Skip to main content

Posts

Boris the bear

Boris is a bear. 
My son Oscar's bear. He’s had him since he was one, I can’t remember who bought him for him, but he has been a constant companion since that day. 
I can’t even remember why he is called Boris – I don’t know if Oscar himself named him, or it was chosen for him as a tribute to the Mayor of London, or the Russian President from the early nineties. There is no real resemblance to either, although the London Mayor Boris has the reputation of being as woolly headed as the bear Boris, I’m sure the naming of the bear wasn’t Oscar’s first attempt at satire though.
When Oscar was around three he suddenly gave Boris a voice (The bear, not the Mayor or Ex Russian President), the only way I can explain Boris’ voice is a high pitched but growly, which I suppose is exactly how you would expect a small bear to talk, if small bears could indeed talk. “Would you like any ice cream Oscar?” “Yes please.” “Me too.” said ‘Boris’ from behind me as I reached into the freezer.
I turned to Oscar…

Married

Dinner

Arm Wrestling a Student

I never expected the night to turn out like this. 
It's not something you expect when you start off going out for a 'quiet drink' before a big day. You don't think you'll end up arm wrestling anyone, and certainly not someone who you don't actually know. 
But this is how I found myself at the end of the night, arm to arm, locked in combat, with a student. A large student at that. And I'm really not the arm-wrestling type.

I was in Brighton, I was on the planning team of the works summer away day, and I went with the event organiser, another man named Chris. We agreed on a quiet drink before going back to our rooms to prepare for the next day. But the plan had changed. Drinks had been drunk, and shots had been consumed.
I stepped out of the toilets and heard Chris, the other Chris, say "He'll do it!" pointing my way. I looked over and Chris, who was sitting down, looking far too unaffected by the levels of drinks that had been consumed. What …

Vengeance

Horses

My Train Nemesis - The race for the last seat is on, and i don't want to lose.

We stood side by side at the edge of the platform, both taking our places near the yellow lines signifying the edge.
I hoped and prayed that today I would be the lucky one, that I would be in the correct place when the train stopped and doors opened so that I could grab that perennial last seat in the carriage.
I had already taken my place so knew I couldn't change position again. You can't just change platform position once you have picked your spot, not without making the people next to you think you are quite strange, and knowing you were preparing yourself tactically, not just by chance like we all pretend. The only way to change your platform position is to do that thing where you pretend to take a few steps back to look at trains arrivals board again, then start all over again and take a new position, apparently oblivious to the fact you were standing somewhere else a few seconds earlier. The morning commute is full of these kinds of pitfalls and silent secret plans.
On tha…