I know what you did last Winter

I know it's late, but I have been doing my own review of last year. A year with more hi and low lights than George Michael's hair in the Wham days. Anyone that reads these blogs or follows my Twitter feed can oft lay the 'Too Much Information' tag at my door, but I didn't tell you everything, well not yet anyway.

One of the biggest things I forgot to mention was that we moved house, a most traumatic experience at the best of times, and by God I wish we had picked the best of times. Instead, we picked the week before Christmas to move, the day after it started snowing, the day the kids broke up from school. Nothing like a challenge to get the blood pressure going. The move itself deserves a full blog devoted to it, but every time I try, my left eye starts twitching and won't stop until I mainline some Jack Daniels. Maybe one day, when the wound is not so raw, I will write it, give it another 14 years I reckon.

Don't get me wrong I love the new house, it has 3 toilets, the importance of this will become clear in a minute, a brand new kitchen, and a conservetory consevotery lean to (too many vowels, not enough time). All the kids have their own bedroom now, so I am looking forward to some sleep for the first time in five years. Unfortunately I got a fairly bad case of what I thought was food poisoning on the second day. Never has the extravagance of lots of toilets been such a practical blessing. Whilst everyone else has been discovering all the different nooks and crannies of the house, I have been discovering which toilet seat fits my arse the best. I also discovered that the previous owners must have been made out of a bendy rubber type substance, as you have to have arms growing out of your back to reach any of the toilet roll holders.

A few weeks later I was talking to my Brother-in-law about how ill I still was. He sympathised as apparently he had gone through the same thing three weeks before, then his work colleague had it, then his best mate Scooby (don't ask). His next statement was said with a straight face and no sense of irony, "There just doesn't seem to be any kind of common denominator." No mate, none at all, well none other than YOU, the man now to be referred to as 'The Sickness Reaper'.

As bad as the sickness was, I didn't let it curtail my drinking habits, especially on New Year's Eve. God, now that I'm a year older the hangovers seem to be a year worse. Although I've not yet found one I haven't been able to drink my way out of. New Years Day found me setting up camp in the toilet with a sink next to it, armed with only a book and a bottle of wine. Start the year as you mean to go on I say. I even invented a new word as I was sitting there contemplating the meaning of life (the answer to which is, buy more towels).

TANKERED (adj.) the state of being between getting tanked, and getting wankered. For use in polite circles.

Now I just have to find out the procedure for getting it into the Oxford dictionary, and how much they are going to pay me for it. Fame and fortune will be mine I tell you.

One of the other downsides to the move was losing my broadband for what was meant to be seven days, but ended up being 37 (see my letter to Rupert Murdoch on that score). I should have taken this opportunity to get some writing done without the distraction of Twitter and YouTube, but I didn't. I couldn't even bear to turn the PC on. It was the geek version of having a really hot girlfriend at the wrong time of month, pointless. I still had my iPhone, so I wasn't completely cut off from the world. I even developed modern day insanity, in which I would send myself emails instead of talking to myself.

I did end up doing a lot more Housebitch stuff, although that was more prompted by a comment made by my eldest, Dawn, than any sense of new house pride. On returning from school one day, she enquired as to whether the broadband was up and running yet. When I answered in the reproducing negative, she asked (with some concern I hasten to add) what I had been doing all day without the PC. I somewhat stupidly/hastily replied, "Loads, do you think this house cleans itself?" To her credit she did not burst into laughter, but the way her eyes darted left and right, surveying the pig-sty of a front room, betrayed her real thoughts.

I now have a garage as well as a shed, so I now have two places to hide my secret stash of beer. I have even given the beers their own code name, DW40. So when I am using WD40 to oil the squeakiest doors in the world, I can use DW40 to get well oiled myself. I have also found a light switch in one of the cupboards under the stairs (one is going to become Mate's punishment dungeon) that does not appear to lead to anything. I have visions of the neighbours TV turning on and off every time I flick it, which is a lot now I've had that thought.

Of course my normal way of dealing with the kids was thrown upside-down with the Wife having two weeks off. Our parenting routine is less Good Cop/Bad Cop and more Amnesty International Worker/African Despot. Every time I say "No" to Mate, he cries so hard it always produces the 'what have you done to him' look. I normally only have to put up with it at the weekends, but two weeks was murder. By the time January came around, the cocky little bugger was running the place, all with an indulgent smile from his Mum.

The year did end on a sad note, with the death of a very close and important friend. Our Sky+ box with its 90% full memory of all my favourite films, and half watched TV series', departed this world for tech heaven. The tears were flowing as I begged the Sky engineer to do something, anything. Eventually the life support was turned off, and the plug pulled out of the socket. I felt like I had been stabbed in the guts. Farewell old friend, I will miss you.

Sheer Bliss, plus Mate

Its 7am Monday morning, the busiest and most hectic 2 hours of the week are upon me. The previous nights bottle of Cava only slightly slowing me down as I try to organise thoughts and plans in my head. 7.00-7.20 is Dawns slot in the bathroom, so a shout upstairs and a returned grunt gets that process going. Breakfasts are made, lunch boxes sorted, uniforms thrown on various children as I consider the first coffee of the day.

Dawn has overrun her allotted time, so a grumbling mumbling Wife takes the 7.25-7.50 position. Katy's elasticated tie is being used as a slingshot, her cardigan is on upside down, and her shoes are on the wrong feet. So far so good, a definite improvement on last week. Dawn slams out of the door, then sheepishly comes back in 2 minutes later to pick up forgotten homework. I actually get a goodbye second time round.

Wife eventually graces us with her presence, leaving me with the 7.55-8.00 final slot. I actually waste 30 seconds of my time looking in the mirror, always a mistake as the day is getting old fast, as am I by the looks of it. I waste a further 30 seconds trying to convince myself the grey makes me look more George Clooney than George Formby. An argument I lose every time. No time for a proper wash, will have to use the 'spray the deodorant in the air and wander around' trick. Can't dare despoil the wonderfully sculpted noses of the Mums who are unfortunate to be downwind of me in the playground. Well not again anyway.

Back downstairs and it's time to redress Katy, grab a sip of cold coffee, and pour everybody into the car. School bags, lunch bags, PE bags, and handbags all thrown in after them. A quick look around to check I have everything, which of course I haven't, so I pick up the nearest three things to me, and hope one of them fits the bill. Drop wife at station where she realises she has forgotten her glasses. Apparently my offer of either a stapler, empty CD case, or a blue sock does not help. A very silent (well silent on my part) drive back to the house ensues. Back to the station where a grateful (again, grateful on my part) drop off is completed. I have now lost 40% of the household, 20% to go. This is the kind of fiscal deficit I like.

On to Katy's school and we are actually early for a change, and by early I mean on time. I get a puzzled look from the caretaker as I walk past, and I realise this is the first time he has seen me not running with a child under each arm. His look of puzzlement returns to a smile as I run back to the car to retrieve the forgotten book bag. I grab a handful of hair clips from my pocket and attempt to do something with Katy's hair. I stand back and admire my work. She now looks like she has survived a heavy gale, rather than a full blown tsunami, so I am pleased. I go to wipe away her tears of abandonment but she has gone without even a backward glance. I vow to deal with my own abandonment issues. Maybe next term.

A slow walk back to the car, stuck behind the slow procession of Chanel No5 fumes and Mummy's with buggies. I forget about a quick getaway, and holding my breath, join the procession. Eventually I reach the car, my face a shade of blue from oxygen deprivation. A few deep breaths and my head stops swimming and I am OK to drive. I should walk really, it's only a 15 min walk, but what's the point having a car if you don't use it?

I arrive home twenty minutes later. Bloody school run traffic, drives me crazy. Go to get the unwanted stapler, CD case and sock out of the car, but decide against it, you never know when they will come in handy. I sweep them onto the floor to join the map of France, the old video remote, and a forgotten Teddy Bear called Tongue. Like I said, you just never know.

I open the door to the house and close it behind me, maybe a little too loudly, too extravagantly. A smile appears on my face for the first time today as I survey the silence. All I can hear is my own small giggle as I contemplate the lazy day ahead. Maybe I will put a wash on, probably not though. Maybe I will wash the kitchen floor, almost definitely not. Maybe I will read the paper cover to cover whilst sipping a piping hot cup of coffee, I answer out loud. A resounding "Sounds like a plan". I laugh again. I am happy with my lot, happy with my new found solitude. Not so happy with this new development of talking to myself, but I'm sure I will get used to it.

A small tap on the door brings me back to reality. I turn expecting to see the postman at the door, but I see nothing through the frosted glass. Another tap on the door and I open it with a slight frustration. I look down and there stands my two year old son Mate. His look says 'you forgot me again', his mouth says "breakfast". I gather him into my arms, go back into the house, and recalculate my day.

Sheer bliss, plus Mate.