HERE’S THE THING...
You’ve probably heard that when there’s a new addition to the family, it’s very important to ensure any existing youngsters don’t feel less special – as perhaps they might. This begins with making sure Kid realises Baby is not a threat from day one.
Putting a photograph of Kid in Baby’s crib when they first meet is a good idea. Daddy and Kid going in to see the new arrival together – as an already existing team – is another.
The clincher, apparently, is if Kid receives a gift from Baby during this first oh-so-important encounter. All the books say so, and as it seemed logical, we decided to heed this advice. So when Eli was born, lucky old Noah bagged a scooter from him. He loves it, and so far he also seems to love little Eli. Well done, everyone.
Except... other parents, who’ve read the same books, have continued the theme. The result has been a small but perfectly formed mountain of toys, not for Eli, but for Noah. Which is great, except Noah now has more new toys than he got on all his first three Christmases put together.
The upshot of all this benevolence is that he not only thinks Eli is the best thing invented since Roger Hargreaves dreamt up the Mr Men, but he can’t wait for his next li’l bro or li’l sis to come along. ‘When are you going to have another Eli, Mummy?’ he now whispers on a regular basis, softly but also just a little bit calculatingly.
‘When are you going to set up a toy stall on Camden Market, Noah?’ Mummy and Daddy are tempted to whisper back. Not so softly.
those gurus over at Apple. They had their first Jobs-less conference recently. Still a resounding success apparently, largely due to Jobs’s right-hand man, Tim Cook. There’s only good news coming out of San Francisco: a new 3D Earth map to rival anything Google has ever come up with, and soon, I hear, a major move into television, plus a new iPhone. So the one you bought last week will shortly be obsolete.
Meanwhile, I’m a BlackBerry man. A friend of mine left the BBerry clan last week and moved over to the dark side – to Apple.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Will you still talk to me, Chris?’
Well, I can no longer instant-message him. And talk? Heavens, no. How old-fashioned.
new phrase to describe a hangover last week. ‘I feel like I’ve been dug up,’ said one of the waitresses at our local after a night out on the town. I knew precisely what she meant, as I too have felt like I’ve been dug up on a few recent mornings following spontaneous bouts of wetting the baby’s head. It’s bad luck not to, say my pals.
All bad news for my post-birth waistline, I know. But there’s time yet to work on that –
fishing rod for the boat. An absolute bargain at € 29.80 all in: rod, reel, line, hooks, a float and a couple of spinners. What a hoot. I tackled her up, and an hour later, a couple of hilarious crabs. Then bingo – a half-decent sea bass. Joy!
Seven days later, I returned to the boat alone for a couple of hours of therapeutic chores. I climbed aboard, unlocked the cabin door, slid it back, and phwoaaah – a stench so strong it nearly knocked me over.
After my sea- angling debut, I had put the squid bait back in the freezer to save what was left of the mammoth € 3.10 purchase. But Tash had turned the auxiliary power off just prior to us leaving.
Very swiftly my planned couple of therapeutic hours turned into three hours of scrubbing, sweating, airing and cursing. I will never forget that smell. And I will never forget to check that the auxiliary power is forever left on, to save anything else going seriously off.