Recently, Clem has been vey keen to watch the bedtime story on CBeebies, and y’know, so have I, particularly since John Barrowman (AKA Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood) is a regular. They’ve recruited the most incredibly eye-candilicious line-up of story tellers that are definitely for the parents. And I imagine that I’m not alone in feeling that Captain Jack could tuck me in anytime he likes.
For anyone who’s ever been photographed. Merci, Petite Pomme
I’d like to congratulate the utter idiots who came up with Westminster Council’s Parking By Phone system. It must be a very nice way of earning the council a pile of cash through parking fines, because it is the most opaque, time-wasting load of rubbish I’ve come across in a long time.
In certain parts of Westminster, namely Queen’s Park, they are trialling a Parking by Phone system which means that if you park on a meter, you can no longer stick in a quid, slap on a ticket and do whatever you have to. Oh no. You have to waste half an hour of your life registering for an account to pay and get an 11-digit number that you have to input and then pay by credit card.
The system is so badly designed that when you put in your car number plate, it backtracks after every three figures and becomes so confusing that you’ve no idea where you were, end up putting in the wrong bloody information and having to start again. Half an hour later, 10 years older and one parking ticket the poorer.
And the best bit is that if you try to talk to a human, there isn’t one, only some poor woman in customer services whose job it is to re-route irate callers back to the unusable payment line.
I know, I know. It’s just another way to try to part me with my car, but stuff like that just makes me militant. Give me a decent public transport system and I’ll use it. Give me buses that won’t let me on with a pram, and I’ll take my car, thank you very much.
Just want to say happy birthday to Carrie Fisher who is 50 today.
Been doing this baby-led weaning thing, thanks to Hal’s early determination not to eat anything off a spoon.
It does make weaning tricky, when health visitors sing only from the baby rice and puree hymn sheet. I was beginning to freak when he wouldn’t even succumb to ice cream in 40+ degree weather during the summer in France (Good for you, boy. Stick to your guns. And spite that face). Then he swiped a piece of toast from dug’s plate and the rest is history.
It’s a bit of a movement, with a yahoo chat group, a queen-bee blogger (who’s actually very good and committed) and even a UNESCO study to add credibility. I had to remove myself from the yahoo group because I was beginning to resent the space it was taking up in my inbox, and I giving less and less of a damn about whether other peoples’ babies shat undigested sweetcorn. So sue me, I used them. They were my brick cart but now I can walk…
What has been fascinating is watching the mental process of an eight-month-old who has figured out that the fastest way to shovel butternut-squash risotto into his mouth is not with his fists but by using a tool, ie, a spoon. Darwin would have been proud.
Here’s another bit of youtube brilliance this time it’s the Dave and Tony show.
Billy showed me this the other day. I’m so totally out of touch that it was a brilliant novelty. Fantastic. OK GO