- Week 27, 3 days
- Baby boy
- Current mood of significant other : Hungry, tired & uncomfortable
- Name not yet confirmed
Me and the ball and chain recently returned back to the UK for a week to see the family. As I clarified previously, the tribe seems to be multiplying by the day, so it takes significant effort just to see everyone.
During the visit we stayed with my Nan and Grandad whom will feature heavily during the course of these ramblings as they are truly, living legends. My Nan is around five foot two with a beautiful, free-flowing, exotic ginger afro.
She is found most mornings relaxing on the settee with a potty mouthed parakeet perched amidst her fiery locks, incessantly squawking, ‘Hello David, Who’s a cheeky boy, you prick’. Just another day at the mad house. However I do question her mental well-being when she feeds the bird granola straight from her mouth. You would almost expect the great Sir David Attenborough to be crouched behind the coffee table whispering ‘Breath taking. In all, my years of television, I haven’t, quite found, anything, like this’.
Between them however, boasting an impressive fourteen(ish) Grand and great Grandchildren, they’ve done their bit in contributing to the World’s ever-growing population issue.
Big love to the founders in all seriousness, for raising us all with manners and always remembering our names (though I am occasionally addressed as Ronnie, who is the deceased family dog of fifteen years).
On the final day of our visit, my Sister invited us to her house for a roast dinner. In preparation, me and the Pregasaurus Rex embarked upon a crisp winter walk around Hollingworth lake. If you’ve not been, it’s beautiful, and located ‘right on our doorstep’. The scenery is breath-taking, and the wildlife majestic. Bird watchers and wildlife lovers flock from afar, just to take in the ceremonious views that flow up into the countryside. With the scene now poetically set, I shall briefly outline our experience…
In between the continuous grunting and sighing, loosely translating to ‘I’m cold and tired’, we plodded around the seemingly disappointing stretch of water, discussing the life threatening blister that was of course rapidly taking over her entire leg. Luckily, about a third way around, we walked past an assortment of dogs and puppies. This briefly distracted her from the tiny blister on her toe, though still managed to reduce the poor girl to tears due to how adorable they were. We then spent the remainder of the walk, hoping and praying that she could hold in an entire bladders worth of urine, as she simultaneously laughed and sprinkled after spotting an amusing goose. Eventually, against all odds, we made it around without the need to change underwear. She was then of course absolutely ravenous, as we’d not eaten in almost 62 minutes, so the premise of a good feed kept a gentle smile on her pretty little face.
Shortly after the walk/ordeal, we set off to my sisters, a promised land of succulent chicken and roast potatoes. After bursting through the door however, I was welcomed only by a group of terrifying woman shouting surprise, baring gifts for the little man. Of course, I was elated, surprised and thankful. Though I couldn’t help feeling slightly betrayed by the false pretence of a chicken dinner.
My beloveds grimacing face was however a picture, bright red and bewildered. This is most likely because she struggles with surprises and large groups of people, although may have been due to the fact she refused to take a dump anywhere else apart from home, and we’d been back in the UK for nearly a week. Hats off to all involved, he’s the size of a head of cauliflower and already has a much better wardrobe than his Dad. It really was thoughtful, cheers guys.
Initially, I pondered as to why men are rarely invited to ‘baby showers’. Frosted cup cakes lined the table, a bowl of mini sausage rolls appeared, prosecco was free-flowing and I could swear I saw an unopened tin of twiglets. It nearly seemed like a fairly open event to me, fun for all genders. Until suddenly, it began, the girl talk.
Baby talk transcended into woman talk, woman talk evolved into the bewildering topic of the female anatomy. Panic quickly set in as a frighteningly detailed description of the vagina erupted throughout the oestrogen filled room. Scanning the living room for the nearest exit, I took my cue to flee. Admittedly this would have been most educational, however I was afraid any contribution to the conversation would unveil the fact I still may not know where everything is down there, so I headed to the pub.
Partner update, she is currently resting on the couch, while trying to reach a bag of crisps. It’s brilliant. She’s rocking backward and forwards in hope to gain enough momentum, quickly getting out of breath and grunting like a wild Canadian moose. I’ll give her a hand when it stops being funny, promise.
Here’s an adorable picture of a pair of trainers (setting me back £25) that will sadly only last about three days.
SHARES welcome as always, or follow our FACEBOOK page