Posted on by JonnyB

My baby has arrived!!!

As regular readers know, I do not really ‘do’ personal stuff. A gurl, Servalan, over nine pounds, 36-inch head. Very lovely.

When you become a father your immediate blind reaction is that this is something that has happened to nobody else ever ever in the world ever, and thus you want to tell everybody you know and give them each and every smallest detail about it. So if you haven’t been through it before, all I can say is that it is pretty well exactly like being issued with a parking ticket, or experiencing a sequence of minor yet inconvenient delays on the train.

It is likely that there will be a brief hiatus whilst I get my stuff together. This is, I think, what people say. I have no idea what a ‘hiatus’ actually is, but I would imagine that it is something pretty serious and longwinded, like bronchitis, or a hernia. I am sure I will recover from my hiatus quickly and be back here in a few days. (Bloglines is a good way of being automatically notified, if you like that sort of thing). (So is just sitting there for days on end pressing ‘refresh’).

Thank you to people that have left or sent good wishes, and also to those people who just thought good wishes but did not want to leave a same-old message in the comments box. I got them anyway, via my telepathic powers (which I use only for the side of good (mostly)).

Posted on by JonnyB

We go to the labour ward.

In the corridor on the way, there is a sign inviting people to volunteer for hospital radio. I have always wanted to be on the radio, emulating my heroes Peel and Lawley, but I don’t have time to look further just now.

Besides, hospital radio has its problems. It is all very well turning up with your cutting edge Cardiacs and Proclaimers stuff but much of it is taking requests from old people to play Phil Collins records. But the main problem is the restraints on what is or what is not appropriate on grounds of sensitivity. You are not allowed to play ‘Light My Fire’ for instance, in case you upset people in the burns unit. Or ‘Don’t go Breaking my Heart’ out of respect to the cardiology patients. Or anything by Gary Numan in case there is anybody who has lost an index finger in a synthesizer accident.

Normally I would just laugh and say something like ‘haha, it is political correctness gone mad,’ but in truth I am a bit stressed by our impending parenthood and do appreciate the hospital making an effort to be so sensitive to patients’ worries.

I settle the LTLP down in her maternity bed, and switch on the ‘Patientline’ bedside TV to relax us.


Posted on by JonnyB

We go to the labour ward.

In the corridor on the way, there is a sign inviting people to volunteer for hospital radio. I have always wanted to be on the radio, emulating my heroes Peel and Lawley, but I don’t have time to look further just now.

Besides, hospital radio has its problems. It is all very well turning up with your cutting edge Cardiacs and Proclaimers stuff but much of it is taking requests from old people to play Phil Collins records. But the main problem is the restraints on what is or what is not appropriate on grounds of sensitivity. You are not allowed to play ‘Light My Fire’ for instance, in case you upset people in the burns unit. Or ‘Don’t go Breaking my Heart’ out of respect to the cardiology patients. Or anything by Gary Numan in case there is anybody who has lost an index finger in a synthesizer accident.

Normally I would just laugh and say something like ‘haha, it is political correctness gone mad,’ but in truth I am a bit stressed by our impending parenthood and do appreciate the hospital making an effort to be so sensitive to patients’ worries.

I settle the LTLP down in her maternity bed, and switch on the ‘Patientline’ bedside TV to relax us.


Posted on by JonnyB

Evening. Dark early. Silence inside and out. Nothing on the television.

The LTLP out. Sudoku complete. A rented house in my new village. Bored and lonely, I don’t seem to have ventured outdoors for several months. Waiting, waiting, waiting. The well of geographical isolation wrapping itself around me like a bespectacled accounts girl with low self-esteem who’s just heard the DJ announce the last record at the office party.

There is a knock at the door!!!

I sprint towards it eagerly, almost falling out of my slippers in anticipation at the prospect of a MYSTERY VISITOR.

“You fancy going down the pub?” asks Big A.

I almost fall at his feet with sobs of gratitude. But I think he will probably find this embarrassing, so I invite him in whilst I get my coat.

There is a knock at the door!!!

I shove Big A to one side in my haste. Throwing open the door reveals a couple of familiar faces.

“We just wondered how you were?” enquire Mr and Mrs Short Tony.

I maintain my composure, but my voice wobbles as I see my old friends on the doorstep. Exile from the village has been harder than I imagined. I explain that I am just about to go to the local pub with Big A. Mr and Mrs Short Tony look extremely enthusiastic. We set off for the local pub.

The local pub is closed.

We put a brave face on this. There is (oddly enough) an upmarket health and fitness club further on up the lane. Somebody suggests going to the bar there. This seems like a reasonable suggestion, and we head off in that direction. I am excited, as this is a new experience for me.

Despite the pumps on the bar, I am informed that they only serve canned beer. This seems ridiculous. I don’t know how they expect people to attend their health and fitness club if they do not serve a range of proper beers. I order a lager. Big A has a small lager as he has to drive back to the village. Mr and Mrs Short Tony have coffee as they also need to drive later.

We chat for a short while, and watch people engaged in various health and/or fitness practises.

“Well, I’d better be off,” says Big A, looking at his watch. “Do you want a lift back?”

I glance at Mr and Mrs Short Tony, who are finishing off their drinks.

“Thanks,” I reply.

“Are we meeting for a pint later on then?” asks Short Tony to Big A. “In the Village Pub?”

“Love to. Eightish?”

“See you in there.”

I pull on my coat and returned to a darkened house.