Gaggia Gelatiera

A couple of weeks ago those lovely people at Phillips asked me if I wanted to try out an ice cream maker.  Being the dutiful husband that I am, I checked with the wife first, although unfortunately I did so within earshot of the mini-monsters.

ME:  Do we want an ice cream maker?
THE MRS:  What kind of ice cream maker?
KIDS:  Ice cream?
ME:  The kind that makes ice cream of course.
THE MRS:  I mean what make is it?
KIDS:  Ice Cream?
ME:  Does it matter?
THE MRS:  Of course it does.
KIDS:  Ice Cream?
ME:  Aren’t they all the same?
THE MRS:  Nope. So again, what make is it?
KIDS:  Ice Cream?
ME:  Gaggia
THE MRS:  Get it. Now.
KIDS:  ICE CREAM

So I kindly took them up on their offer as I feared my life would be in danger if I didn’t.  A few days later my Gaggia Gelatiera ice cream maker turned up and, like a kid at Christmas, I hastily ripped it out of its box.  It has its own refrigeration unit which is good news if you want your ice cream nice and quick and want to dispense with all that ‘freeze ingredients, mix together and freeze again’ type nonsense you get with other machines.  As long as your ingredients are cool when you put them in, then you get ready to eat ice cream in 30 minutes, perfect.  The bad news was that that meant I couldn’t instantly start using the machine for a sneaky ice cream session whilst the kids where at school as, with all fridges, you have to let them settle first.

Later that evening, after the kids had gone to bed, I decided to get going with a basic vanilla ice cream.  I’ve posted the recipe at the bottom of the blog (as I will with all the ones I mention) but it’s pretty simple stuff to be honest.  The only prep that took any time at all was letting the milk cool down after you had placed the seeds from a vanilla pod in it and brought it to a boil.  Fiveteen minutes later I was pouring the contents into the Gaggia (after letting the unit pre-freeze itself for a whopping 5 minutes) and 30 minutes after that I was eating some of the best vanilla ice cream I had ever tasted.  The Mrs thought it was better than ‘restaurant’ ice cream and really rich (something she never says about me).

The next night after an afternoon of very loud coercion from the kids, I decided to make them some.  One problem, I had forgotten to buy any eggs.  No worries, the instruction manual had a quite simple ‘no egg ice cream’ recipe, so simple that the only difference was not adding the eggs.  It is at this stage that I must admit my ice cream ignorance, up until the day before I didn’t even realise that you put eggs in ice cream.  But now that I did know, well, I was slightly worried about how the egg-free version was going to turn out.  Well I needed have worried, it turns out like the ice cream you get from the ice cream vans, just with more substance.  The kids were mad for it and I was duly christened ‘The best Dad in the world - ever – again’.  Music to my ears.  I tasted some myself and preferred it to the egg version if I’m quite honest.  I’ve never really been an egg person anyway, I always thought that Humpty Dumpty had got what he deserved.

The next thing on the to-make list was sorbet.  I’m a massive lover of the stuff and will always pick it ahead of ice cream, nothing better than a tangy lemon sorbet.  3 lemons, some sugar, some water and 30 minutes later – Ta da – lemon sorbet tangy enough to make you pull the ‘Priest hearing a dirty joke’ face.

Days later as I was planning my next ice cream, I realised that I hadn’t taken any pictures of my creations to adorn this piece and when you see the pictures I did end up taking you will see why.  Our camera is great for underwater and action shots, not so good for arty beautiful food ones.  So please forgive, I tried my best and then I gave up.

A firm favourite of The Mrs is raspberry ripple and I felt sufficiently confident to give it a whirl.  I used the eggless ice cream recipe, throw out the vanilla, halved the sugar and added some blitzed up raspberries that I kept in a separate pot.  As the ice cream started to solidify I slowly poured the raspberries in and hoped for the best.

 

Well as you can see, it didn’t exactly look like the traditional raspberry ripple, but by god it tasted awesome.  After further research, (I asked one of the Mums in the playground) I realised my mistake – I should have taken the ice cream out earlier, swirled the juice in and then left it to set in the freezer, better luck next time and all that.

In my quest to find some new and slightly unusual flavours I picked the brains of Kate (the aforementioned raspberry ripple expert whose food blog is at http://foodcentric.blogspot.co.uk/ .)  Amongst other things, she suggested strawberry and basil ice cream which definitely fit in the strange but yummy category that I was looking for.  I tore a big bunch of basil leaves up and threw them into the heated milk and let it all cool down.  I then whizzed up a load of strawberries (I know, you’re astounded by my high levels of accuracy) and threw them into the cream, halved the sugar and that was that.

 

What a taste-bud surprise.  I knew what was coming my way yet still my tongue did a little dance of confusion with the first mouthful.  My wife however found it was not exactly to her taste, a ‘little bit too adult’ don’t you know.  Personally I feel this is the fault of her taste buds, she has what doctors call ‘Lucozade-tongue’ and therefore has the palette of a Chilean miner.

I now seem to have become an ice cream monster, I spend hours daydreaming about new recipes and concoctions and it’s all Gaggia’s fault.  This machine is an absolute dream to work with, no mucking around pre-freezing stuff, or waiting around for a mixture to freeze.  I’m yet to find a lump of ice or frozen milk in anything yet, it’s delivered a perfect smooth mix every time.  It’s fast, it comes with a separate removable bowl for when you want to make larger batches of ice cream and it’s easy to clean (especially if you bribe one of the kids to do it with the promise of more ice cream.)  I started this trial wondering if an ice cream maker was really necessary and I’m now fully convinced, especially when it comes to the kids.  I can control the amount of sugar going in it (I normally halve it), I know the eggs used are free-range and as long as I have some milk and cream in the house I can shut them up within delicious ice cream that takes 30 minutes to make – perfect.

I have to thank Phillips, Gaggia and Sam from Ketchum Pleon for providing me with the Gaggia Gelatiera but I do have an apology to make - I can’t return the machine because a magpie swooped through an open kitchen window and flew away with it, honest. 

Now, who’s for Pimms sorbet?

Vanilla Ice Cream

200g milk
half a vanilla pod
4 egg yolks (skip these for the eggless version)
150g sugar
200g double cream
small pinch of salt

Scrape the seeds from the vanilla pod and add to the milk in a small saucepan, almost bring to the boil, remove from the heat and allow to cool for 15 mins.  Mix the yolks with the sugar and salt, beating until well blended.  Then add the milk and cream.  Pour into the pre-cooled ice cream maker and set the timer for 30 minutes.

Lemon Sorbet

3 large lemons
180g sugar
250g of water

Grate the peel of half a lemon and then juice all three lemons.  Mix all the ingredients together.  Pour into the pre-cooled ice cream maker and set the timer for 30 minutes.

Missing Who?

So my eldest daughter started University this week, which is surprising really as she is only seven years old.  Well in my head she is anyway.  I can still see her in her bridesmaid dress when me and the Mrs got married, she really was seven then and in a part of my brain she’s kind of stuck there - forever innocent, immune to the charms of alcohol and late nights.  I have a picture of that moment that sits facing me every time I sit at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, which is every day, but in the 10 years odd that it’s been on the wall I don’t think I’ve looked at it until this week.  Sure I’ve seen it before, smiled at it, ahh isn’t she cute at it, but I never really looked at it until she left.

I have to be honest, I didn’t really think her starting Uni would impact on me too much.  Sure I knew I would worry about her, anyone that can slice through a tendon in their finger getting ice cream out of a tub needs to be worried about (she was using a carving knife…I know), but I wasn’t prepared for the feeling of helplessness that would accompany the worry.  She is 280 miles away, I can’t just run upstairs and make things right for her.  I can’t make sure she’s getting enough sleep, enough food, enough anything. 

She’s her own woman now and I have to let go.

But it’s more than just letting go, it’s about changing my whole mindset.  How do you bring up a child who’s an adult?  When a toddler is starting to walk you child-proof the house – you make sure all sharp corners are rounded, you make sure there is nothing they can pull down on themselves, you make sure the electrical sockets are covered.  But how do you child-proof a University?  I can’t make sure she’s doing her course-work, I can’t vet the tattooed half-wit she met in the Student Union, I can’t even make sure that she drinks JD instead of Vodka so people know she’s drunk and not stupid.

I’ve prepared her the best that I can, I’ve taught her to cook (kind of), I’ve taught her to do her washing (but not how to hang it up so you don’t have to iron it) and I’ve taught her how to take verbal abuse (then dish it back in spades).  I tried to teach her how to keep a bedroom tidy, but failed.  I tried to teach her that all men are bad news, another failure.  I tried to teach her to look after her money but who am I kidding, I failed that one myself and still do.

I’m missing her.

I know, it’s crazy.  How can you miss someone that gets up at the crack of noon on a regular basis?  How can you miss someone who steals all your bandwidth with the constant downloading of Christ knows what?  How can you miss constantly answering the door to the postman who has another five packages from eBay, all addressed to her? 

But I do. 

Every time I drive home from the morning school run I wonder if I’m going to be greeted by the blaring music that indicates she’s up as I open the door – and every time I open the door to silence I’m surprised and then I remember, she’s not here anymore.  Every time I go to have a shower and there’s still hot water left, I’m puzzled - and then I remember, she’s not here to use it all anymore.

I miss her rants about something being ‘un-realistic’ in an episode of Futurama and her missing the irony of that statement.  I miss watching her and Kaede watching Doctor Who.  I just miss.

I am happy for her, I really am.  It was us that insisted that she would get a better University experience if she wasn’t living at home and it wasn’t just because a small part of me was looking forward to getting the big bathroom back.  I genuinely believe that this will be the making of her, this will shape her future, mould her into the awesome woman that I know she is.  I’m just not ready to share her with the world yet.  It doesn’t help when I read Facebook entries like ‘Going to Wet & Wild UV Foam Party, 21.00 to 03.00’.  Then again it’s my fault for reading it, I may have to un-friend her.

I’m having to learn a new way of communicating with her (mostly by text of course), a non-judgemental, you’re a big girl now type way.  I find that if I ignore my first reaction, pause for a 10-count and then reply, it seems to work.  As I’m writing this she’s just text me to say that she’s going surfing today in Newquay.  Naturally, it being mid-September an’ all, I felt obliged to tell her to not run around with wet hair or she’ll catch her death.  I can just imagine the face she pulled when she read that.

I’m slowly getting used it though, my heart seems to be mending though there’s still a hole there that will only be filled when she comes back at Christmas.  And I’m sure that when she does, dragging a suitcase of washing to be done, all will be well again and I can go back to moaning about the lack of bandwidth, water and silence.

Satan Claus

Here’s a piece of advice, never, ever, drop the kids off at school with a hangover.  Because if you do you’ll end up agreeing to do something you would normally run a mile from.  Your defences are low, your judgement is shot and your ability to make up bullshit excuses off the cuff has left the building.

It was on one such morning, a morning where I was nursing a mild to medium hangover, when I got hung drawn and quartered by one of the Mums.  There I was, minding my own business, when I heard “Ere Jay, can you do us a favva?”  I knew that voice, it was a voice that could strip paint off walls, it was Josie, mother of Jody, Joey and Joely.  It was with some trepidation that I turned around as I knew that whatever came next wasn’t going to go in my favour, and I was right, it didn’t.

She wanted me to be the Father Christmas for the playgroup she runs – Grubby Gits I think it’s called – a bunch of two year olds left to run amok and become mini Jackson Pollocks.  I stuttered and spluttered as I tried to come up with an excuse, but she took my silence as acquiescence, told me the time and date to be there and marched off as fast as her tiny little legs would take her.

I cursed my stupidity, trudged out of the school and promptly forgot all about it.

Forgot until last Friday that was, when the dulcet tones of Herr Josie rang out with “Don’t cha forget about being Father Christmas on Monday, cheers darlin’.”

On the day of my ‘guest appearance’ I woke up early, drenched in sweat.  Sweat caused by a nightmare in which Father Christmas was drumming into me the difference between him and a rapper saying ‘Ho Ho Ho’, whilst cooking reindeer burgers on a BBQ.  This was not going to go well, I hadn’t even practised my voice yet.

Despite being told that I didn’t have to be there until 11.15, I spent the morning fielding calls and texts from Josie and her Michelle Minion, checking I was coming and asking where I was – there was no chance of me ducking out of this thing, so I got in the car and made my way there.  On the journey I decided to listen and sing along to Eminem, it was probably best if I got all the cuss words out of my system before I got there.  It would be poor form to open with “Have you all been good little f**kers this year?”

As I nervously entered the venue I could hear the collective screaming of 30 kids, it was all I could do to not join in the screaming myself to be honest.  I was having such a bad feeling about this, what kind of idiot would ask someone like me to do something like this?  I didn’t know what I was going to say and how I was going to say it and it was too late to practise now.

I walked in and had to rub my eyes in astonishment, Josie had turned herself into a real-sized elf.  Then I remembered she was naturally that small and had gone to no real effort at all.  The Michelle Minion handed me my costume, explained the running order and told me to get changed in the blokes’ toilets. 

So I took myself off to the toilets and started to get changed, which was beyond awkward due to the size of the cubicle.  The costume had obviously been bought at Scrooge’R’Us, it was the tattiest and sorriest looking thing I had ever seen.  The pants had a waist Buddha would have been comfortable in, but the jacket had been designed for Ghandi.  The black belt that was meant to tie the whole lot together was made from a rubbish sack and had an outsized buckle that would have been hard-pressed to keep rope tied together.  The fake beard was over-used and fluffy and made me sneeze so hard that I turned the moustache green and white like a Pacer mint.  With the help of the Minion and several safety pins, we eventually got the outfit together and I waited for my cue.

Now I’m sorry, but it doesn’t matter how pure of body and mind you are, there is something just plain wrong about hanging around in a toilet in a Santa suit, something I had to do for 15 minutes.  I started to feel like Sleazy Santa and my “Come and sit on my knee little girl” voice was sounding more and more deviant.   My big entrance had been delayed due to one of the little’uns being sick on the bouncy castle, which then set off a chain letter of puke amongst the rest of his play mates.  Always a classic combo of destruction – sweets, cakes, fizzy pop and a bouncy castle.

Eventually the sleigh bells started ringing so I took my cue and made my entrance into the hall.  You could have heard a pin drop as they all stared at me and I must admit that it felt quite good to hold the power of silence over 30 little kids.  I gingerly made my way to the chair that had been put out for me, desperately trying not to tread on one of them (I do have previous on this score) and sat myself down.  As soon as I did, the safety pin on the jacket gave way and I instantly regretted wearing my black Jack Daniels t-shirt underneath it.  I quickly picked up my sack and put it on my lap and hoped that it would cover the gap before anyone noticed.  Although judging by some of the Mummy stares I was getting, that was a forlorn hope.

It all went fairly smoothly, my “Have you been a good little girl this year?” was said with the correct timbre of joviality and deepness and the only slight hitch was when little Tony stepped forward.  Tony had long curly blonde hair that obviously belonged in a Timotei advert, but it left me with no idea if he/she was a boy or a girl.  So I went with a “Have you been a good…err…person this year?”  Not my finest moment, but it had to do.

I had soon whizzed through the 30 monsters and to my credit, not one of them cried, a success then.  I bid them all farewell and reminded them to leave beer and chocolate under the chimney for Santa at Christmas.  Back at the toilets I made a quick change that both Superman and a flasher would have been proud of, then I made like a Shepherd and got the flock out of there.  Job done.

Oh and Mummy’s, one last thing.  When picking out your wardrobe, please bear in mind that you will be bending over and ushering your 2 year old child towards a seated Santa.  Avoid low cut tops, Santa is only human after all.

Rio

This is a sponsored post brought to you by the makers of Rio.  Not Rio the place as that would be God (or Darwin, I get confused), but Rio the animated film (you know, those Ice Age Creators). 

Last week Kaede and I were lucky enough to be invited to a screening of Rio at London Zoo.  Even luckier was the fact that the event was held in a function room within the Zoo and not the monkey enclosure, where the Mrs rather cruelly implied I would be more at home.

They had provided food (which Kaede had four plates of), drink (of which Kaede consumed three toilet stops worth) and cuddly toy characters (of which Kaede snagged two somehow).  After the screening one of the zoo keepers brought out a real Macaw, which created such a huddle of excited kids that I’m surprised they managed to get out alive.

Kaede absolutely loved the film and even though she had already seen it at the cinema, she still sat there riveted, only moving to dance along with great samba soundtrack.  From an adults point of view it was a fun watch, which is a good job as I’m sure this will be one that the kids make me watch over and over.

All this was to launch the release of the Rio DVD and Blu-Ray on the 24th October.  It comes with more extras than you can shake a stick at, including bonus Angry Bird levels.  Angry Birds is the app that Kaede is always nicking my phone or tablet to play, so some extra levels to keep her quiet on the trains are more than welcome.

Whilst I haven’t got any copies of the DVD to give away, I do have some links to some cool free stuff:

For some computer cursors (I’m currently using Luis) click here http://www.premierpr-online.co.uk/rio/

For a Birds v Monkeys game click here http://www.birds-vs-monkeys.co.uk/

For a Rio In-a-Row game click here http://www.rio-in-a-row.co.uk/

So if you’re anything like me and the thought of the kids home for the half-term week is filling you with dread, you can’t go far wrong with a copy of Rio and maybe a bag of popcorn to keep them occupied.

Making Meccano

Quite often as you start to approach middling life, you look back with fondness at how much better things were in days of yore.  The music, the sense of society, the dress sense of teenagers and the size of a curly wurly.  But one thing that has improved with age is Meccano.  I have vague recollections of yellow bits of metal that could be bolted together to make something, that whilst looked harmless, made an excellent weapon for smacking my brother over the head with, but that is nothing compared to what they’re making now.

A few weeks ago, the lovely people at Meccano sent me a couple of their new kits for me and my six year old to try out and boy was I shocked.  Pack one was a Space Chaos DarkPirates Spaceship, all bells and whistles with light and sound effects.  Pack two was a Turbo Radio Control car and this was the one I was looking forward to making the most. 

Both packs were aimed at the 7-14 year old age groups and although Kaede is only 6, I figured something that really made her think would last a lot longer than something she could put together in 10 minutes (plus it would mean that she would need my help, whoop whoop).

The two boxes sat on my kitchen table for two frustrating weeks due to weekend activities, illnesses and sheer bad timing.  Meccano had always seemed like a rainy day toy and unfortunately we were having a crazy Indian summer with temps up to 29C.  Every time I walked past the boxes I could hear an ethereal voice calling “Come to me…play with me…don’t wait for the kids”.  Eventually I had to ask the wife to hide them away lest I succumb to temptation like an Essex girl outside Lakeside.

Eventually I snapped and one sunny Sunday afternoon, Kaede and I sat down and opened up the spaceship pack.  One look at all the parts and nuts and bolts, and Kaede was hooked.  As I read through the instruction manual, Kaede organised all the parts into their own separate places (a lesson she learnt from watching me attempt to put together all things IKEA).  The instructions were in a simple step by step guide, with every step listing what pieces were needed for that particular moment. Kaede took responsibility for gathering the pieces together before each step, each time with the furrowed brow of someone bearing the great responsibility of a major engineering project.  A really clever idea is that the front of the booklet had a printed ruler, so that when it said a 5.4mm bolt was needed, it was easy for her to pick out the right one. 

With heads buried deep into our project, we ignored the world and only paused to sup from our worker drinks (lager for me, a weak shandy for her).  You really started to feel the sense of excitement coming from her as the spaceship started to take shape and I was pleasantly surprised that she stuck with it from beginning to end.  Our Kaede is a bit of a feral one and not well known for sitting in one place for too long, but the Meccano had really grabbed and drawn her in.

With a flurry of activity and a gasp of relief (or disbelief) we finished and Kaede proudly held up the finished article.  Not only did it not fall to bits when she did that, but it also started making sound effects and the engines started to glow red.  Kaede then spent the next hour running around the garden with it, dive bombing her brother from behind - I guess some sibling things never change.

That night the spaceship had pride of place in her bed and it has slept there ever since.  The weather report said it will be raining next weekend and there’s a long winter ahead of us, so it looks like my, I mean her, radio controlled car will be next on the agenda.  I’m not sure who’s looking forward to it more.

Many thanks to the good people at Meccano for not only making the stuff, but for sending me the free samples as well.  The Space Chaos spaceship retails at £24.99 and the Turbo RC Racing car at £29.99

Crime and Punishment

So we're half way into the summer hols and all normal punishments for the heinous crimes the monsters I call children commit on a daily basis, have started to lose their effectiveness.

Sending them to a corner has stopped working as they have taken to hiding toys there, safe in the knowledge I'm a crap cleaner, so they will happily sit there for hours playing.

Threatening to turn off the TV doesn't work, as they have realised that I still have to do my usual work-from-home type work and if I want any peace and quiet then the goggle box is my only chance of that.

They're on a sweet embargo anyway, as it took three months to finally finish the Easter egg mountain, so the sweets are on a sabbatical and can’t be used as a threat.

I can't smack them because now that it's summer they're wearing short sleeves and shorts, so the marks will show.  Only kidding - it's because they've leant to duck and weave.

So I'm now in a quandary, either I start to feed us all Vodka and Valium and we spend the rest of the summer in a fog like void, or I start thinking up some new cruel and unusual punishments.

Here are some that have been meted out so far:

Nate (Male, 4) Constantly yelling into the microphone on his battery powered shopping till.
PUNISHMENT: Me accidentally dropping a full suitcase on to the offending toy.  Twice

Kaede (Female, 6) Singing along to a Justin Bieber advert in a non-ironic way.
PUNISHMENT: Spending an afternoon listening to John Coltrane, Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davies and Sarah Vaughan.  Then discussing the merits of removing the voice box of annoying, pre-pubescent, talentless, crap magnets.

Storm (Female, 17) Leaving her hair straighteners on all day, resulting in a perfect V shape being burnt into her bedroom carpet.
PUNISHMENT: Fuse removed from said straighteners (and hairdryer for good measure.)  Offender not informed about fuse removal, leaving her to replace 'unrepairable' items.

Nate (Male, 4)  Picking a fistful of flowers that I had spent six months growing, then scattering the petals throughout the house like Cleopatra's man servant.
PUNISHMENT: I mowed the lawn without the collection box attached and made him pick up all the grass cuttings.

Kaede (Female, 6) Showing guests at a recent party we threw, the secret room where we had, last minute, hid all our crap.
PUNISHMENT: Have compiled and saved an assortment of truly hideous and embarrassing photos of her on a CD marked 'Kaede's Wedding Day'.

Storm (Female, 17)  Failing to get to a safe place to let me respawn during an online Halo game, resulting in the relentless taunting of me by a 12 year old American gob-shite.
PUNISHMENT: Making her go back to basics with a Space Invader marathon.

Trish (Female, 40) Only bringing home one bottle of wine for Saturday consumption, leaving me with the 'Daytime or Evening?' drinking dilemma.
PUNISHMENT: My accidental dropping of sanitary products into sink, blaming kids and my parting comment of "You may as well pick up another bottle of wine as you're going back to the shops anyway."

There were more I could mention but time, space and the social services have prevented me from listing them.  If anyone else has some bright ideas, then I'm more than happy to hear them

The Double Stuff Oreo Lick Race

For the first time ever it’s competition time on ‘The Life and Times of a Househusband’, or ‘my excellent blog’ for short.  Previously whenever companies have said to me “Here’s one of our products, perhaps you would like to offer this as a prize to your readers?” they have been unable to hear my mocking roar of laughter from their cosy west-end offices.  Like I’m going to accept a freebie and then actually give it away to the great unwashed, not on your nelly.

This time it’s different though – some bright spark at Oreo has had the foresight to give me two kits – one for me (of course), and one for you.  Everyone’s a winner, and by everyone I mean me and the person that actually wins.  OK, they say the devil’s in the details, so here’s the details.

Oreo are trying to find Britain’s ‘Most Entertaining Lick Racer’, based on the ritual of twisting an Oreo, licking off the crème, and dunking the remaining biscuits in milk.  The kit they have provided contains the following:

·         Flip camera with tripod

·         Oreo Biscuits

·         Two tumblers for milk

All you have to do to get your hands on this kit is to leave a comment below and you will be entered into the competition.  To get an extra entry into the comp tweet ‘ Oreo and @goonerjamie are giving away a Flip Camera and Oreos at http://goonerjamie.blogspot.com ‘.  For my Facebook friends that are still Twitter luddites, leave the above message on your profile page and let me know. 

I will put all of the entries into a hat, or cup, or maybe even a bath (dependant on how many there are) and pull out a winner at noon Wednesday 27^th July 2011 so you’d better be fast.

Unfortunately this competition is only open to those in the UK, sorry.

BUT THERE’S MORE

You could also win a VIP holiday to Florida & a Nintendo Wii per week (as part of a prize draw for all valid video entries).  All you have to do is film your Lick race and upload your video to www.oreolickrace.co.uk and you will be entered for the chance to win the holiday or Nintendo Wii.  The competition finishes on 31^st July 2011 so again you will have to be quick.

Your video must be in one of the following three categories – parent vs child; sibling vs sibling; and grandparent vs grandchild.  Record your Double Stuff Lick Race live using your computer’s webcam or film on your mobile and upload later.  To qualify, both entrants must compete all of these steps.

1.       Have ready an Oreo biscuit and a glass of milk (equal measures for each participant)

2.       Twist the Oreo biscuit and pull it apart

3.       Lick the crème filling from the biscuit (tongue only, no teeth)

4.       Show their opponent the ‘clean’ biscuit

5.       Put the biscuit back together

6.       Dunk the biscuit in a glass of milk

7.       Eat the biscuit

8.       Drink the glass of milk

Once you’ve uploaded your entry, get your friends and family voting because there are great prizes to be won, including a VIP family holiday to Florida, Nintendo Wiis and lick race Kits.

Don’t forget…

1.       Each race should only have two family members, no more, no less

2.       Five entrants per category are allowed so all the whole family can take part

3.       A parent or guardian needs to tick the consent box if you are not over 18

4.       And for every upload Oreo will donate £1 to KidsOut charity.

And just to get you all going, here’s my entry

BUT THERE’S EVEN MORE

If you don’t fancy filming yourself, you can enter the ‘Who’s the Slicker Licker’ competition where you can win a Nintendo Wii ever day plus thousands of Double Stuff Lick Race prizes.

Visit www.oreolickrace.co.uk and opt to play ‘Who’s the Slicker Licker’ Watch to Win game.  Players play a guessing game to determine who is going to win between two pre-filmed Lick Racers.  Irrespective of result, all Players will be eligible to enter their details via an online entry form to go through to the free prize draw.

The full terms and conditions are on the Lick Race website
http://www.oreolickrace.co.uk/conditions

So there you go, three ways to win and don’t forget to tweet ‘ Oreo and @goonerjamie are giving away a Flip Camera and Oreos at http://goonerjamie.blogspot.com ‘ for an extra entry into the Flip camera competition.

Good Luck.

Summer in Space

Last night Kaede and I got to be one of the first groups to go on the Science Museums new Space trail, part of their ‘Summer in Space’ exhibition, that opens this weekend.  I have to say that when the invite came I was more than a tad excited.  The Science Museum has always been a firm favourite since I first visited it as an eight year old Cub Scout (and isn’t that a great mental image for you) and now I was hoping to pass down that sense of wonderment and awe to my unsuspecting six year old daughter.

We were told to arrive 15 minutes before the Museum closed and we patiently (in Kaede’s case anyway) waited for the museum staff to get everything sorted and begin the tour.  I think there was maybe eight other parents, fourteen kids, three staff members, two tour guides and the curator in our party and we had the whole museum TO OURSELVES.

As soon as we walked into the huge Energy Hall she squeezed my hand and took a very audible sharp intake of breath, it had her.  Mind you, every hair on my arms had stood up, so it still had the ability to get me as well.  If you’ve ever been to the Science Museum you know what I mean, if you haven’t, well I don’t really have the words to do it justice.  The size of the pieces, the machinery, the steam engines, the visual avalanche and that’s just the first room. 

Then through to the ‘Exploring Space’ gallery, here 2 rockets hang overhead pointing the way to a full-sized replica of Eagle, the landing pod/ship/thingy that took Armstrong and Aldrin to the moon’s surface.  There are space suits, space food and space diapers, almost everything a space freak could want.  Kaede had been given a flip-cam to use as the museum wanted some film from a kid’s point of view and she was running around filming and gasping in equal measures.  I apologise to the staff in advance, as I’m not sure how much of her footage they’ll be able to use but my guess would be very little.

Next we moved on to, in my opinion, the star of the show - the actual Apollo 10 command module.  To be standing only feet away from something that has actually orbited the moon was mind-blowing.  To see the scorch marks, to peer inside the window into the cramped conditions the three astronauts had to endure, was truly incredible.  We had watched the launch on YouTube before we left, so even Kaede fell silent as she looked at it.  Watching her trying to compute what she had seen to what she was seeing and then see the look of astonishment appear on her face was definitely a magic moment.

After that was the ‘Making the Modern World’ gallery, jam-packed with items from 1750 onwards that have shaped the way we live today.  From the large – cars, planes and Stephenson’s Rocket; to the small – a sample of penicillium mould, a porcelain bowl from Hiroshima and Edison’s filament lamp.  With so much to see you could easily spend hours in there, but we were soon onto the next part of the trail, the ‘In future’ gallery.

We didn’t stay too long here but it did have a couple of big multi-user games in there about predicting the future, although the only future I could predict is that I had to get Kaede to a toilet PDQ.

Next was the ‘Launchpad’ gallery, full of hands on experiments that help explain some of the laws of physics.  There were water bottle rockets that you could help launch across the ceiling, a big grain pit that explained how simple machines help things move easier and more moving, playable, unbreakable stuff as you could shake a stick at.  The kids were all in seventh heaven and I will admit that I took the time to sneakily join in the fun.  I also joined in the groans when we had to move on to the next gallery, spoilsports.

Onwards to the ‘Cosmos & Culture’ gallery, a gallery full of telescopes and all things star-gazing related.  Even Wallace & Gromit’s ‘Moon-machine’ is on display, as well as a telescope made from baked bean cans (only to be used on windy nights I presume?)  Once the kids had filled their eyes with moons, stars and giant mirrors, we went back down to the ‘Exploring Space’ gallery and some much needed refreshment.

The children sat around the ‘Eagle’ replica, munching away on crisps and sarnies and being entertained by someone playing the character of Gene Cernan, the last man to walk on the moon.  He gave the kids a fascinating talk on what it was like to take off on a rocket, walk on the moon; in fact he pretty much covered everything, even the inevitable poop in space questions.  After he had finished his chat he took Kaede around some of the exhibits, including the space diapers and space food that were of primary interest to her.  I was really impressed by the way he was talking to her and not talking down to her, this was definitely going to be one night she would remember.

To say we had a great time would be somewhat of an understatement.  Kaede can’t wait to go back and has rather graciously, by her standards, allowed that even her little brother could come next time.  As for me, any place that can fill me with a childlike sense of wonderment has to be a hit.  The ‘Summer in Space’ exhibition starts on 23^rd July 2011 and full (and probably more accurate) details can be found at www.sciencemuseum.org.uk

The day we met Wenlock and Mandeville

As a daddy blogger I am often contacted by companies or PR firms asking me to look at or review their products.  To the surprise of those that know me in the flesh, I do have a bit of integrity and I normally politely turn down the ones that don’t really have anything to do with me and my world.  For arguments sake, the thought of reviewing a £700 princess throne that would have lasted 5 minutes with my unruly mob, was an obvious no-go.  As was the Breastfeeding book (no breasts or babies that need them), coconut milk dessert (me and hairy shells don’t mix), an airport meet and greet service (am still shell-shocked from the trauma of our last foreign holiday) and the pregnancy care water (a great product I’m sure, but I’m sans fallopian tubes).

Then along came an offer that I couldn’t refuse – would I be interested in popping down to the Adidas office in London to take a look at their new Disney/Pixar range and their London 2012 Olympic collection?  Would I ever, I love trainers, I love Adidas trainers and I love seeing stuff that nobody else has seen yet and then telling my mates about it (I guess that makes me an ocular gossip).  I replied with an air of nonchalance that I would like to take them up on their kind offer and even waited a whole two minutes before replying.  The fact I spent that 2 minutes making a phone call to my trainer freak sister (50 pairs and counting)  just to brag and ended the call with a “ner ner nener ner”, wasn’t one of my prouder moments, but fun nonetheless.

So Saturday found me the Mrs and the little’uns travelling to Covent Garden, all ready to have a nose around the Adidas offices and all the new gear.  Within minutes of arriving, Wenlock and Mandeville, the official mascots of the games, turned up and totally enchanted my children.  Apparently they are made from the last two drops of steel used to make the Olympic Stadium, but the way Kaede was hugging them to death I rather think they are made from something a lot more pliable.  It was good for the kids to meet them though, as since we lost out on the Olympic ballot this will be the closest they get to anything Olympic.

Anyway, with the kids occupied I got to look at the range without distraction.  It’s hard to be all kid-like if you have to deal with kids at the same time and believe me, being surrounded by so many trainers I truly felt like a kid in a sweet shop.  I headed for the Cars 2 range, a series of trainers and clothing for kids with the characters from the film on them.

I’m like a Crow, I’m a sucker for shiny things and I’m sure I raised a few eyebrows with my wows and oohs.  I did try to maintain an air of professionalism and objectivity, but one pair had Lightening McQueen on the sole for god’s sake, how awesome is that?  They also had some pairs based on the Disney Princesses which definitely scored high on the cuteometer.

Then I moved onto the ‘Originals’ section, all those classic designs from yesteryear and in kids sizes.  I still remember my first pair of Gazelles, blue for the first pair and burgundy for the second.  Now I’ve just turned thirty-ten I stick to black, but they have some wicked colours for the kids now (just typing that sentence made me feel 60.)

My sister had charged me with stealing some pink and grey clothing for my eight month old niece Isobel.  I managed to find this (see below) but rather wisely they were watching me like a hawk, so I’ll have to buy it for her instead.

The Olympic 2012 range is looking quite snazzy and by this time Kaede had started tugging me by the sleeves indicating that she wanted this top and that top and those trainers – a monster of my own making.

Both the Cars and the Olympic range are released this month with the Originals either out already or coming soon. 

For the sake of transparency, I will add that as we left they gave us some bags with goodies, plus a pair of trainers each for the kids.  They weren’t expected but very much appreciated, I am now the coolest Dad in the world apparently.  But to be honest (and hoping I’m not shooting myself in the foot here) I would have wrote this piece anyway, so thanks to Adidas for the look around and the trainers, I’m just gutted I can’t squeeze into them myself.

 

Just call me Uncle

My son turned four a few months ago, which also meant that I will have been a househusband for almost the same amount of time.  A lot has happened over those four years, some of it good some of it bad, some of it printable, most of it not.  I have learnt a lot in those four years, and some of it is even useful.  I had an Uncle-in-law who always used to tell me that he had forgotten more than I had ever learnt.  He meant it as a taunt, but last year he fell up a kerb, bashed his head and developed amnesia, so maybe it was just a strange prophecy?

My rambling point being is that I have learnt quite a few tricks of the trade in these recent years and I feel I am honour bound to pass them on to the younger generation of Househusbands and Stay At Home Dads.  I think it is my destiny, nay my duty, to become an Agony Uncle to these fledglings who follow in my ever turbulent wake.

You may ask what qualifies me to dish out such far sweeping advice to my fellow brothers in arms.  Well firstly I have three children of mixed ages and all of them are in one piece.  Sure, one of them nearly chopped her ring finger off trying to get ice cream out of a tub with a carving knife, and I will freely admit that another took two years to grow bored of being a cat only to become a dog.  I will also hold my hands up to the fact that the youngest is so used to being mis-dressed that he cries when given matching socks.  These things don’t weaken my argument, they strengthen them. 

Do you want advice from somebody that centre parts their child’s hair, or from someone who knows what time the sun passes over the yard-arm in 57 different countries?

Do you want to listen to somebody that recycles and biodegrades their used nappies, or somebody that used an old Guns’n’Roses tour t-shirt as an emergency nappy then cried at the injustice of being a father?

Do you want relaxation advice from somebody who locks himself in the toilet with a copy of stamp collecting monthly and a packet of wet wipes, or from somebody who invented a Teflon coated toilet whilst sitting on the throne with a bottle of JD grabbing a moment’s peace from screaming kids?

There isn’t a mistake I haven’t made, a social occasion my presence hasn’t made awkward or a politically correct yummy mummy that hasn’t needed a long hot shower after speaking to me.  We Stay At Home Dads are the parents of the future.  Do you want to face that future standing on your own in the playground, whilst a group of well dressed and bad mannered Mums thumb their noses at you?  Or do you want to stand with me and proudly shout “I am a Man in a Woman’s world, but it won’t be yours for much longer sweetheart.  Now whose round is it?”

If your answer is the latter, then come take a seat around the fire.  Let us tell tall tales and swap pieces of slightly dubious in origin advice.  I tried to raid the letter bags of some of the more politically correct and lily livered Agony Uncles, but the pickings were slim, and by slim I mean none.  I spent 3 hours searching online for some sort of real Agony Uncle and I came up with zip, nada, nowt.  Imagine all the decent stuff I could have looked up in those three hours, or how many whining on-line Yanks I could have slaughtered on C.O.D. Black ops.  This is how dedicated I am to you fellas.

I guess in the age of equality and fairness, I really should also offer my services to all those lost and bewildered Mums as well.  Don’t worry, you can ask anonymously, your secret is safe with me.  Jemima, Lucinda, Arabella and Meredith will never find out that you had to ask a mere Dad how to deal with a snotty nosed bully or his even snottier nosed Mum.

So ask if you dare, send me an email at thelifeandtimesofahousehusband@gmail.com I can’t promise to answer them all, I definitely can’t promise not to laugh at the more stupid questions, but I can promise to read them all at least.  You will always be safe in the knowledge that someone out there knows your problem, and a problem shared is a problem halved.  Unless that problem is some sort of disease of course, then it’s a problem doubled and please wash your hands before you send me an email.

FML

Of all the modern acronyms my most bitter sweet favourite is F**k My Life.  This is my FML moment from today.

Was having a very pleasant dream when my son decided to deliver a piledriver slam to my testicles.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Realised it was Sunday and only 7am.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

As I wearily dragged my tired arse down the stairs I realised I had a hangover head on.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Discovered, after I had watched and waited for the kettle to boil, that
a) whilst the saying ‘A watched kettle never boils’ isn’t strictly true, it may as well be.
b) We had run out of coffee.
This wasn’t my FML moment.

Settled for a glass of green lemon tea, which tasted like a cup of hot water that had once seen a lemon, on TV, in black and white.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Wife informed me that she was taking the kids to church this morning and of course I didn’t have to come, although her eyes said otherwise.  I got the guilt hint and begrudgingly said I would come as well, hoping she would recognise my gesture of goodwill and let me off.  She didn’t.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Arrived at church five minutes before Kick Off and all the seats had gone, which meant we had to stand at the back for the whole service, which meant I had to lip sync to all the songs lest I get spotted.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Kaede started drawing what looked like the priest in his high robes and hat, but actually turned out to be a picture of a toilet with a floater in it, helpfully captioned ‘Im sick’.  A mad dash into the church hall ensues and we almost make it.  Half a toilet roll and one thrown away pair of knickers later, we re-enter the church.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Half way in and Nate is beyond restless, his feet are everywhere, the deck of oversized cards are strewn all over the place.  The wife whispers to me “Where are the bribes?” the bribes being raisins, apples, breadsticks - basically anything that will fit in my pockets and his mouth.  I reach into my coat pocket to grab something for him and realise it’s summer, I don’t have a coat.  I turn to my wife and actually wish that looks could kill, because the one I’m now getting would at least send me to an early grave and spare me the rest of the service.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

The swag bag starts to get passed around for the collection so I search my jeans pockets for the non-existent coins there.  Now the church has reached the 20^th century it actually takes our money by direct debit, yet they still guilt trip you for more every Sunday.  Receive another crappy look from the elderly parishioner as I pass it on without chucking in.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

It’s nearly over now, time for communion and then we can escape into the sunshine, hell I would even settle for pouring rain at this moment.  My leg starts vibrating as I walk down the aisle towards the front of the church and I thank the Lord I remembered to turn my phone to silent.  Except that in process of putting it back in my pocket I must have knocked the stupid switch back on, my phone is no longer silent.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Recently I had discovered how to create ring tones from the music in my iTunes library so I had done just that.  Marilyn Manson was now blaring from my phone.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

Oh, and he was singing his cover of ‘Personal Jesus’.  This wasn’t my FML moment.

When I eventually get the phone silent and scuttle red faced back to the pews I look to see who was calling.  It was the Mother in law, she’s left a message.  With a great deal of trepidation I listen to the voicemail and all my fears are confirmed – she’s coming round this afternoon to see the kids, she’ll see us at noon.  THIS was my FML moment.