Highway to the Delivery Zone
And so it comes down to this. Inevitable I suppose.
1.5 weeks to go, which basically means that it’s due to arrive any damn time it wants to. Caren has packed, the mini nursery (the corner of the bedroom) is almost ready to receive it’s cargo. Prams are bought. Car seats purchased. Toys are on standby. Nappies are beckoning to be spoiled. The dogs are wondering why we’re both home all the time. Phones are primed with numbers of relatives. Bills are paid, ready for the long lean times ahead.
The peanut, which obviously no longer resembles a peanut so much as a sack of kittens within Caren’s torso, is all set to go. The head’s in the right spot. The doctor assures us it’s going to be a normal birth. All limbs are present and accounted for, pushing gently against organs. Just waiting.
I suppose we are both anxious, pretty much the same as all soon to be new parents. Not sure what’s going to happen or how we are going to cope. Obviously everything is going to be fine, but still. It’s just all so new and unknown.
More news at 11.
The Chavvest of the Chavs
There are two things that leap out from this article:
Talking about the night he proposed to his girlfriend, Coleen:
“I’d picked it (the ring) up from the jeweller and told her we were going out for a Chinese meal, but we stopped at a BP petrol garage because Coleen had to get the money to pay for the meal.”
That’s right, he’s a starting player for England, and he makes his girlfriend go get money to pay for dinner, during which he planned to propose to her. Romance = Alive and Well.
And then this:
Wayne and Coleen are set to dislodge David Beckham and his pop star wife Victoria as English football’s first couple after Beckham had a poor tournament and has seen his image tarnished by accusations of extra-marital affairs.
Yeah right. A chav (albeit a talented chav), with an ugly head, and a Council Flat girlfriend is going to take the place of Beckham and Posh. Uh-huh.
Sickened
I just cannot accept that the people that spend their time devising ways to circumvent international laws and treaties are in any way worthwhile human beings. It is mind boggling and leaves me feeling physically ill. More so than the descriptions of the actual torture ever did.
Changing
No doubt this is something that every expectant parent experiences (way to overload on the letter ‘x’), but it’s quite amazing how my thoughts have been changing over the past couple of months. Considerably less concern with gadgetry, clothes etc (still addicted to music and movies), and more about families, building families, preserving existing relationships and thinking more about how everything we are going through has been gone through countless times before.
So, it was quite coincidental that when Caren and I were out to dinner with Mum, Michael and Cynthia last night, they should start to talk about some of their experiences as children. The short little stories created a picture of a vastly different world and existence to the one that I grew up in, and the one that our child(ren) will grow up with.
“Give us an example, SuperChimp” I hear you cry.
Well, Michael mentioned how he could remember being out in the backyard of their semi-detached house in Watford with Grandy during World War II. He said that Grandy pointed out a V2 rocket going over their heads, and told him to watch for when the red glow at the tail of the cigar shaped missile went out. If it went out while it was over you, well, then trouble would no doubt ensue. But if it kept going, then you were safe.
That seemed to ring klaxon-like in my head, combining with the feelings I mentioned above, and a synapse fired, followed by another, and another until an idea formed.
“Wouldn’t it be an horrific shame if we were to lose stories like that one, about how our parents and relatives lived their lives. How could I explain to my child what it would be like to live during a war? Or on a farm in Perth in the 40’s? We need to get this stuff down on paper.”
Then I realised that I don’t work with paper too well, and that the intramanet is a better medium for this sort of stuff. To this long winded end, I have created a blog, where (I hope), the various members of the various families that have combined to make the Brocks what they are, can go and jot down their anecdotes and rememberences from their childhoods and beyond.
Ladies and Gentlemen: I am please to present, for your consideration, Brockography .
S. There’s nothing there yet. But soon. Soon I tells ya!