair.  Be assured, my 2yr5mth year old knows that she’s very much a girl.  I think she just wanted to play the class clown for she pulled a look of why are you all questioning me? onto her wee face and bellowed,

“Noooo, I’m not a girl, I’m a boooooy!”

I laugh at my daughter all the time you’ll understand.  I laugh when she pulls shit like this, I laugh when she asks for ridiculous amounts of any food/drink substance, I laugh when she laughs, I laugh when she cries and I laugh when she rants and has tantrums and drops to the ground kicking and screaming.  She makes me bellow too.  What a wee d.e.l.i.g.h.t….

On a more disgusting note, the chancers in England who feel compelled to shit on their own and surrounding doorsteps are causing a lot of people to cry out.  Quite rightly so; I would be terrified.  I enjoyed Darcus Howe on the bbc and this lass‘s take on it all.  Indeed, I think the world would be just a smidge better for us all, if we “had some respect”.   Kaz told me yesterday to stop reading as it was the only way to stop me feeling so sick and disgusted.  But I can’t take my eyes away.  As he watched Japan ruin South Korea at the fitba tonight, I groaned and sighed at the computer screen.  His face went a funny, incredulous Japanese(ish) way that knows not of such civil unrest when I told him it was still going on.  He cannot fathom it, he cannot get his head around it.  (Thanks UK riot-types, he’ll really want to come and live there now.  Pricks.) 

And yet, us foreigners over here are incredulous as to why the Japanese are not more up in arms about the ongoing Fukushima disaster.  The food and land and air and sea and meat and lives and futures of all are contaminated in the surrounding areas.  They are running out of power and yet still over wrap and package the shit out of everything.  I have read reports of contaminated milk being diluted with uncontaminated milk to reach safety levels.  This video has been passed around again and again and it’s hard to know who or what to trust.  It raises very valid points, and the government lackeys in this “meeting” are anything but endearing.  Yet the Japanese just “shoganai”  (that’s life) or “gaman” (deal with it).  They don’t go smashing up businesses and burning down cars, or even get too flustered.  And yet I almost wish they would.

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Birthday Birthday Birthdaaaaaying oot ma nut.

It’s March, it’s that month when the fruition of, erm, Summer luvvin comes to raise it’s cute and not-so-cute head.  My niece has already turned 6, congrats to that!  That’s a ripe age, and I can only wonder what she will be like at 16.  Good luck with that dear bruv and sis!  Speaking of dear bruv #3, he will be an even riper age of 30 very very soon.  Well done, round of applause and of drinks to you, Sir.

However, in between noted birthdays, my sweetheart is turning 35!  Woop woop CONGRATULATIONS OLD MAN!  I had to type that in caps because his eyesight isn’t what it used to be blaaaah blah blah.   After his chocolate cake day (mental note, make chocolate cake) is the best March birthday of all.  Fuck yis all.  It IS the best.  Weechops is turning twooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Excessive use of the letter ‘o’ there, I know, but she’s ma sheep, and she’s the whitest. (Have just noted how that might be misconstrued as a comment based along racial lines.  But it’s not.  So get aff yer high horse, it’s about sheep.)  I’ve started constructing the wean a tutu.  It shall be therefor known in code as a “Desmond” so she doesn’t know what we’re on about, wink wink. She’s wily innit, she will crack that code so keep it on the down-low.   Anyway, the religious and African garment in question is a mixture of pink and turquoise which should be a delightful purple that she will hopefully adore.  If she doesn’t, then it’s no bother.  She’s a 2 year old and she could dislike a lot of things that I seek out and purchase for her, never mind lovingly construct with my own delicate, loving and maternal fingers of care and attention and adoration.  Also making her a feltboard.  Remember them?  R.e.t.r.oooooh.

Fear not, simple consumerists, I have bought her stuff too.  She said today that she wanted a pink cake, and Kaz suggested some kind of Peppa Pig number.  I then reminded her that Peppa and George love chocolate cake and her eyes lit up.  She’s all about the chocolate cake.  Two days anyway, until Daddy’s Chocolate Cake Day.  (mental note, make chocolate cake..)

Since there is a birthday onslaught this month, I have endeavored to bake 3 birthday cakes, some birthday bread, as well as hand-crafting some gifts…skint much!  It’s fun though, (the hand-crafting, not the skint part) I recommend you try it sometime.  Craft the shit out of your life for good old-fashioned well-being.  Or whatever.  I get inspired a lot by the all the haun-knittet stuff I see made by the talented people out there.  I wish their dedication was equally contagious.  Ups and downs innit.  I’ve got an interview type thing on Tuesday at a wee school downtown that will allow me to bring the wean.  Hopefully that won’t reduce my vast crafting time.  Or my immense roll around tickling Anna time, because, I don’t think they would like me to do that while I’m supposed to be teaching the other weans.  Fingurs, toes n ayes crossed for me preezu.

Hair’s a pure nick again, sigh.

Laura Kane stopped smoking by the way. Fuckin YAS! Kaz did too while I was home and then started again after I got back after I annoyed him so much that he took back to the rancid fags.   What a fud.  I don’t nag him about it.  The poor sod is living in a freeeezing house (note.  All houses in Japan are freezing, it’s retarded.) with his maw, big sister, daughter and I.  Aw those nag hormones must be driving him mental.  Mental.   And he’s sitting with my wee iBook that I left for dead on my shelf and had brought it back to life to hook it up to the hard-disk and get all my music and photaes aff it.  What a cherub.

Anna pure goosed his laptop last week too.  She ham-fisted all the keys and made the screen zoom in a lot.  He couldn’t figure it out and then I got at it and guguru’d the ploblem and voila! I fixed it!  I don’t often get to be the person who fixes computer things.  So I was chuffed, (even if it was a really simple thing to fix).

Gads, just watched a news clip talking about Japan having more than 30,000 poor bastards annually top themselves for the past 13 years in a row.   On that note, I’m away to continue living for a good while yet.

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Atarashii

There’s this little guy inside my heed that sounds like the rock faces from Labyrinth who are incredibly Northern and upset when Sarah won’t let them bid their ominous warnings to her.   Do you know those guys?

“Oh, pleeeease, I haven’t done it in such a long time”.

However I can’t find that scene anywhere after an intense* search, so I’ll just put this here for you to enjoy instead.

It’s been a while ne.   And I’ve been to a whole ‘nother continent and wished everyone the best people in the entire world there a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and even a Happy Birthday as well as a “Congratulations you’re getting MERRIET/you’ve stopped smoking!!/your hoose is lovely!” type hing.  And then I cried like a big girl’s blouse when I had to leave them all.  Such are the trials of having made the decision to live very very very far away.

I consider myself a lucky Dickhead in so many ways.  I have, a bloody marvelous family who (so far) ensure that I am, a spoiled Dickhead when I return home to Ze Fajerland.  And for that I’m really very grateful.  I know that it’s not always nice for everyone when bouncing back to the nest for some festive family times, but for me (the Spoiled Dickhead) I love it.  It is always nice to be home.  Plus, I know that I have the added bonus of a cute wean to distract them from the reality that is, well, me.  I didn’t make the best effort to see everyone that I usually do this time, sorry about that.  And I was confounded by the pish weather that Glasgow had on offer too.  It’s no fun traipsing about in the rain.  Just no fun at all.  I still managed to get up to the cafe at Luss for a gargantuan scone with a stonking hangover.  I couldn’t even finish it…what has become of me.

Japan, you didn’t even make it so nice for me to return to either, did you?  After my 6 week sojourn I had to return to a lovely bout of the bloody ‘flu.  For the first time in my life.  Bleurgh.

I’m over it now though.  Nails.  (Only cos my Valentine took me to the doctors and then nursed me through it and decreed that he wanted to be paid just to play with Anna. Me too Kaz, me too.)

Happy Shmaltz Day to you all by the way.  I hope that there are romantic moments all over your faces today.  Or even just a winch wae tongues when you’ve both just cleaned your teeth.  Mmmm-mmmm.  Despite feeling a lot better and having launched the face-mask, I’m keeping my fingers, toes n eyes crossed that I haven’t given Kaz the ‘flu for Valentine’s this year.  Gads.

Wee Chops is sleeping right now.  She’s grown monstrously since I last posted anything.  She pays taxes and everything.  Writes plays.

She’s also wittier than I and Graeme Park put together.  But she’s still not as quick as Meg on the old word-play, or quite as keen a whistler either.  I might have to become slightly more Chinese in my approach to Motherhood.  No slacking on my watch.  Nope.

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As far as I’m aware

Some people went to The Deftones concert in Glasgow last night.  Remember them?  I do.  I even managed to croon not too quietly along to the entirety of White Pony whilst Anna had a snooze in the back seat the other day.  That is some mean feat my child, for I was killing it.

Crivvens!  I just found this now that I’m thinking about them all over again with the same I love I’ve had  for them since I was an eyeliner and crowdsurfing loving youth.  I had a wall of adored tickets that I think are still stacked and yellowing somewhere in sunny Clarkston.

How good are gigs?

Gigs are great.   I’d have to seriously think long and hard to come up with an answer that I don’t regret to the question of my favourite gig…what was yours anyway?  Was I there too?  I could have been.  I mean, I went to a lot…

Not that I regret much anyway.  Fuck it.  Ne.

Nae regrets because it doesn’t do you much good.  Just don’t do the silly thing again.

But aye, gigs.  Gigs are crackin.  My life in Japan hasn’t given me many gigs.  They are expensive here.  Stupidly so.  I mean, the UK is a set of islands too Japan and it doesn’t cost that much over there! Aye aye, I know, Japan is far away and not like any other damn country in the world, especially the food and weather and creepy fucking toilet peeping perverts grumble grumble.  You keep telling yourself that Japan, you keep singing that same old song and keep thinking that you’re so special and that you don’t have to keep up with anything or accept any change to your precious rules and systems that waste so much paper and time and brain cells and s n ooo ooooo ooooo re.

I think I bored myself silly there.  Gomen.

Fucking Deftones.  Love em.  The new stuff is on right now and it’s grrrrrrreat!  I’m counting, cos I’m a sad old fan, just how many times I’ve seen em…(in no particular order cos I’m ooooold don’t you know) QM, Barras, SECC, Carling Academy, Leeds, Braehead…I feel like I’ve seen them more than that though…what have I missed out on?

Incidentally, how YOUNG does Chino look in the be quiet and drive (far away) video?!

Sigh.  I’m loved up on metal before it became “nu”.  Is that a debate in itself?  Because I would never have regarded them as the almighty hateful “nu-metal” shudder. What a snob I am.  I think in music it’s sometimes all right to be a bit of a snob though, because a lot of the love of music is about talent, no?  Obviously opinion rules everything when talking about music and we have to just agree to disagree that Metallica are baws.  But really, am I right to have been miffed at paying 3000yen (20QUID people!) for entry (plus one drink) into the (scoff) techno club in Nagoya and  to be greeted with a fucking “DJ” on a Saturday night who couldn’t actually mix two songs together.  It was atrocious.  His song choice was mediocre and he couldnae fucking mix.  I was unimpressed.  Am I just blessed with the wealth of DJ talent in Glasgow?  Personally, I think the Glasgow music and club scene is bangin’.  Granted I’m not there anymore, but I know that it is still there, bangin’ away.

I’ve not been to a club since February(?).  Sad face.

I think one of Kaz’ friends is having some sort of techno type event so we shall see what Oita has to offer!  I know that I moved away from wee Gifu to the Big Shmoke of Slagoya and hadn’t even experienced the bounty of secret raves in the hills.  What a choob.   Nagoya doesn’t have secret raves in the hills…further grumble grumble.

That was years ago anyway, let’s see what Oita has that isn’t just derishous chicken dishes.  (Am so easily pleased sometimes…)

To completely change the subject, am a week into a fortnight without Kaz.  He’s up in the much slagged Slagoya covering for a buddy who’s taking a trip home with his pregged up ladywife.  So Kaz has some old school hoose building to do with his old friends and co-workers.  (Fuck me THE KNIFE has just come on shuffle-YAAAAAS!)

So aye, so he’s up there and we’re down here enjoying a hoose full of ladies.  Only one day did it all get a bit much for me and I just got in the car with Anna and went to the beach haha!  I’m not boasting about tremendous weather or anything, I mean, it’s Autumn and when the sun is out, it can be beautiful.  But I’m not doing a Park and complaining about the sand being too coarse or anything like that.  We just played on the beach in our Autumn clothes and what-not.  No bare skin or sunburn for us, not yesterday, not a chance.

And I’ve got another week to go until he gets back-at least I have the car… Now if anyone cares to donate to the escape-the-in-laws-petrol-fund, then that would be lovely, ta.

Just kidding really,  kinda.  I mean, they are lovely.  And can be so very kind and generous and love Anna very much and to be honest I was just being a crabbit bitch yesterday and wanted a wee bit of fresh air and sunshine.  Language and cultural barriers are however evident.  Manners can be very few and far between too!

I wonder what they think of me though?

Total c**t probably.

 

 

 

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…Got any grapes?

Today was a day where mainly this was in my head.

It’s great isn’t it?  I think I get even more pleasure from it than Anna does, in fact I reckon she doesn’t much notice when it’s on the screen.

Which is fine, really because it means that I still get to enjoy it at the same time as her not polluting her brain or something.

TV and DVDs and youchoob n that, it’s a big no-no/dame (that’s pronounced “da-may” and means “don’t” to all whose grasp of Japanese is ordering the solidified pish that the Jap chain restaurants pass off as food in the UK coupled with several viewings of the Karate Kid trilogy)

And is not for weans as young as mine, apparently.  Duzza powera damage tae your ability tae  concen t r a…

Or something like that.

So I’m basically going to warble that song at my nieces for a while and and pass it off as my own, for it is unlikely that they’ve feasted their shining wee eyes on this post.  But they might have had more access to the mighty youtube than I’ve allowed my wee chopper.  It is possible for they are older.

We’ll see.  I’ve got until 28thDecember to, in the words of the great Simon Cowell, Cheryl Whatsherface, Louis Blandface Walsh and the one that isn’t Kylie to “make the song my own”  and wow my collective audience of 3-5 year old girls.

It’s a killer though, they’re harsh.  Especially if you’re related to them; it’s taps aff bare chisted brutality if you’re a bit shite.

I’d better get practicing then.  And as anyone who ever attended end of the month club will surely know, that practice is not my forte…

And little do they know that it’s my present to them this year because we are mostly spending Little Timmy’s New Leg Fund on actually getting my bahooky back out of Glasgow and to Japan where Kaz will be waiting not so patiently.

I’m leaving him in Oita over New Year and taking our daughter with us.  In all fairness, I think that is taps aff bare chisted brutality at its broken Bucky brandishing finest.

Incidentally there are some might strange noises coming from the block of flats behind us.  It sounds like someone is doing karate nearby, but I have no idea where that would be possible…O Japan, tell us your secrets.

 

I only recently learned to drive.  I did it whilst pregged up so that at least I could be a pseudo grownup in the eyes of my offspring.  I haven’t ever had that experience of the first car.  I practiced using my Mum’s car and then I came to Japland and began using Kaz’ big people carrier thing.  So it’s not my car strictly.  I’ve yet to afford a car all of my own and so haven’t gone through what I can only imagine to be a rollercoaster of emotions when thinking about, viewing, test-driving and purchasing that vital vehicle.

Still, I wonder how, someone can go through all of that, and then actually part money for this…

Not only the colour (for I know that majority of burds will notice the colour first and foremost-what? Sexist? Tosh.  It’s fact.)

the beautiful pea ‘n’ ham soup colour, but there’s something else that I don’t think this microscopic pic allows normal human eyes to notice.

The name.

The creative minds at Daihatsu have really got to congratulate themselves here for this one…

 

It’s called a “latte”.

A fucking latte.

Sigh.

I think that there is absolutely not a thing wrong with this car in honesty.  I mean the colour is obviously pure boke (yes I know that boke is spelled “baulk” but I just like boke ok?)  and colour is an opinion, it’s a preference and a feeling and therefor I respect it.  And a name is a name is a name.

I think that I just took the photie of this wee bucketashite car after it was driven by a fud down a monster fucking hill with the foot on the bastard brake the whole fucking way.

I think that’s what inspired that shot to be honest.

 

 

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I think I swore too much in this.

So I went ahead and did it.  I turned 28, just for all of you y’hear?  Just because I’m such a good friend and I didn’t want you all to think that while you were getting older that I was retaining my youth in abundance.

So I did it, all right?  I’m twentyfuckingeight.

That means my 18th was 10 years ago.  Not only am I legitimately allowed the free use of, “yeh, that was about 10 years ago” in natural conversations, but I am allowed them in conversations referring to myself as an adult (technically) ten whole fucking years ago. Sigh.  Remember my 18th?  It was grrreat.

I think my mum feels worse because I’m her youngest.  Not that she’s even old.  She’s positively spritely.  Her energy is pretty terrific considering she’s been dealing with 3-5 year olds her entire adult life, as well the brood she made herself, and the brood we have gone on to make.

Yikes.  If you have hunnersa weans, it’s more than possible that you will end up with hunnersa grandweans, aye?  At least none of them live with you mum, think of poor Kyoko and Huni…

Yesterday was a derishous birthday sushifest at home.  Hats aff and thunderous applause to Huni for creating a feast of roll yer ain sushi fit for kings. Kaz surprised me with a cake too, a beautiful chocolatey goodness cake pretty much based on the one I made him in Glasgow in 2009 just after Anna was born.  He forgot the baking powder though, and the icing was just sugar and chocolate (I think we all have diabetes now…) so when I was attempting to cut the fucker, Kyoko was getting her knickers a twist about her guid china plate the cake was on.  Quite rightly so, because the icing was definitely one to serve with a cool confident smile…and then chainsaw the shit out of to serve.

Despite requiring heavy artillery to crack open, the cake is amazin’.  Pure rich and brownie-esque.  Pure amazin’.  If fact, sweetheart was so proud of it, he snapped it and had it up on facebook before I even knew of its existence.  I made myself dinner tonight all on ma tod because Kaz is working at nights for a few more weeks and so I constructed a leafy, garlicky, noodly delight that actually ended up making me feel a wee bit sick.  Kinda gutted about that part really, cos it was ded guid.  So, I ate some more cake to make myself feel better, and hey, it did just that.  So getitrightupye greens.

O shit, I didn’t mean that greens…I fucking love greens and shit.  My dinners sometimes look like they’re still growing.  And tonight’s was a pure “Mon the Hoops” on a plate.  So I don’t know why I ended up feeling a wee bit sick.  Maybe my body just wanted more cake?

That must have been it.

Aye, so, tomorrow is a karaoke warble and I’m really looking forward to it.  Obviously I am a giant cliche wanting to sing karaoke and eat fucking sushi on my birthday but I don’t care.  Sushi is delicious.  And karaoke is fun.  And I don’t get to do it very often despite living in Japan, so I will goddamn sing on my birthday and you will all like it. Any requests?

Kaz has been working evenings and I need to pick him up, so that means that I’ve not been drinking at all for weeks, and this means that when I do get my grubby mitts on the vodka and Canadian Club that we’ve found at bargain prices, then I’ll be a one can dan and crooning in all seriousness thinking that I’m just.that.good.

And then I’ll fall asleep or fall over or cry.  Because that’s what happens when you are a responsible driver and your bevvy tolerance falls to below that of your 18 year old self…We’ll see.  We’ll see.

Just to change the subject, I feel like Anna is growing like a weed.  I swear she’d grown in the night last night and when I haul her out of her cot in the mornings it’s like a new version of the “harrruuumph/heeeeave/yoisho” noise comes out.  Her vocabulary is expanding at a rate of naughts as well and I will let you think about what it is she actually says when she’s trying to say, “fork”.  Kyoko’s head whipped around when she heard her in the kitchen the other morning…”why is she saying that?   Why did you teach her that?”

–Eh…wisnae me!

(smirk smirk cos it’s funny as fork so it is.)

I just don’t draw attention to it and then agree with Anna, “yes Anna that is a fork, you’re right!”

I was directed to youtube the other night to the Jamie Oliver food revolution show he’s done in the U.S.   The weans there didn’t (or t.v. made them appear to not) know what the names of some basic fruits and veggies were and that is quite rightly horrific.  Anna shouts out all the stuff in her bowl and she’s 19 months old.  She screeches like a banshee in the supermarket fruit&veg aisle because it’s what she knows.  She likes eating so she does.  Oor Anna loves her grub.  I wonder who she gets that from?

Nae cake fur Anna though.  Nae diabetes fur her.

No pics this post, don’t hate me.  I’ll get some up soon enough.  Kaz the superhero got me a hard-drive so I can finally free up some space on this wee laptop of mine and not feel so cautious about plugging in the old camera in fear of sirens and flashing lights, “your computer is too fucking full you fool, empty it.  NOW!” Or something along those lines.

So I will endeavour to upload more pics in the future.  Yakusoku.

Kuuuurighst…I’ve not even read this back, you can edit them after posting, right…?

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