Railways, records and running out of room . . . .

The B awaits Norris McWhirter.....

Next month, our friends at Bigjigs Rail will be attempting to secure a place in the Guinness Book of Records . . . .

To do so, they'll have to build the longest wooden railway the world has ever seen.

The current record, set in Japan in 2006, stands at 1,650 metres.

The Bigjigs team are aiming to pass the two kilometre mark and will have more than 10,000 pieces of track at their disposal.

Needless to say, The B and I are rather disappointed at being unable to attend . . . .

But fear not because a little earlier this morning, The G dispatched to nursery, we made our own attempt to write our names into the record books.

Utilising all his track (even the surplus stock that has to be kept in the garage), and incorporating, among other things, his train washer, windmill, coal mine and docks, our attempt proved to be a valiant one.

Ultimately, The B and I fell a kilometre or so short in our efforts, although our main problem was not, as one might suspect, a shortage of track . . . .

You see, long before we ran out of railway, we ran out of room.

It has to be hoped that Chatham Dockyard - where the Bigjigs builders will be making their own ambitious attempt next month - turns out to be a little larger than our playroom . . . .

Labels, logistics & the full kit and caboodle . . . .

Equipping The B is an expensive exercise.....

Earlier this evening, another trip to school . . . .
Unlike the last time, this one a sans-B&G affair, a solo mission (Dr Z on bedtime duties) and a chance to discuss the logistics and practicalities involved in our impending change in circumstance.
These, in the main, seemed to revolve around the need to label The B's clothing . . . .
Given uniform costs (the two sweatshirts, PE shorts and bags for books and gym kit collected afterwards set us back a cool £37.50), it's something I'll be sure to take on board.
Just having this stuff in the house has made it all feel that bit more real and there's no question that September will be upon us before we know it.
Indeed, already this week I've given notice at nursery and realised, thanks to Dr Z's calculations, that The B has just three sessions remaining of the popular music group that he has attended since he was just a few weeks old.
I don't think he realises quite how close he is to starting school and leaving such things behind. I'm not looking forward to breaking the news . . . .

From trains to tutus: preparing for the change . . . .

The shape of things to come?

     
I've always felt that, when it comes to the children, it's best not to have a favourite . . . .

Joking aside, The B&G have always been considered on equal terms.

That said, in certain regards, things might, from time to time, be considered to favour The B.

Don't mistake me, I'm not talking about affection here . . . .

But consider the activities that take up most of our time together, and it might seem a different matter.

Perhaps it's because he and I are both male, but I've always found it far easier to keep The B occupied than The G.

Be it spending time at the train station or the airport, riding the bus or the Metro or poring over his favourite underground network maps and timetables, his interest in all things transportational means it has never been difficult to keep him entertained.

The G participates in such things too, although I doubt she'll be pushing the above pursuits too hard once her big brother starts school in September.

It's something that has got me thinking in recent times and the conclusion I've reached is that I'm not sure how The G and I are going to spend our days.

She likes the beach and the playground, is always up for a scooter ride and can't get enough of swimming. Painting is enjoyed, so too anything that involves scissors . . . .

That's all good, although I can't help thinking that I ought to engage in something a little more girly, a proper feminine pastime, to make up for all the long hours of trainspotting and timetable collecting that The B and I have forced her to endure.

I'm thinking that some kind of dance class might be a good start, although I have no idea exactly what this might entail.

I think it's fair to say that I shall be stepping outside my comfort zone during the coming weeks and months. It's going to be all change around here, that's for certain . . . .

Bed, books & bare-faced cheek . . . .

Oh help, oh no, not The Gruffalo........

Last night, at bedtime, The G could be found in a mischievous mood . . . . 
"You can choose the story," she informed me as we prepared to sit down in the chair beside her bed.
I reached for The Gruffalo.
"Not that one," she said dismissively, and pulled The Tiger Who Came to Tea from the shelves.
Several minutes later, the tale over, I tucked The G into bed and started saying goodnight.
"Will you sing me a song?" she asked, all sweetness and light.
I obliged (Twinkle Twinkle, her choice), before turning down the lights and preparing to leave her for the night.
Just prior to departing the room, The G looked at me, the cheekiest-possible expression on her face.
"Did you sing me a song?" she asked.
Sighing, I answered in the positive.
She thought about this for a moment, as though considering how much more she might still be able to get away with.
"When?" she said, giggling, at which point I just switched off the light and left . . . .

Silent Sunday 24.06.12

Time to cut out the cuddles . . . ?

Rupert gets a bear hug at Center Parcs........

The B&G are an affectionate pair . . . .
This is, in the main, a good thing, although from time to time there is a line that can be crossed. The B is the main offender here.
It's something that I'm going to have to tackle prior to him starting school in September.
The lesson I have to teach him is that goodbyes don't always require an enthusiastic embrace.
The B has always liked a good cuddle and, in recent times, he has insisted on hugging, amongst others, the ladies who run our local music group, the helpful girl from Year Six who looked after us during last week's school visit and even the instructor who took his fencing class at Center Parcs.
In the past I've encouraged his cuddles but as he gets bigger and his social circles start to change, this behaviour, well-intentioned though it is, is becoming a little less appropriate.
In order to compensate, I'll be sure to make myself available for additional embraces. These will always be welcome . . . .

Fiction Fridays #29: The New Jumper . . . .

It's hot off the presses, this - the latest offering from Oliver Jeffers, an author responsible for producing several of The B&G's all-time favourites.
Lost and Found, The Way Back Home and How to Catch a Star have long been high on our list of preferred reads . . . .
The New Jumper is something of a departure from the familiar - the ubiquitous penguin and boy, that is - but it still retains some classic Jeffers trademarks that promise to make it just as popular.
Featuring The Hueys (characters inspired by the author's grandfather who, unable to remember the names of his grandchildren, called them all Huey, regardless of their gender), this is a tale about individuality, being different and some rather fetching orange sweaters. Needless to say, The B&G are enjoying it.
In particular, both love the fact that - just days after meeting his more-famous namesake at Center Parcs' Teddy Bears Picnic - the chief Huey just so happens to be called Rupert.
It has added to the appeal, no question, but it's not the be all and end all, because this is a book that has more going for it than that alone - much more, in fact . . . .

Longest Day, shortest sleep . . . .

Guaranteed to baffle The B.......

The calendar can always be relied upon to cause confusion in the ranks . . . .

Take the Longest Day, for instance.

Last night, The B&G both went to bed at 7pm, as per usual.

Feeling a touch unwell, The B awoke an hour or so later and, for some reason, decided to look out of his bedroom window.

Upon opening the curtains and raising the blackout blind, he encountered sunshine bright enough to convince him that morning had arrived.

His clock showing 8.15, it was a reasonable assumption.

Persuading him in his bemused state that he had slept for less than an hour - and that it, in fact, was still early evening - was not the easiest task imaginable . . . .

Princess Mabel Cat is in the pink . . . .

Her Royal Pinkness.......

From time to time, The G likes to pretend that red is her favourite colour . . . .

On occasion, she says she prefers purple and has even been known to claim that blue is best. She's fooling no-one.

Pink is - and always has been - her number one, first-choice hue.

The latest addition to her 'special friends' collection proves as much . . . .

Her name is Princess Mabel Cat, The G's own creation, made (that is, stuffed and equipped (with a fairy's hat and magic wand)) during our recent trip to Center Parcs.

Princess Mabel Cat is proving a good addition to the household and has added a little additional colour to The G's bedroom. Pink, of course . . . .

Starting school? It's a piece of (Jaffa) cake . . . .

Even I got a little homework this afternoon.......

Earlier this afternoon, a trip to school . . . .
It was our first classroom visit, a chance for The B to meet his teacher and to sample the learning environment that is soon to become so familiar.
Our childcare arrangements meant that The G got to come too . . . .
No bad thing this as, 12 months from now, it'll be her preparing to make the step up.
On this evidence, they'll both be fine.
Some obvious nerves at first - The B in particular, his trepidation clear - in the main due to the fact that he had no clue as to what might be expected of him.
That it turned out to be little more than playing and eating biscuits ensured that all anxieties soon disappeared.
The clincher, some familiar-looking wooden railway, a marble run and the chance to do a little water play. There were even Jaffa Cakes . . . .
Speaking to Dr Z on the telephone a little later he gave the experience a firm thumbs-up.
"It was BRILLIANT!" he told her.
I have to agree.
Indeed, given all that he's going to experience once September comes around, I have to admit that I'm starting to feel a little envious . . . .

Pains, peasants and Princess Mabel Cat . . . .

Don't be fooled, the sun didn't stick around........

So that's that then . . . .
Center Parcs 2012 that is, our holidays over for another 'summer' (and I use that particular word loosely).
The experience as exhausting as ever (there is nothing that leaves a person longing for a rest quite like a short break CP-style) it's good to get home for a rare sit down and a nice cup of tea.
That doesn't mean that a good time hasn't been had . . . .
Far from it, in fact.
Dr Z and I have the aches and pains to prove that recent days have been spent engaged in activities eclectic and, in the main, excellent.
Here is the official @homedad account, the Center Parcs Chronicles . . . .


DEPARTURE DAY: This long awaited, following a protracted countdown on the kitchen chalkboard.
The B: "Hooray, it's Center Parcs Day!"
Short silence as The G digested this information.
The G: "Hooray, it's Center Parcs Day!"
Me (to The G): "What's Center Parcs?"
She thought about this for a moment.
The G (as honest (and confused) as ever): "I don't know . . . ."

THE JOURNEY: Problem-free, non-eventful. Just over 88 miles, a shade under two hours, the excitement mounting with each wheel turn.
The B: "How big is Center Parcs?"
Me: "I can't remember exactly, but it's pretty big."
Short silence.
The G: "Is it normous?"
For the record, it is normous. This I know because much of its 457 acres has been covered either on foot, scooter or horse during the last eight days.

THE ACCOMMODATION: The lodge and I have much in common. On the surface, the accommodation is decent enough - well presented and, in parts, rather stylish. Look hard enough though, and a little like me, it's a touch on the tired side, not fully functional and showing signs of wear. Our lodge was frayed around the edges, and had seen better days, but then haven't we all?

THE FOOD: Mixed bag, but in the main, decent enough. Much Mövenpick and plentiful chocolate. The G alternated between baked beans and nothing, whilst The B, having eaten mostly meat, appears to have put himself on some kind of Junior Atkins Diet.

THE WILDLIFE: Plentiful. Official sightings (only animals spotted from the lodge itself, or in its immediate vicinity, can be counted): Pheasants 10, Red Squirrels 4, Rabbits 17.
On the first day, The B, a little breathless in his excitement, informed me that he'd spotted two peasants out back. It pained me to correct his pronunciation.
On the second day, The G discovered a small hole in the forest.
I asked them both what might live in it.
The B: "A mouse?"
Me: "Something a little bit bigger, I think . . . ."
Pause for thought.
The G: "An elephant?"

THINGS I DIDN'T NEED TO PACK: Sunglasses. Sun cream. Sun hats.
THINGS I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT: Extra socks for waterlogged feet.

THE WEATHER: See above.

THE COST: Rather steep, but often it's worth paying a little extra. Let's face it, a cabin, in the forest, all mod-cons, wildlife all around, a 10 minute stroll to Sub-Tropical Swimming Paradise, shops, restaurants and activities on tap - it's not going to come cheap . . . .

THE ACTIVITIES: Too many to detail at length, but the highlights include . . . .
Swimming: Six pool visits in eight days. In itself not so strenuous, but consider all the slides, flumes, canyon rides, rapids, waves, bubbles, currents and tunnels and this becomes an impressive feat of endurance. It's the stairs that do for you.
Pony trekking: Beyond wet, but fun nevertheless. The B's ride was called Freddie (quite apt given his love of Queen), The G's Eric. The B stayed awake on his horse. The G did not.
Fencing: I'd imagined this to be little more than The B&G whacking each other with foam swords, but it turned out to be a proper lesson in the basic principles and techniques of the Olympic sport. The G took to it in some style, The B, outfought throughout, less so.
Teddy Bear Making: The G created Princess Mabel Cat (pink, of course). The B made a dinosaur called Tbepjptyyy (this moniker the result of him not thinking of one before he started to write his new toy's name, as requested, on the 'birth certificate').
Adventure Golf: Just like at home (The B is a talent, The G just tiresome).
Throw in a treasure hunt, teddy bear's picnic, soft play, dancing (The G), jet skis (The B), tattoos, a pedalo (I even got a little assistance from Dr Z on the pedals this time, making for a much-improved ride), a wooden owl hunt, learning about and handling a bird of prey and various farmyard animals (the first time anyone has ever asked me 'would you like to tickle his dangly wattles?') and much, much more, and it's no surprise that we've all returned home so tired. In fact, I think I need a holiday . . . .


AMUSING FOOTNOTE: Upon approaching the house this afternoon, The B looked out of the car window and realised that, after almost two hours on the road, we were back on familiar ground.
He smiled and gave a contented sigh.
"Back in England," he said . . . .

Next stop: Center Parcs . . . .

It's like the man said, 'I'll be back............'

So this is it, the last post . . . .
For now, at least.
You see, the countdown has almost concluded and the time arrived.
RB is here, the schedule is sorted and the car is packed . . . .
Next stop: Center Parcs.
Needless to say, excitement abounds even if the forecast is looking a little on the bleak side. One never travels to England's rainiest corner expecting it to turn out nice again.
So the umbrellas are packed (for The G, this is, in itself, exciting enough), so too coats, jumpers and countless towels.
The impending dampness doesn't concern me too much.
I plan to spend the coming days holed up inside the Subtropical Swimming Paradise.
The conditions are always much more reliable there . . . .

@homedad will return later this month.

Silent Sunday 10.06.12

Fiction Fridays #28: a Roald Dahl double header . . .

I'm aware that last week was a Fiction Fridays free zone . . . .
I'm keen to make amends to those feeling short-changed and, therefore, offer this, the first ever FF double bill, as recompense.
Both from Roald Dahl and both from The B's bookshelves, Fantastic Mr Fox and George's Marvellous Medicine have proved popular in recent times.
Since completing Peter Pan (in truth, a rather gruelling undertaking) last month, The B has begun to reject picture books and is instead concentrating on the Big Boys' titles that have sat atop his wardrobe for so long.
Having enjoyed Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Fantastic Mr Fox proved a straightforward read in comparison, its short chapters and simple premise (foxes like chickens, chicken farmers don't like foxes) proving to be right up his street.
George's Marvellous Medicine, embarked upon just last night, seems a little more complex, although certain elements hold an obvious appeal.
Take, for instance, Dahl's description of George's grumpy Grandma that notes 'She had pale brown teeth and a small puckered-up mouth like a dog's bottom'.
Needless to say, this had him in hysterics . . . .

In their own words #30 . . . .

THE B (during an unexpected (and unseasonal) reindeer encounter just the other afternoon): "Why has he got those furry sticks attached to his head?"

Fever, flags and the fake Queen . . . .

'The Queen' meets The B......

Jubilee fever here.
OK, so 'fever' might be stretching it a little . . . .
But Dr Z has ensured that The B&G each have a flag.
Commemorative plates too, the wonderfully-bad kind, reduced from £6 to £3.50 as the big sale starts, manufactured in China and finished using a paint that renders them hazardous to eat from.
Street parties, festivals, flags flapping from cars and bunting galore, The B&G have at least experienced the occasion, even if the complexities of the monarchical system remain incomprehensible.
"But what if The Queen gets bored of being The Queen and wants to do something else?" The B asked a little earlier.
"Such as what?" I replied.
The B thought about this for a moment.
"Drive a train?" he asked.
He almost got a chance to ask Her Majesty, although The Queen encountered in a neighbour's front garden turned out to have been fashioned, in the main, from straw, old clothes and chicken wire.
"It's not really The Queen," The B told me knowingly, having first cast a suspicious eye over the character in question. There's just no fooling him sometimes . . . .

Silent Sunday 03.06.12