The Toddler offers some baby name suggestions.

Posted on by Alex

I scratch my chin. “Right. I’ll think about those.”

She turns back to the television. Being a responsible father, I do not let her watch too much television, even when I am really really bored with doing all the interactive paternal stuff. It is important that she does not grow up to be a yobbo.

Tom, the cat, smashes Spike, the dog, in the face with a big anvil.

“Hahaha!” I laugh. “It is funny. Did you see? He hit him in the face with a big anvil!”

We continue watching. It is excellent that quality programming like this is on every day, as it creates a shared experience between father and child. Jerry sets light to Tom’s tail, the cat erupting in a ball of flame.

“He put his tail on fire!!!” the Toddler announces with delight.

I am pleased with the development of her comprehension skills. Later, when it is more quiet, I go through her suggested names with the LTLP.

If it is a girl:

Daphne, Velma.

If it is a boy:

Fred, Shaggy, Scooby.

I unpack a cardboard box.

Posted on by Alex

“It’s a Cliff Richard record!!!” I cry gleefully.

As we moved into the Cottage eight or nine years ago, it seems about time to unpack all our cardboard boxes. I am opening the last box, which is the LTLP’s. I wave my discovery around in the air.

“That’s not mine,” she replies.

“What do you mean ‘that’s not mine,'” I retort. “Of course it is yours. It’s not mine.”

“But it’s not mine!” she insists.

I brandish the sleeve, which features Cliff Richard holding a posed pose with a white Fender Stratocaster. “It is in your box. These are all your things. Admit it. This is yours.”

Thrice she denies the Cliff Richard record.

“Are these not,” I demand, “all your old textbooks? ‘An Introduction to Animal Parisitology?’ ‘Chemistry in Action?’ ‘A Colour Atlas of AIDS?'”

“Of course they’re mine. But it’s not my record. It must be yours.”

I scoff at the unlikeliness of this. I may have my faults, but I wouldn’t own a Cliff Richard record and yet deny it. I have a bit more dignity than that, I consider, slipping into the LTLP’s bra and pants in order to put ‘Michael Winner’s Dining Stars’ on the television.

“It is probably from when you were a student,” I muse.

“It is not my fucking record! It is your record! It must be!”

I pause. She does appear to be sincere. If she is telling the truth then this is a real mystery. The same sort of thing happened to us years ago, when we were living in a newly-rented house. We tried a TDK video tape that neither of us recognised, to see if it was okay to record over. It showed the news for a minute or so, before cutting to a German transsexual fellating a man on a motorbike, followed by a collection of lewd scenes in a butcher’s shop, followed by the second half of a speech by Dr David Owen about the deteriorating situation in the Balkans. There were some subsequent awkward conversations, as we both tried to establish our ignorance of the tape’s origins.

But the Cliff Richard thing is even more of a mystery. I let the matter rest temporarily. If she wants to own Cliff Richard records then she should not be ashamed, as ‘Wired for Sound’ and ‘It’s So Funny That We Don’t Talk Any More’ were perfectly good songs and contained some profound sentiments.

She should not deny her habit though, as that is the behaviour of an addict.

Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll.

Posted on by Alex

I release a book!!!

Or at least I’m having one released for me this summer by The Friday Project, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. But I did all the writing an’ stuff. If you missed yesterday’s unhinted-at announcement then the book’s website is here and it’s now available on pre-sale at Amazon here.

This is all clearly both exciting and scary and pretty well everything in between. But I’m hoping to get to grips with all that.

One question that a lot of people have asked so far is: is it the same as the blog? The answer being: no. It’s written in the same style, and covers the same sort of ground, and being a memoir it’s inevitable that longer-term readers (hullo!!!) will recognise some of the events. But it’s not a collection of blog posts, if that’s what you’re asking. I suppose it’s the back-story, if you like. Mixed with – erm – the front story.

Statistically, blogs have been demonstrated to become less interesting just as soon as their author finds a more glamorous outlet for their talents, before picking up again as the writer realises that online diaries are still quite fun after all (known as the ‘belle curve’ effect.) I will try not to let this happen, but do bear with me when I start trying to write amusing things about sales figures.

It is odd writing as me online, so I am retaining JonnyB, who has been my friend for years now. I suppose it is a bit like pop musician David Bowie. He adopts an assumed name and persona as Ziggy Stardust, in order to do lots of gigs and a record ‘in character’ – but when it is all done, he reverts back to his original real name, David Bowie. So there you go.

Thank you – everybody – for reading, commenting, linking and saying nice things over the years that this little Private Secret Diary has been on the web. I got my millionth visit a month or so ago, which I hadn’t really anticipated when I started writing little inconsequential snippets about nothing particular. It has been… gobsmacking, and the book wouldn’t have happened without you. It seriously wouldn’t. You are like – so to blame. Thank you also to all the people who twittered and linked and stuff yesterday. I got a bit overwhelmed. Booooooo.

Oh and the LTLP’s pregnant. But back to me. That’s all for now. Obviously it would be lovely if you all ordered eight copies and told all your friends to as well – but really I’m just happy with peoples’ good wishes.

No – who am I trying to kid? Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll is available to pre-order from Amazon (UK), and internationally (with free postage) from The Book Depository.

I will stop going on about it now.