I stop and stare at the younger, my heart goes to ’em.

A weekend in London babysitting my little brothers and an extended bank holiday have filled the past few days of my life. My parents had gone to a wedding in Yorkshire and were keen for me to keep an eye on ‘the younger’. I had thought that they wanted me to make sure they didn’t do the classic teen-movie thing of inviting all their friends round for a huge party and get the house trashed, but it was more of an opportunity for some sibling bonding. We had a lot of fun playing videogames, going to the park and I enjoyed watching some good fistfights; I also benefited from seeking to share the gospel with the little ones who have not yet professed faith, I’m thankful that God uses our feeble words and answers prayer.

It’s surprising how true the abovementioned school-time situation is. I imagine most attendees to a Western education establishement could tell you a story about someone’s habitat being ransacked by an entire school-load of children. It were like that when I was in school, as soon as one person said that they were thinking about having a house-party the news would spread around the grounds like (queue Southern States drawl) wildfire.

The culprit in our year suffered all the more due to the fact that he wanted to party at his own party. You can picture the situation, hundreds of teenagers in a suburban semi, putting calculators in the microwave (this happened); puking in expensive ceramic containers (this also happened); and throwing bicycles over the neighbour’s fence (yes it did). The host was passed out on the floor. Prior to this he too had had the urge to empty his stomach. Whilst rolling around on the parlour floor, he did not want to ruin the carpet, so when the heaving begun he clawed his way past the Persian rug, and stretched his neck like an athlete on the finishing line, so that his mouth reached the threshold of the next room where the laminate flooring begun and then it was safe to vomit… and then fall asleep in it. So from that point of the evening on, the poor boy was unable to manage his parents’ household and their possessions (wine cellar etc.), until they returned home and everyone either left or suddenly became very polite. Cry cry cry.

“I didn’t ask for your life story.” #9 – Nursery

Early memories of what they apparently now call ‘pre-school’ are few and far between. However, as is often the case, the traumatic memories stay in there, many of which revolve around me not wanting to go to nursery.

“I wanna stay with Muuuuum!”

I remember dreading it when Mum left me there, and begging her to stay. She’d take me over to Mrs. R and she would tell me all about the exciting activities that were taking place today. Then, at my highest point of vulnerability, my Mother would stealthily make her exit.

One weekday morning, I recall that we were doing the story of the three pigs. The teacher had somehow got it into her head that kids liked being scared, so naturally she role played it with me as a pig and her as a wolf. She put on this gargantuan, black, hairball-esque, smelly wig. Then she would, at regular intervals shove it into my face. To this day, I still hate any form of external hair touching my face, it freaks me out.

Story time took place, as it often does, on a seven by seven-foot square of blue carpet. However, it sucked to sit on the floor. There were two bright red cushions, with gleaming white letters of the alphabet written all over them, which two lucky members of the class were allowed to sit on.

We were having a nice ordinary morning, I seem to remember I was playing with a shoe-lace and story time was called. Of course, being stuck in my own world, I could not drag myself away from the marvelous shoe-lace right away, and this was to be my downfall. My best friend had already sat on the red cushion, the cushion next to him was still free, there was still time to get comfort as well as some some peer-to-peer infant solidarity. But, before I knew it, the class ruffian and son of the teacher no less, had placed his backside right where I wanted to be.

What was I to do? I couldn’t sit on the floor with the peasant children, I had to sit next to my best friend and I had to sit on a comfy red cushion! There was no option but to… but to… to use a bit of old-fashioned violence.

I limbered up and charged towards the bully, heading straight for the jugular I pounced. My attack didn’t quite make the impact I first expected it would and I was left grabbing hold of a pair of more hefty arms than I’d ever expect a three and a half year-old to possess. Using my shoulder I eventually managed to shove him off, and the cushion was mine.

But not for long. The rascall leaped up from his vanquished heap and in turn grabbed my arm. He promptly rolled up my sleeve and dug his fangs rather deeply into my left arm. I screamed in pain. Mrs R (his Mother) prized us apart and marched us outside the classroom.

Of course him being her son and all, she was soft on him. I remember being disgusted at the fact she gave us both exactly the same telling of, even though I’d only partaken in a gentle push and shove, but he had made the journey from child to vampire in the space of thirty-three seconds.

Justice must me had! The court case commences next Thursday.

Indelible Links – June 30th, 2010

Cookie Monster: The Morning After.

After the soccer controversy.

Not quite so ‘Iron’ Man.

New Harry Pots Trailaaaah.

Naughty child.

Buzz Lightyear and Woody re-imagined.

Indelible Links – June 24th, 2010

Lots of pictures of the oil spill.

Whatever you do, don’t drink Coke.

I want this guy’s name.

Cheers!

Ronaldo gives birth to a ball.

Make your own Batmobile.

Cool ten pin bowling trick involving a bar stool.

Ever wondered what Darth Vader wears to parties?

Nine highlights from a rare photographs site:

  1. Kirk Douglas steals Brigitte Bardot’s moustache.
  2. He was smug even when he was kid.
  3. Barrymore, on the shoulders of Spielberg.
  4. Swiftcover.com
  5. Smells like teen spirit, or has someone done a whoopsie?
  6. I fear he may be serious.
  7. STELLAAAAA!
  8. Coolest. Dad. Ever.
  9. It don’t matter if you’re black, or white, or a tortoise.

We’ve Gone Viral! (in Japan)

Many of you may have seen this video:

It’s super cute and has just become my most viewed video (by about a hundred thousand). So that’s really cool!

Did I mention that they are predominantly in Japan? Turns out it has been posted on at least three big Japanese blogs.

The thing is, can it be classed as viral? Well definitions vary but this one seems to disagree:

I think you have the wrong definition of viral. Just because a video has a lot of views doesn’t mean it’s viral. Viral means that the video is posted everywhere to advertise/talk about it, whether it encourages you to or not. Obviously more views comes from this, but it’s possible to just have a video in one location with a lot of views and have it not be considered viral.

Whatevah.

Anyway, it’s cool because now I can sing this with Tom Waits: