Is It Me Or Is It Friday?

I think it must be.

Don't have a lot to say today. Other than have a lovely weekend. It's been quite a quiet day, really.

Erm. And that's it.

So. Have a good weekend!

Pardon?

After days (actually, make that weeks) of nagging (actually, make that correctly pointing something out), I concede that I have a problem. With my ears.

For a few weeks now I have been becoming slowly deafer, to the point where now a small nuclear explosion could occur two feet to my left, and I would only be vaguely aware that someone may have coughed. I am getting over a cold which has inevitably made it worse (you don't want to know about the unearthly substances coming out of my facial orifices), but still - I think I can safely say it's not all due to the sniffles.

As a child, I had multiple ear problems. I have manifold memories of going swimming on holiday, but needing to put cotton wool in my ears. Embarassing. Maybe it's still there? Maybe that's the problem.

So I have bitten the bullet. I have made an appointment to have my ears syringed. I've got the drops to start putting in - but the problem is it isn't until a week on Friday. So my wife has to put up with another week and a half of shouting at me. I don't mind, but the neighbours might have something to say about it.

In a perverse way, I'm quite looking forward to it, even though I hate the doctors. If memory serves, the sense you get after having it done is that someone has literally turned up the world. Everyone seems to start shouting, and you can hear an ant cough six miles away.

I will, of course, let you know how it goes and you'll be most welcome to post comments.

But please don't shout.

Am I A Girl?

So, last night was The Sound of Music.

I really detest the film. I mean, I really do. It's just a load of puke-inducing twee tripe, so my expectations weren't high for the show. I knew Gillian would really enjoy it, and a night at the theatre tends to normally be a nice experience, but I was sceptical.

But, you know what? I really enjoyed it. It's much better than the film (it's shorter, for a start), and maybe just being with lots of other people watching it, being part of the shared experience, it was really very good. Connie (who won that TV thing) was excellent, as were all the cast really. The children were great. Not bad really, coming from someone who agreed with the comedian who said the The Sound of Music was the only time in his life he "found himself cheering for the Nazis".

Don't get me wrong - you still won't get me in front of the film, but I did enjoy the show. And I do hope that doesn't mean I'm any less of a man. One of the most amazing things to me was the sets and how they turn one scene into another. How do all the bits of flying scenery not bump into one another? Or one of the Von Trapp children?

So, there you are. Surprise, surprise - I had a good time! Those of your following my sleep patterns will be pleased to know last night wasn't quite as bad, so I'm feeling like less of a zombie today. I don't think it will last.

Whoever came up with phrase "sleeping like a baby" obviously never had one. Or was deaf.

The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Snoring...

You didn't realise it was Christmas today, did you?

Well, erm, that's because it isn't. But it's the nearest thing to Christmas without it actually being Christmas. For this evening is when I escort my lovely wife to the West End musical The Sound of Music. It was my Christmas present to her, but you have to wait so bloomin' long to get tickets we're only going today.

The problem is that we've had another couple of really bad nights with practically no sleep, so I'm slightly concerned that I'm going to slip into a rather peaceful snooze during this evening's proceedings. Gillian loves TSOM, but I'm not overly keen myself (to put it mildly), but am looking forward to a trip to the theatre - it's always a nice experience. I just hope my snoring doesn't annoy anyone. If I do fall asleep, it's bound to be due to the fact I'm so tired (bit of a walking zombie today, to be honest) rather than being any sort of critical judgement on the show, or the performances therein, both of which I'm sure will be marvellous.

What's made the sleepiness worse today is that the air-con's broken in the office, and it's rather a warm day. I'm reminded of those student days, when you'd be out until really late and then find yourself the following morning in a warm lecture hall experiencing a coma-inducing lecture. Sleep would inevitably take over.

Here's hoping my lovely daughter will start sleeping properly again soon. In fact, I felt rather a large pang of guilt after my last entry where I questioned whether children were evil. I got home that evening to discover she really wasn't very well and had a fever of 102. Oh. That might be it then.

She seems a bit better now, but sleep is yet to follow.

Tonight. Please. Pretty please.

Are Children Evil?

You might think this a slightly unfair, perhaps even nasty question to be posing, especially seeing as I'm a father, but then you weren't in my house at 4 o'clock this morning.

Children - more specifically, babies, I suppose - are masters of cunning. For the first three months or so, they are small, screaming people. They scream pretty much indiscriminately at day or night. The rules state (at least, in all the books I've read) that there can be several reasons for babies crying. The baby can be hungry, tired, have a wet or dirty nappy, or be (wait for it) bored (if that's a reason to cry, I'm amazed I don't scream my way through more meetings). Apparently, if you gradually eliminate all the possible causes, you'll hit upon the right one and shut the baby up. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah, funny.

After the initial three months of this, they then lull you entirely into a false sense of security. They start sleeping through the night. "Well, I don't know what all the fuss is about", you loudly declare to anyone who happens to walk past you, "This baby sleeping business is easy!". Other parents throw you unpleasant looks of scorn. You don't realise that these are because your sound sleeping won't last.

Lucy, my daughter, is now nearly 14 months old. I love her to bits. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her. But, sadly, all rational thought leaves my brain, when forced to deal with her random, reason-less, restless screams, of the type that she is currently torturing myself and my wife with. All I want to do is get her to go to sleep. Doing that requires you to be loving and soothing, at just the moment you want to (and often do, frankly, if you're me) scream at her to shut up.

Children aren't really evil, of course. Well, except that kid who used to do that Frosties advert ("They're gonna taste great") - I'm fairly sure he's hiding a red pitchfork somewhere. There could be any number of reasons that Lucy's not sleeping at the moment. She could be teething, she could be too hot with the unseasonable heat we are experiencing, or any number of things.

They worst thing that it's quite hard to think straight or concentrate when you're so tired during the day. You end up making either slightly irrational decisions, or not being much good at all. They say that Margaret Thatcher survived on four hours of sleep a night. I guess that explains a lot...

The Tube (Still) Sucks

A couple of months ago now, I published a comment here on how the tube sucks. It was titled "The Tube Sucks". Funnily enough.

After publishing it, I did feel a pang of guilt. We have one of the most advanced, and certainly the largest, urban public transport system in the world, I thought. Of course, every now and then, something will go wrong. And for a while afterwards, apart from the odd slight delay, all was fine.

This week though, this week, has been a nightmare. I don't just mean a normal nightmare, where you're chased down a long corridor by a octopus brandishing a car aerial (just me, then?). I mean a bad one. A really bad one. One featuring Richard Madeley, or something.

Tuesday. I was slightly late in due to a slight hold-up. OK. We live with that.

Wednesday. I got to the tube station, only to discover that the entire tube line was suspended, and that I should "seek alternative routes". What are they then? Space travel? Transmogrification? Fortunately, my tube station is also a mainline station, so I managed to get a train into London. But it did make me late and the poor unfortunates at other stations would not have had the advantage I did.

Thursday. Today. I get on the central line. It gets as far as White City. Then just stops. For ages. The driver comes on the speaker after a period of time not unlike what it would have taken to finish the journey, and informs us that he's "experiencing a problem with the train". An engineer was looking into it. We were, from that point on, all fairly convinced that we were going to be turfed off. Fortunately, another train going the same way pulled into the opposite platform, so we all got on that. Two rush-hour trains-worth of people on one train. More hairy armpits than I like to put my head into on a Thursday morning. Eventually we pull out.

At Oxford Circus, I disembark and head toward the Victoria Line which will take me to my destination. I get there. It's suspended. Faulty train at Green Park. Did the driver on the central line tell me this while I was on there. If he had, I might have liked to get off at Bond Street a stop earlier and availed myself of the Jubilee Line. Idiot.

So, instead, I have to go Bakerloo, then District, and get to the work in the most roundabout way possible.

So, there we go. No more mister nice guy. The tube sucks again.

It seems to be getting worse each day this week. Maybe tomorrow the central line will catapult me to Cockfosters, or something. Mind you, I've always wanted to go there. I think the name amuses me.

Countdown to Bedtime

One of the things about having a blog is that, often, you end up treating it as a bit of a confessional. If you feel guilt, blog it, and an amazing burden is lifted from your hefty (in my case, extremely hefty) shoulders.

Over the Easter weekend, the TV schedules were awash with a type of programming that is pretty trashy, incredibly cheap, but undeniably addictive. I love them. And if I start watching one, I may as well kiss the rest of my evening goodbye. I refer, of course, to those "Top 100" shows.

If you are unfamiliar, they always run thus. Take a topic - perhaps a type of TV programme or film, such as musicals, comedians, "tear-jerkers", horror films, etc etc etc, conduct a loose survey of people to find out which are popular, construct a rudimentary chart which, in reality, is really just an excuse to show lots of clips, and put it on Channel Four for five hours on a Sunday night. Oh, and get Jimmy Carr to do some dry-witted links. And there you are. Bob is, indeed, your mother's brother.

The problem is always that they don't end until about 1am, and you've got to get up the work the next morning, but you're so hooked you have to see what the number one is. This is despite the fact that previous experience dictates that you'll always be inherently disappointed at whatever's number one. You stay up until the crack of dawn, tut at the winner, and then get up for your morning commute approximately forty-five minutes later.

I believe I recall some Channel Four bigwig recently saying that he was going to stop commissioning the Top 100 shows. The reason being, of course, that there's nothing left to count. It's all been done. Top 100 numbers between one and one hundred, perhaps. Now, there's a ratings winner.

I'm waiting, as I'm sure you are too, for the now-inevitable Top 100 Top 100 Shows. If they ever made that, I'm sure the ones I've seen over the last few days will chart highly. Musicals (Number one - Grease), Kids TV Shows (Number one - The Simpsons - that's not a Kids show I shouted at the screen), Tear-jerkers (Didn't actually see the end of that one, but it was probably Titanic), War Films (Saving Private Ryan if I remember correctly) all had me staying up far too late.

Perhaps the Top 100 Jimmy Carr Top 100 Show Links might be an idea with legs. It would at least be mercifully short, and we can all be in bed by ten.

Happy Easter!

Phew! That was a ridiculously busy week, but I seem to have got through it relatively unscathed. Thanks for your patience, you lovely blog-reader, you.

I've spent most of this week either working, or falling asleep on my sofa (instead of helping my wife look after our daughter - sorry, sorry, sorry...), so don't even have a lot to say today. Other than, Happy Easter!

While you're consuming your own weight in chocolate, you might want to spare a thought for what Easter really commemorates. Interested folks can go here.

Oh, and one other thing. From mid-May, you might be interested to know that if you are a listener to my Saturday Breakfast show on Premier, (if you are, you are extremely wise and lovely, if not a charlatan and a fool) I shall be embarking on an entirely new challenge, that will at least mean I'll be working Monday to Friday like a normal person.

And we start on DAB in London on Monday. Hurrah!

Right, I'm off to find a creme egg...

Very Busy...

Hello, faithful reader.

Alas, I am rushed off my size 10s, so I don't have a lot to say today. Or a lot of time to say it.

Except that, wasn't Doctor Who good on Saturday?

Erm. That's it, really.