 Friday, November 06, 2009 |
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Something around here smells fishy...
I think it's my cod pieces. They're stinking out the flat.
Anyhoo, Lisa's been out all evening, enjoying a well-earned break with her sister and a friend. They're having a meal at Harry's, a restaurant in Hove which is popular with Frank Bruno (I expect). I went there four and a half years ago, and I haven't been back since, which says about all you need to know about the place.
As we speak, it's approaching half past ten, and Lisa's not back yet. Which doesn't surprise me. Her departure from here was essentially a game of Bus Chicken, a popular pastime (with Lisa) which involves looking up the movements of buses in real time on the Brighton Buses website, waiting until one's about a hundred yards away, and then running out of the front door just in time to catch it from the stop outside. Feel free to try it here. Although it doesn't really work unless you live in my flat.
Obviously with hit-and-miss travel plans like that, I'm not expecting her back any time soon, so facing an evening on our own, Amelie and I decided to spend it creating a culinary masterpiece of our own. Although she let me down by going to bed at 7pm, just as the washing up was reaching the cupboard above the draining board.
Anyhoo, we've successfully made 'Mini Fish Pies' from Lorraine Kelly's Baby & Toddler Eating Plan. Unfortunately I only had three ramekins, so two of them aren't so much mini as extra large. But the way Amelie eats, she could polish one off and still expect dessert. I picked her up from her Grandmother's after work today, and Lisa's sister was there, feeding her a whole tomato. She was eating it like an apple, and making a disgusted face at every mouthful, but despite clearly loathing the taste with every fibre of her being, she still carried on eating it. As an adult, that could be considered politeness, but at her age it's just gluttony. I don't know who she gets it from. |
posted by Phil at 22:47 
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| Wednesday, November 04, 2009 |
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If there's one thing I wasn't expecting to see today, it's the sight of my daughter lying on a guillotine in the middle of the hospital. I've heard of NHS cuts, but this is going too far.
As it happens, I was walking past the open door of the graphic design department this morning (on my way to the toilet), when my eye was caught by a familiar face looking back at me from the paper cutter just inside their office. At first I thought it was Lisa's Mum without her hair on, but it turned out to be Amelie. Naturally I wanted to know why my daughter was being given the chop by senior management, so I walked straight in (without knocking) and asked what was going on.
As it turns out, the communications team (who've been strangely silent for the past couple of months) have finally decided on the locations for the hospital's new range of infection control posters, and in the words of our senior graphic designer, "Amelie's going everywhere". In particular, her beaming face will be adorning the entrance of the Royal Alexandra Children's Hospital, reminding everyone who walks through those doors to wash their hands. Which is ironic, because hers are usually filthy.
She'll also be facing the canteen, presumably in an effort to take people's minds off the food, and "on the wall under the stairs". Which doesn't sound like what you'd call a prime location, but is apparently home to an important hand gel dispenser.
I don't yet have a date for when the flyposting will take place, but Lisa's already standing by the front door with her shoes on. The hospital's only over the road, so I think she'll be checking on a daily basis. Obviously we're likely to be arrested when we're spotted loitering near sick children with a camera, but fortunately I can prove I'm related to the poster child on looks alone. Lisa's the only one who'll be locked up. |
posted by Phil at 19:58
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| Tuesday, November 03, 2009 |
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If there's one thing I've always said, it's that Lisa's Mum looks like a witch...
 
Which is Witch?
Well ok, I've never said that. But Lisa's sister has.
The word on the street (in Hove at least) is that the moment Amelie puts on a cheap wig and scary face, she instantly morphs into the spitting (well, dribbling) image of her grandmother. In the words of Lisa's sister, "She's got the Greening eyes". And the greening hair, obviously. It's only a matter of time before she has glaucoma and is failing to recognise her own children in Safeway.
But in other news, Lisa was mocking me last night for the fact that I have a dictionary with pictures. She's just jealous because she has no idea what a solenoid looks like. Personally I've been using the Illustrated Oxford Dictionary for more than ten years now. It's useful to be able to look up a word like elasmobranch, see a photo of a Great White bearing down on you, and not waste any time reading the definition. But Lisa just thinks I'm backward.
So to get my revenge, I told her that in addition to having pictures on every page, my dictionary is also unusual for the fact that it doesn't list the word 'gullible'. Obviously no one's fallen for that joke since I was about eight years old, but I thought it was worth a try. And if I hadn't burst out laughing at the wrong moment, I'd have got a photo of her looking it up. |
posted by Phil at 19:56
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| Monday, November 02, 2009 |
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If you're going to ditch the buggy and start walking, you need a decent pair of shoes...
And if they taste good, that's a bonus.
Just over three weeks ago, with the ker-ching of Amelie's birthday money still ringing in our bank accounts, Lisa went out and bought her a pair of shoes. They were made for children aged 12-18 months. And they didn't fit her. Amelie has a couple of lion paws on the ends of her legs, and frankly they'd have been more comfy in the shoebox. Unfortunately, by the time we discovered that, Lisa had cut off the tags and thrown away the receipt. We spent a week forcing her fat feet into thin shoes, before the sound of throbbing and the sight of Smurf toes persuaded us to stop.
So she's needed some new shoes for a while. And what better way to get hold of a pair than by inviting Marie down for the afternoon, and telling her to buy some. She's very pliable like that. Unfortunately she's not quite pliable enough to persuade her to eat the Tuna Pasta Bake I'd so lovingly got out of a jar for her at lunchtime, but you can't have everything. Apparently after seven years of friendship, I should know that she doesn't eat fish. Although I'm sure she's had crabs.
Anyhoo, having ditched the tuna, we spent an enjoyable afternoon gossiping about other people, and feeling generally superior. Or maybe that was just me. Unfortunately I forgot to take any photos, so here are a few to be going on with. None of us have changed. Apart from Amelie. I did get a request to mention that reprobate James on this blog, but frankly he's had enough namechecks as it is, and I still haven't forgiven him for cheating at Mike Read's Pop Quiz five years ago. I'll say one thing for the man though - I don't think his singing's as dreadful as Marie makes out.
With the breeze well and truly shot, Marie and I headed into town to look for baby shoes. We ended up searching the entire ranges of Primark, BHS, M & S, H & M, B & Q, Barratts and Next, which amounted to a grand total of... oooh, about three pairs. I don't know if there's some kind of anti-Amelie conspiracy going on (although it wouldn't surprise me), but the choice of size 4 girls shoes which didn't feature a picture of Peppa Pig or the words 'High School Musical' was meagre beyond belief. I would have given up, were it not for the odd looks we kept getting as we wheeled a barefoot one-year-old around Brighton city centre in the gathering gloom of November.
Fortunately, just as the frostbite was taking hold of Amelie's toes, we found the perfect pair in Next, and like the Fairy Godmother and Prince Charming combined, Marie waved her magic wand, produced a credit card, and slipped the shoes onto Cinderella's feet. Not only are they the perfect fit, but Amelie loves them, and they should last her for about six months. So I'll be inviting Marie back in April. |
posted by Phil at 20:57
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| Sunday, November 01, 2009 |
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We never did go trick or treating in the end. Amelie tricked me by going to bed at 7pm, so I treated myself to an Asda shopping trip instead. I have to say, it's a slightly unsettling experience doing your weekly shop on the evening of Halloween. The place was full of people on their way to parties, which would be fine if they weren't all dressed as vampires and zombies. I almost ran my trolley over Dracula's cape in the baked bean aisle. I also saw a couple dressed in bin liners with blood all over their faces, picking up painkillers in the medicine aisle. Either they were heading for a Halloween party, or they have a lot of faith in the power of paracetamol.
Asda had a fantastic display of Halloween products, complete with mood lighting and an audio track of appropriately spooky sounds. Unfortunately it was at the back of the greetings card aisle, and I needed to buy a birthday card. You've no idea how difficult it is to choose something cheerful whilst listening to violent screams and moans of pain. I kept being drawn towards the get well soon cards.
But I managed to get my shopping and drive home through the hordes of tiny ghosts and pirates who seemed to be roaming the length of Eastern Road at way past their bedtime. Lisa and I barricaded ourselves in for the rest of the evening, but as this night-vision CCTV footage shows, the witches were out after midnight...
Fortunately Supernanny is on her way. Amelie's Auntie Marie will be here in two hours time. And she lives in Croydon, so she's used to dealing with youth crime. |
posted by Phil at 10:50
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| Friday, October 30, 2009 |
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Never mind the Nolans, I've just shot this footage of Amelie winding down before bedtime...
At this rate she'll be able to go out trick or treating on her own. |
posted by Phil at 19:42
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| Thursday, October 29, 2009 |
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Big Sis is back! Hurrah!
If you're wondering what she's holding in her hand, it's a pre-paid Brighton bus ticket. The open-mouthed expression is because she still couldn't believe we expected her to use public transport.
As for me, I'm putting a brave face on a bad headache. I saw a grand total of twenty-eight patients yesterday, and I think one of them gave me a lot more than just a firm handshake and a copy of their appointment letter. I'm sure I'm coming down with some kind of flu-type nastiness. Personally I blame the woman who wished me Happy Christmas as she walked out of the door.
But the good news is that I saw my urology consultant this morning, and after six months under his care, he's decided that I'm cured and is planning to discharge me. On the downside, he wants me to continue taking Tamsulosin every day for the rest of my life. Which seemed a bit excessive until he told me I've only got six months to live.
Just kidding. He actually informed me that I definitely (his word, not mine, and he should know - he's taken six months to come to this conclusion) have Chronic Bacterial Prostatitis, and the only thing likely to stop it flaring up repeatedly until I'm well into my nineties, is for me to take an alpha blocker a day for the next half a century. I agreed, whilst mentally trying to work out how much that's going to cost me in prescription charges.
But having struggled through the day with a headache, I was buoyed by the arrival of Big Sis at 6:45pm. And her departure half an hour later. She's been left to her own Devizes in Wiltshire for the past couple of months, but she paid a flying visit to Brighton this evening to accompany Lisa to a Nolans concert. I know, I can't believe there are two people who want to go either. But there are. And they're both related to me. I don't know what I've done to deserve this.
So Sis breezed in forty-five minutes late, asked if she could borrow some hair straighteners, forced me to carry a microwave to her car, then gave me her American Express card and told me to order a wedding present online for two of her friends. Having browsed the John Lewis gift list, I eventually went with a paper shredder for £43.50. It'll come in useful if they ever get divorced.
That done, Bis Sis asked Lisa how they were getting to the Brighton Centre. I'm not saying she was appalled by the answer, but her expression was the main reason I asked to take the photo above. She was obviously expecting a limo. And frankly, with the amount of money the Nolans charged me for tickets, so was I. At the very least, they should get a lift home from Coleen. |
posted by Phil at 21:02
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| Wednesday, October 28, 2009 |
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I was searching (unsuccesfully) for something on my hard drive this evening, and I came across this long-forgotten photo from the end of last November...
I can't believe how much she's grown (and I've aged). The only man who could hold her with one arm now is Steve Austin. These days she's trotting across the living room, jumping onto the coffee table, and smearing chocolate buttons all over the furniture...
I blame her Grandma for that. If it wasn't for the fact that our sofa already has vomit stains, cat scratches, legs held on with glue, and a burn mark where Lisa put down the iron, I'd be quite annoyed.
But the girl's progress over the past few months has been remarkable. As Lisa said to me quite seriously the other day, "Amelie's now at the point where she can eat human food".
I think I'll put away the cat biscuits. |
posted by Phil at 20:25
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| Tuesday, October 27, 2009 |
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You know what it's like. You crawl out of bed at 7am on a Tuesday morning feeling dog-tired after a bad night's sleep, and by 2pm that afternoon you're single-handedly training the international doctors of tomorrow. It makes me wish I'd bothered to shave this morning.
I was doing a clinic in the hospital's diabetes centre this afternoon, and the consultants there are currently playing host to a group of medical students who are spending time in various departments as part of their doctorly training. Most of them look about three years older than Amelie, and are presumably just as tiring to look after, because half an hour into my clinic I was asked to take one of them off the consultant's hands and let her sit in on a few of my patients.
She turned out to be an American girl, so what she's doing over here, I have no idea. I expect it's all part of Obama's healthcare reforms. Although the way they've been slagging off the NHS over there, I presume she's not a Republican. She was actually a very nice young lady, and as a doctor in training, she probably knows more than I do about virtually every part of the body. But not the retinas. Oh no. I spent forty-five minutes answering the girl's questions and showing her photos (of eyes, not Amelie), and it was all very enjoyable. There's something deeply satisfying about being looked up to by someone with five A*s at A-level.
With one international exchange student well and truly educated, I was promptly given another. This one was British, and only looked about two years older than Amelie. It was like spending half an hour with Doogie Howser MD. I was going to say that to her, before realising that she probably hadn't been born when that show was on TV. At which point I shed a silent tear and wondered where my life's gone.
Anyhoo, the best part of it all was that I had to sign their official training logbooks to say that they'd sat in on one of my clinics and I'd instructed them in the dark arts of retinopathy. So when they sit their finals in a few years time, and stand on the brink of being qualified doctors, they'll be able to look back on those records and see that they learnt everything they know about retinas from me. And when they fail those exams, they'll know who to blame. |
posted by Phil at 19:50
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| Sunday, October 25, 2009 |
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I might be twenty-five years too late, but I've finally got into Brighton College...
That's me in the foyer. The booze on the left is extracurricular. Fortunately, to pass the entrance exam yesterday afternoon, all you needed was a wedding invitation. Our good friend Lorraine moved house on Monday with her three cats and two babies, so what better time to get married than the following Saturday. She booked Brighton College mainly so that Lisa and I wouldn't have to walk more than a hundred yards to get there. She knows what we're like for being late.
And here are the happy couple...
It's as if David Cameron has married Barbie. We also thought the littlest bridesmaid was a lot like Amelie. Only much better behaved.
 Anyhoo, despite the confusing signs, we found our way around Brighton College quite well yesterday. The wedding ceremony was held in the chapel, which featured the kind of numbingly hard pews which make you want to stand up and praise the Lord at all times. Lorraine had eschewed the traditional organist in favour of a string quartet made up of retired members of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, which I thought was a nice touch. I've never sung a hymn accompanied by violins before.
As the congregation settled down to a nervous hush, Lisa realised she had her mobile phone on, which is ironic, as she never normally does. But fortunately she turned it off before the groom's sister (who's apparently been on X-Factor) took to the lectern to perform an a cappella version of 'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face'. Which according to the best man's speech, was at a barbecue. Personally I thought she was very good. Despite what Simon Cowell may have said.
 With the vows made, and the couple spliced, we made our way outside for the photos. And then inside shortly afterwards when we realised how cold it was. It gave Lisa and I the chance to catch up with the winner of the award for 'Person Who Travelled Furthest To Be Here'. That's her on the left, pictured with the woman who lives within spitting distance.
I actually mentioned that young lady on this blog three and a half years ago (third paragraph from the bottom), and despite having moved back to Tokyo since then, she'd flown for seventeen hours on a plane just to attend Lorraine's wedding. Which makes me feel slightly guilty that she got there before us.
Anyhoo, we had plenty of time to mingle, because there was a gap of more than two hours between the ceremony and the sight of any food. I was so hungry, I could barely shake hands with drunk people.
 But fortunately I managed to summon the strength to take this photo of Lisa with the blushing bride. Admittedly, Lisa's looking the wrong way, and Lorraine's not looking at all, but you can't have everything. At least Lisa's not falling down the stairs.
Shortly afterwards, we finally took our seats for a surprisingly good meal of pork, duck and white chocolate (not all in the same course), which was served to us by people in Brighton College aprons. It was a bit like a Hogwarts banquet, only more magical. I particularly enjoyed the anecdote shared by a chap on our table, who recounted to us the story of Lorraine's 21st birthday do, a fancy-dress party held at a venue owned by a Jewish couple. Which wouldn't be significant were it not for the fact that someone turned up dressed as Hitler.
As it happens, Lisa was at that party too. She went as Popeye. And trust me, if photos exist, I will find them.
Anyhoo, the sit-down meal was good, the evening buffet was better, and I even enjoyed dancing to 'Love Shack' by the B-52s, but my favourite part of the whole day was the moment when Lorraine stood up in front of a hall full of people and publicly identified the role that Lisa's played in her life over the past ten years...
That Alison sounds like a nightmare too. |
posted by Phil at 11:25
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| Saturday, October 24, 2009 |
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I know there's a credit crunch on, but when you go out for a couple of hours on a Friday night, you don't expect to end up with this...
That's a torn and restored five pound note, courtesy of Pete Firman. As he said to me onstage last night, shortly before asking the audience to give me a round of applause, "If you show that to your bank manager in the morning, he'll tell you what you can do with it".
Anyhoo, despite costing me slightly more than expected, The Pete Firman Magic Show at the Pavilion Theatre last night was very good. The evening started well when Lisa turned to me at the bus stop and admitted that she'd never heard of Pete Firman, never seen Monkey Magic, and would much rather have stayed in and watched EastEnders. Fortunately I have the ability to ignore everything she says (particularly when it involves EastEnders), so I didn't let it dampen my spirits. And besides, I was keeping my fingers crossed for a bit of audience participation. I knew she'd perk up once she was being sawn in half.
Having arrived at the theatre, Lisa surprised me by choosing seats in the second row. Bearing in mind that on the three occasions we've been to see Derren Brown, she's hit the deck and hidden under her chair every time he's asked for a volunteer, I felt it was a bold move. So we took our seats front and centre, next to a couple who were eating a selection of sushi. Which says just about everything you need to know about Brighton.
Thirty seconds before the metaphorical curtain went up (this was the Pavilion Theatre, so there wasn't one), my Mum texted me with the good news that Amelie had settled into her weekend retreat perfectly, and made herself at home. Well, what she actually said was "Do you have a loft we can put our valuables in?", but it amounts to the same thing.
The show began at 7:30pm, but it was a full ten minutes before Lisa was singled out and invited to take part. And I was right: it did perk her up. I could hear her heart pounding a mile off. It basically involved a trick in which Pete would magically seperate two handkerchiefs which had been tied together. He needed someone to verify that the knot was both genuine and tight, and having scanned the first few rows of the audience, he spotted Lisa, and immediately realised that she'd be perfect for the job. After all, if you're going to pull the wool over someone's eyes, choose the woman who couldn't tie a knot to save her life.
Lisa was forced to announce her name to the audience, and thoroughly examine the knot. I asked her afterwards if it really had been genuine, and she told me that the whole experience was just a blur of panic and stress, so she has no idea. It's amazing how the human mind copes with trauma.
 Fortunately, Lisa wasn't the only one who got to enjoy a bit of local fame last night. Barely halfway through the show, Pete Firman suddenly pointed at me, asked for my name, and requested a five pound note from me, adding "With the money you've saved on those clothes, Phil, I'm sure you've got one". Luckily for him, I did. So I handed it over. And he tore it up.
It was an interesting moment. As Pete said to me over the sound of ripping, "You've paid good money for this, Phil, so I hope you're enjoying it". The thing is, I think he really did tear it up. If he didn't, it was a damn good trick. I suspect the fiver I got back, covered in tape, was one he'd prepared earlier in true Blue Peter fashion.
Anyhoo, Lisa and I might have been the stars of the show (I got two (count them) rounds of applause), but I have to say that Pete was very good too. He did some of the most traditional magic ever invented (the linking rings, the egg bag) but made it funny and interesting, and even Lisa, who'd started off with her mind back in Albert Square, admitted that she'd thoroughly enjoyed the show. All in all, it was money well spent. Apart from the fiver. |
posted by Phil at 12:24
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| Friday, October 23, 2009 |
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First I spent time with Germans. Then I washed the hair of Hitler. Now I've met someone who's dressed as a Nazi and machine-gunned Robert Mitchum. Thank God it's Friday. If this carries on for much longer, I'll be appearing on Question Time.
Anyhoo, I love the conversations I have with my patients. I ask them about their diabetic control and blood pressure, and they tell me that they've appeared as an extra in The Longest Day with John Wayne and Henry Fonda. I'm probably breaching patient confidentiality by telling you this, but the Nazi with the machine gun who mows them down at the top of the hill in Normandy is now a diabetic living somewhere in Sussex. I've got a photo of the man, but you probably wouldn't recognise him from his retinas.
 Movie magic aside, Lisa and I have performed our own vanishing act this afternoon. We've made Amelie disappear. We've successfully packed her off to her grandparents' for a couple of days to enable us to attend the wedding of our good friend (and cat-fattener) Lorraine tomorrow. So in an effort to make the most of some precious child-free time, we're clambering straight over the living room wreckage that Amelie's left behind, and heading out of the front door tonight to see master magician, Pete Firman. He's playing the Pavilion Theatre in Brighton this evening. It's almost a year and a half since Lisa and Amelie appeared onstage there, so it'll be nice to go back. |
posted by Phil at 18:22
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