Monday 13th April 2020, 12.35pm (day 3,154)
Some forms of exercise can still be taken out of the house, but not Clare’s weekly ballet class. That’s gone online, and into the bathroom, on this latest public holiday-that-was-not-a-holiday.
Being 42
Life, one day at a time
Category Archives: Family Member
Joe welcomes the new arrival
Thursday 9th April 2020, 12.45pm (day 3,150)
When in prison, the arrival of the mail is always a big event. Joe gets his major input of the day with the delivery of the latest in a series of information processing devices. Well, there’s not much else to spend money on at the moment.
The garden must go on
Sunday 22nd March 2020, 2.10pm (day 3,132)
The Greatest Media Panic of All Time does not change the turn of the seasons, at least, not yet. it was time for the little potato people to get into the ground today, where (if past experience is any guide) they will stay in a kind of stasis until this time next year, when we will hopefully dig up about the same number and volume of potatoes to eat. If we get to the other side of this rupture, anyway. Here, Clare and Joe do the work, while I laze in the sun and document it.
Joe at the football
Sunday 16th February 2020, 3.10pm (day 3,097)
In recent months Joe’s average rate of appearance on the blog has dropped, this being the first since 10th November, and that was just his back — 6th October as a proper portrait. The blog reflects life however, and maybe we just aren’t hanging out together as much as we used to. But this Sunday we did, getting a football fix after a blank day yesterday: mind you, it was cold. Anyway, one can use this as a check on his growth since he turned up the very first time in September 2011, more than half his life, and 3,088 days, ago.
Mum gets things ready
Sunday 29th December 2019, 12.35pm (day 3,048)
‘Twas the day of the annual family gathering at my parents’. Perhaps one of these days soon my Mum will allow someone else to take on the principal role at such events, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Clare’s December build
Monday 2nd December 2019, 9.35am (day 3,021)
Advent calendars which just involved opening a door and seeing a picture of an elf or something have long been deemed passé; now there must be something to consume, or play with, or build. As in the Harry Potter Lego Multimedia Cross-Disciplinary Advertising calendar that the wife has acquired this year. Day 2 — build the Hogwarts Express, for Master Potter who came out bright and fresh on Dec 1 (that’s him to bottom right).
Hall of mirrors
Sunday 6th October 2019, 12.20pm (day 2,964)
It’s not quite the finale of Enter the Dragon but I still like this one. However, how come Joe gets on three times, one neatly in each third — and I’m only on once? Perhaps I am only part vampire. It would explain certain things.
The last rays of sun
Friday 13th September 2019, 6.20pm (day 2,941)
The end of a week, and some relaxation time was definitely called for. This one spot outside Calan’s holds the sunshine for as long as is becoming possible at this time of year, as the days decline. Clare makes the most of this, even though (and she did pre-approve the use of this pic) it does make her look like she is sporting some fine sideburns.
Clare in the woods (100th time)
Sunday 25th August 2019, 4.40pm (day 2,922)
Two milestones today. First, this is Clare’s 100th appearance on the blog: thus, an (easily enough calculated) average of once every 29.22 days, or over once per month. Well, I did marry the woman — and it seems to have been a good move.
Second; 8 x 365 = 2,920, plus two more for Feb 29th 2012 and 2016. Thus, 2,922 days marks the end of my eighth full year of doing this blog. Tomorrow is my birthday. I started the blog on my 42nd birthday…. so you do the maths.
Coming home
Monday 19th August 2019, 10.10pm (day 2,916)
In all the eight years (minus a week) that I have been doing this blog there have been various selfies and shots of Joe — but we’ve never been captured together. Until tonight. Other than the slightly grubby glass in which we’re being reflected, I quite like this shot. To the right, the ferals gather at one end of Halifax bus station, being told off by some security guard who calls one of them a ‘scrote’ every few seconds. Meanwhile I ponder the fact that I’ve entered the last week of my 40s.
Being 42 