All We Hear Is Radio Ga Ga

It’s been a while since I wrote any words. Well, at least outside of a work environment. Given the nature of my job, visiting and having meetings with customers, I have to generate visit reports to relay the general content of the meeting to the staff back at base, but there isn’t much scope to vent about baby poo and vomit in those. I still do, on occasion, but generally it is frowned upon by management. Today I managed to spend half of a business meeting discussing the merits, or lack of, In The Night Garden. That’s going in a report – if I have to suffer it, I’m taking others down with me.

The truth is, there has been so much going on, both with the boys and outside of their world, there hasn’t been the time to sit down and bash out a load of meaningless drivel on a laptop. But the visit reports have to get done and by the time they have, there isn’t much time to sit and blog. This is a catch 24 situation though, because there has been so much in the way of development, that there is so much to write about. This could be a long one!

The big news is that we now have two way communication with the boys. Almost. They keep overtaking each other with their development. Henry has a wide range of vocabulary and started first to really communicate with us. “Gah” means “light” as in a light bulb. The switching on of any light in the house is accompanied by this sound. It is also repeated often and loudly on a car journey, which means Henry wants the courtesy light to be switched on. “Gah”, incidentally, also means car. And milk. And star. And quite a few other things, but once you judge the context in which the “gah” is being applied, you can usually work out what he means. “Gah gah” is not a tribute to the Queen song that has now become the title to this blog post, but actually means “all gone” in Henry-speak. “Nee-naw” means fire engine, unless said with a little bit of melody, in which case it is the Clean Up Song from Boogie Babies. It is also used to denote a car, when “gah” seems too much trouble to use.

Arthur waited a little while longer before making his verbal alacrity known, and his first words were “Peppa Pig”. We can even play a game with him – if he says Peppa Pig and we subsequently do the “Doop dooby doop doop, dooby dooby doop doop” of the theme song, he will fill in the gap with perfect timing. If we sing the “Peppa Pig” part, Arthur will attempt the “Doop dooby doop doop” section. This he is less successful at.

Now there is no stopping them. I am writing this from Carnac in France, where we finally made it to for our second holiday with the boys. Since we have been away Henry has continued to use “Gah” for all the things he already did but, to his credit, has added “tractor” “digger” and “more” to his range, and that’s just today. Arthur too continues to expand his vocabulary. They are in repeat mode at the moment, mimicking words that Mrs Aitchworld and I say to him or that he overhears. We will have to tone down our language, otherwise it is only a matter of time before one of them drops an F bomb in front of grandparents. Seeing as we are away with one set of grandparents, this might come sooner than we fear!

Being away this late in the year is both a blessing and a curse. The downside is that things like buckets and spades are in remarkably short supply in the shops in the UK. Shorts and flip-flops too were something that I had a very hard time in locating. The bonus is, when I do find these items, they were all reduced to shift them quickly so that the shops could clear space for their winter lines.

But then that is pretty much how I do all of my shopping – it nearly all comes off the Tesco reduced rack. Virtually the entirety of my current wardrobe has been bought right at the end of a season at maximum reductions. That money saving dude from the telly would be proud of me.

I like to think it’s living on the edge, getting things right at the last minute. It’s quite a leap of faith seeing clothing you like the look of but refuse to buy until it is reduced in price. The reality is that as I travel all over the country with work, if one branch of Tesco doesn’t have something in my size, I can almost guarantee another one somewhere else will. I haven’t been brave enough yet to buy a suit jacket that fits in one branch, but the matching trousers in another; I’m adventurous, not reckless.

Last time we went on holiday, a little more than a year ago, we didn’t dare brave going abroad. It is little more a vague and distant memory now, but I do recall that we were so new to parenting still that we didn’t know what to take so we just took everything. We crammed everything, the entire contents of our house, possessions worldly or otherwise, into every orifice of the car and filled the largest roof box Halfords have ever sold. And we used hardly any of it. The preparation for the holiday was one of the most traumatic events of my life, so this time it had to be different.

We started well. Over the course of a weekend and a total of five hours on the telephone, Mrs Aitchworld managed to book the ferry a few months in advance. Using Avios points to get a miniscule discount isn’t that easy, apparently. Quite how she made this booking is anyone’s guess – at the time I hadn’t even ordered my new company car. We had to assume that the request I had submitted would be passed. This done, we were then asked for dimensions of the car, which involved trying to find out from the internet how tall a car I didn’t have possession of was, then what height the roof bars that would fit the car but I also didn’t own would be, before adding on the height of an inaccessible roof box, stored on its end in the far reaches of a totally full garage.

We could, of course, have made it a little easier by taking Mrs Aitchworld’s car, as we had to the Lake District last year, but at the time of booking we had realised there was no way it was going to pass another MOT without spending roughly twice what the car was worth, so wouldn’t be keeping that. A couple of weeks ago we traded it in, with minutes left on the MOT, for something quite a bit smaller, so taking that would have been a last resort.

My choice of company car was finally approved. As I am in my early 40s and a dad, I needed a dad-wagon, so I chose a big Volvo, in brown, with an automatic gearbox. Nothing says middle aged better. I remember, in 1979, going with my dad to choose a nearly-new car from a local garage. I desperately wanted him to buy a Volvo estate that was for sale, purely because there were a couple of Lego bricks visible in the boot. He eschewed this option on the grounds that it was twice as much as he could afford, but as an 8 year old I didn’t understand the concept – all I knew was that he was letting good Lego slip through his fingers.

Two weeks before we left, my car hadn’t even been made. I needed to get permission from the lease company to take the car abroad, but for this they needed a chassis number and registration number. Such things can’t be assigned to rolls of sheet steel and plastic granules that are yet to be injection-moulded. There had already been one delay to the delivery date, with no guarantee there wouldn’t be any more. Panic set in. On more than one occasion I had a dream about a non-existent Volvo.

Finally, the day before we were due to leave, I was able to collect the car. I did say I like living on the edge by doing things last minute. It didn’t have any Lego pieces in it though. It was booked onto the ferry and we were then able to pack. Despite knowing (and planning in relatively precise detail) what we were going to take, and the new car being bigger than anything else we have ever owned, we still managed to fill it completely. I’ve no idea how, because we certainly haven’t brought with us anything un-necessary like we did last year.

The thought of flying to a holiday destination with the boys abhors me. Spending a couple of hours looking at planes at the airport before the flight, then a couple of hours on the plane itself, then maybe an hour at the other end getting to where we are going, seems to be a tall order. Far better, we concluded, would be to spend all day in a car, all night on a ferry, then another three hours in a car on the other side of the Channel in order to get to where we are going. On second thoughts…

Despite sounding crazy this worked. Well something has worked; maybe it’s because we have been with the boys 24/7 for a few days instead of packing them off to nursery while we go off to work, but we have noticed a lot of development from them, as I mentioned earlier, while on this holiday. Maybe it was the relaxing journey down here that has refreshed them, mentally and physically. Both Arthur and Henry will stand, completely unaided, upright like Meerkats for ages and, frighteningly, Henry has taken his first few steps.

I say frighteningly because once Arthur cottons on to this he will want to do it and once that happens, they will be off. I just know it will be in different directions too. Which one to run after will be whichever is in most danger or which one I like most at that very moment in time. The one thing we forgot to pack this year was reins. We didn’t need them last year, but they were probably in the roof box anyway, somewhere near the second steriliser we took; the one that goes in the microwave in case we stopped anywhere where they didn’t have electricity for the main one.

Has this holiday been a success, compared to last year? Well, we’re only a few days into it, so I will have to report back in a week or so, after it is all over and we’ve got back home again…

Never Forget You…

My favourite singer isn’t known for being a singer at all; he is the drummer with Queen, Roger Taylor. He does, however, have a superb voice. In my opinion, and I am somewhat in a minority on this but I just don’t care because I’m right, it is better than Freddie’s was. Nearly all of my favourite Queen songs are ones that Roger wrote and took lead vocals on. It is said that he can hit a high E in full voice. Despite attending Ukulele club, I have no idea neither what a high E might be, nor what full voice is; it isn’t something we do on a regular basis but I’m impressed nonetheless.

I have no idea why I actually ponder all of this, or why I am even writing about it, but it is the sort of unimportant shite that keeps me awake at nights sometimes. I think it came about because Henry had a throat infection and sounded a little hoarse, not unlike Roger, when he was singing the clean-up song to himself the other evening when he was tidying his toys away.

I think another reason was that on CBeebies the other evening there was cartoon with an accompanying song by an outfit called Tee and Mo that grabbed my attention for being, unusually, actually rather good. When I googled Tee and Mo it turns out the singer behind the song I so liked was Lauren Laverne, who outside of her TV presenting career is better known in the music world for being from the band Kenickie.

It got me thinking how other rock stars might sing to their children. I wonder if Roger and other rock singers with a really strong voice, such as Noddy Holder, David Coverdale, Brian Johnstone, Rod Stewart or Steven Tyler to name a few, sing lullabies or the clean-up song. Do they sing it in full voice? Do they hit a high E halfway through Incy Wincy Spider?

Generally I hate children’s TV. There is the odd programme I can stand and my current favourite of the crop is the cartoon Nora and Nelly. It is a cause of some debate in the Aitchworld household; Mrs Aitchworld insists they live in a caravan, despite the fact the listings clearly say it is set in a holiday park. I side with the listings and maintain they are merely on vacation, although I have to confess to being a little bemused that they seem to still be there in winter – most holiday parks close for the winter. This is suggesting I am paying rather more attention to the programme than I should do.

I had started to write great swathes of protestations about how I’m not all that interested in it and that it hasn’t got under my skin, but then I realised that, last week, as I was in the throes of planning a business trip to Ireland, I had started to ponder whereabouts in the country the caravan park is and whether I could visit it. Even now, as I write this from my hotel room in Tullamore, I haven’t completely reconciled the fact that I can’t actually visit a cartoon campsite while I am in the country it is supposedly in. Even though the thought has crossed my mind that if you changed the voiceover to a different accent, the holiday park could easily be in Skegness, a part of me still thinks I might be able to find it, with a bit of luck and local guidance.

All this aside, and lining up my excuses, the reason I pay any notice to this programme at all is because the music, both the theme tune and incidental during the programme, is rather catchy and really quite good. It has replaced Peppa Pig as my favourite TV programme. Ahem, favourite children’s TV programme, that is. Even Arthur is singing along to the theme now. He’s getting all the notes, but not necessarily in the right order.

Which, along a long and winding road, brings me inevitably to the Tellytubbies. Or, more pertinently, new Tellytubbies. The boys, apparently, love it. I’ve caught small segments of it as I pass through the room when the boys have it on the television, but I’m yet to watch a full episode. What I have discovered is that the Teletubbies have had baby Tellytubbies. How the hell did that happen? In order to find out, I made the grave mistake of googling “Tubby Sex”…

In The Night Garden, as I have documented previously, is another of those TV programmes I cannot abide yet somehow, the other Saturday afternoon, I found myself in an inflatable theatre in a carpark at the Trafford Centre to watch Night Garden Live. If you think the television programme is bad, I recommend you stay away from this. But, and it is a big but, if you do give it a body swerve, you will miss the most spectacular looks of amazement on your child(ren)’s face(s). Arthur and Henry loved it. They were transfixed.

The look of wonder and awe on their faces almost forced an unmanly moment and I very nearly welled up, and that wasn’t because of the cost of it all, which was not insubstantial. For the four of us it cost £70. The show lasted 52 minutes (yes, I timed it), which works out at a shade under £1.35/minute. I saw telephone lines advertised for lower rates than this when I was searching for tubby sex on the internet.

For the entire 52 minutes of the show though, Arthur and Henry sat stock-still, staring at the stage, fascinated with everything that was going on. They pointed every time the image of a Pinky Ponk was projected onto the wall of the tent. They laughed every time Iggle Piggle fell over backwards. This shouldn’t be encouraged because back at home Arthur has tried doing the same thing and ended up with a headache. 

Normally Henry is itching to move – he simply cannot stay in one place for any length of time, but for the entire duration of the show he remained exactly where he was seated. That almost never happens. It was worth every penny.

We also took the boys last weekend to Rewind North. For those unfamiliar with it, it is an ‘80s festival, held just outside Macclesfield, featuring a couple of big names who stand out amongst a sea of acts you can barely remember from the ‘80s, most of whom you assumed were long since dead. 

Still on a children’s TV theme, one of the acts was the lead singer of the Noisettes, who also voices the character of Teal in the children’s cartoon Abney and Teal. I have no idea how she came to be on the bill because she was only born in 1981 and therefore the charts in the 1980s were completely untroubled by her music, as far as I know. There was no explanation in the blurb about the festival.

The boys loved it. We spread out a picnic blanket, slathered them in sunblock, put their sunhats on and we all relaxed. The boys danced and sang, had drums and maracas to shake and it was bliss. Of course it sparked some dispute. Everything always does. I claimed that the boys love of music was because I am always playing it in the car whenever they travel with me. I have a memory stick plugged into the car full of my favourite music. Mrs Aitchworld said it was just as much her because she has Radio 1 on in her car. Of course this is patently untrue because Radio 1 don’t play music; it’s all just noise.

I drove the boys home at about 5pm, with music, naturally, into the care of babysitters (thanks Grandma, Grandad and Leanne) and then got a taxi back to the festival so I could have a few drinks and enjoy more ageing music. If I’m honest with myself, music in the 1980s was pretty poor and time can only improve so much of it, but enjoy it I did.

I don’t even remember who the closing act of the night were. I don’t mean I don’t remember them from the ‘80s, I mean the effects of the alcohol had kicked in. Not really having much at all to drink for the last 16 months or so means that a very small amount goes a very long way. Coupled to the fact that although there was a strong security presence and thorough bag searches for illicit booze, having the boys in a pushchair meant we were able to secrete various bottles of hooch around parts of the pushchair and get it in, rather than pay the exorbitant prices of a festival beer-tent! We were modern-day bootleggers. The boys are starting to earn their keep, at last! However, as we felt compelled to consume our entire haul, it all ended up rather messy.