The Irish Mail on Sunday - TV Week - - FRONT PAGE - Fiona Looney is on hol­i­day

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.

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