Sickness And Silliness

"5 o' clock somewhere" Wall Clock
The Al Vimh “5 o’ clock somewhere” Wall Clock

5:00 AM. I awake to the sound of a crying child, staggering across the landing. Child Unit 2 is awake and feeling a little sorry for himself, hurrying to the toilet to, how can I put it delicately? Puke his tiny guts up. Having spoken to god on the great white telephone and after a cuddle and clean-up, the boy seems absolutely hunkydory-doodledandy-fit-as-a-butcher’-dog. Back to sleep.

7:30 AM. I awake to the sound of a wailing alarm clock and after performing the normal morning routine, wash stuff, brush things, cover bits with clothes and fall down the stairs, I find Child Units 1 and 2 perched on the sofa, watching Doctor Who. They devour a hearty breakfast of porridge-like substance and cheerily ready themselves for school. Marital Unit and I decide that Child Unit 2 is hale and hearty and perfectly capable of attending school. Nevertheless, we agree that it would be best to notify the school of his night time eructations, just in case any further pukey problems arise.

After throwing the Child Units from a moving vehicle in the general vicinity of the Education Pod, I shot home to make a few phone calls and hurl cuss-words at telesales callers. Around ten o’ clock, I realised that i’d forgotten to let the school know about the late night Exorcist episode from the boy and gave them a quick call. “He’s fine…probably something he ate…happy as larry this morning…yeah i’ll come and collect him”. Balls.

As it turns out, if a child is sick during the night, you’re supposed to keep him home from school for 24 to 48 hours. OK, fair dinkum, sure, why not? I went straight up to collect him and now he’s happily feckin’ about on Banjo-Kazooie and occasionally issuing a smug grin for getting out of a day’s learnin’, good for him. I don’t blame the boy, I don’t blame the school, I don’t blame anyone necessarily, but I am a bit flummoxed.

Y’see, we recently had a letter from the school authorities, explaining that there was a new sheriff in tow…sorry, i’ve been watching a lot of John Wayne films. The letter explained that there was a new attendance policy in place and parents of students who missed too many sessions (two sessions to a day) would be fined. The letter spoke of unauthorised absence, which would basically refer to any sick day where you didn’t get a doctor’s note and the like.

I’m sure this is all good, right? I mean, obviously we need to make sure kids don’t miss too much school. There’s just a couple of wee problems with it…

First up, there’s the fact that Child Unit 1 has asthma and Child Unit 2 has tonsils that look like an allergy prone elephant’s bee-stung testes, so the slightest hint of a cough, cold or bug and the pair of them sound like Darth Vader choking on a peanut. If one of them has been awake all night coughing their lungs out, chances are i’ll deem it necessary to keep them off school. I could send them in, but they’ll fall asleep face down in their watery gruel and they’ll be far too tired to operate a loom, so i’m not sure what good the school thinks they’ll be?

Also, there’s a note in the letter about “exceptional circumstances”, which is entirely fair. One report that I read mentioned allowing children absence to tie in with a family member’s leave from the armed forces and quite rightly so, that’s the kind of exception that I fully endorse. But there was also mention of “parents in good standing” or words to that effect and that didn’t sit quite right with me. Who is a parent in good standing? If I pay for the school to have gold plated toilets, can I take the kids to Butlins for a week in term time? If I punch a teaching assistant, do they have to go in on Saturdays?

The worst part is that the school actually hands out certificates for perfect or near-perfect attendance, which makes those unfortunate enough to be born without Wolverine’s healing ability feel bad when the incredibly immune children (or those who are tied to a school chair home hell, high water or haemophilus influenzae) are rewarded for their attendance record. The poor buggers who did nothing wrong, save not managing to fight off one of the hundreds of bugs, viruses and government created nano-plagues (i’m on to you, Cameron) which are floating around the school yard on a day to day basis, are left feeling as though they have somehow done wrong, with no real idea what it is they’re supposed to have done.

If my children are sufficiently unwell, they stay home from school. I’m not saying they’re hauled out for every sniffle, but I won’t send them in with fluids coming from every orifice and a temperature which can melt tooth enamel. If that means they miss out on a bit of blue paper and a handshake from the head, so be it. Sooner that than puking in the pencil pots.

The village school is fantastic, don’t think i’m knocking it. The problem is, as has long been the problem with our education system, that somebody seems to be employed solely to come up with bullshit. The Office Of Bullshit. Bullshit Production Team. They’re out there! Five or six of them, crowded into a dingy basement room, bitter and twisted wee bastards who’ve not seen daylight in sixty years.

BULLSHITTER 1: “What can we do to screw with them today?”

BULLSHITTER 2: “Well, i’ve been working on a little something. How about making a really big deal out of attendance. Schools will send letters home, come up with bullshit…”

ALL: “BULLSHIT!” *salute*

BULLSHITTER 2: “…little reward schemes, anything to make sure bums are in seats, given the fear of god we’ll put into them.”

BULLSHITTER 3: “Hmm, yes. Yes it has potential, but might I suggest one small change?”

BULLSHITTER 1: “Proceed.”

BULLSHITTER 3: “We make it policy for children who have been sick within the last 48 hours to remain home so as not to contaminate other children. It doesn’t matter if it’s something they ate or they’ve made themselves gag, they stay home. That way, even parents who are trying their damnedest won’t be able to achieve perfect attendance!”


*much orgasmic writhing*

That’s exactly how it happened. Weird, troll people coming up with crap in a basement. I may be a tad sleep deprived. Anyway, that’s the problem. It’s all bullshit.



Cooking With Al

Having grown weary of the Host Body’s usual beans/spaghetti/ravioli/butter on toast, I decided that tonight I would seize control and prepare the evening meal.

At a dinner party with Sata…a certain individual, some time ago, I developed a fondness for Chicken & Vegetable Lasagna, so I decided to give it a go.

So, follow these simple steps and in no time at all you’ll be sinking your teeth into a truly sumptuous repast.


Some mushrooms
Couple of onions
Peppers (assorted colours)
Tomatoes, one tin of
Chicken breasts, two or three or whatever
Dried lasagne sheets or the ability to make fresh lasagne sheets
Jar of lasagne sauce (Red)
Jar of lasagne sauce (White)


Every pot, pan, dish, bowl, spoon, spatula, knife and tin-opener that you can lay hands on


1 ) Chop the onions into a large saucepan

2 ) Chop the mushrooms into the same saucepan

3 ) Start chopping the peppers

4 ) Get told off by your Significant Other for using peppers which are clearly well past their use by date

5 ) Have blazing row with Significant Other

6 ) Storm out of the house

7 ) Return with apology chocolates and fresh peppers

8 ) Chop peppers into the large saucepan

9 ) Empty tin of tomatoes onto the worktop

10 ) Swear loudly

11 ) Scoop tomatoes from worktop, into bowl

12 ) Prepare to pour tomatoes into saucepan

13 ) Get told off by Significant Other, who can clearly see the pieces of onion skin, crumbs and assorted detritus which is now mixed in with the tomatoes

14 ) Have second row with Significant Other

15 ) Watch as Significant Other storms out of the house

16 ) Apologise when Significant Other returns with fresh tin of tomatoes and pointed expression

17 ) Empty tin of tomatoes into saucepan

18 ) Turn hob to highest heat

19 ) Keep quiet as Significant Other turns it down a couple of notches

20 ) Crush six cloves of garlic and drop into saucepan

21 ) When Significant Other asks, swear that you only put in one clove

22 ) Begin dicing chicken breast

23 ) Slip with knife, stab self in hand.

24 ) Pull knife from hand, screaming in agony

25 ) Resist urge to stab Significant Other when they say “Don’t think you wanted to do that, did you?”

26 ) Wrap teatowel around hand and begin scooping bloodied chicken into a bowl

27 ) Realise this is bloody stupid even for you, throw the chicken in the bin

28 ) Hunt through freezer for chicken

29 ) Realise that the chicken wouldn’t defrost in time, even if you found any

30 ) Go to nearest shop and buy more chicken, pre-diced

31 ) Fry pre-diced chicken

32 ) Burn pre-diced chicken

33 ) Burn previously diced hand, trying to remove pan of burning chicken from the hob

34 ) Drop pan on foot

35 ) Burn foot

36 ) Jump around on one foot, put one hand on worktop to steady yourself

37 ) Realise that you have actually put your hand on the hob

38 ) Burn hand

39 ) Scream with rage, fling pan at wall, kick oven, punch through cupboard, storm out of kitchen

40 ) Have blazing row with Significant Other

41 ) Apologise and return to kitchen to clear up mess

42 ) Find kitchen on fire

43 ) Call fire brigade

44 ) Get told off by Significant Other for over-reacting

45 ) Watch sheepishly as she throws wet teacloth over what is, in actual fact, a small flame

46 ) Apologise to fire brigade

47 ) Take Significant Other out to dinner

And there you have it!

Obviously, if you are single you’ll need to berate and/or slap yourself wherever you find the words “Significant Other”.

Either way, you’ve got the perfect excuse for a night out, possibly after a trip to casualty.

Bon appetit.

D . I . Why?

Any DIY job is a lot like a one-night stand.

You start out so full of hope but it generally turns out to be an ultimately unsatisfying affair and you’re left with a horrible mess which is NOT what you had in mind when you began.

Also, there is the real risk that you could fall off of something and injure yourself (Really happened. Two words, avoid waterbeds)

“But what has brought about this sudden hatred of home improvements?” I hear you ask when prompted.

Well, the host body and his marital unit have decided to redecorate…

Work began this morning on the room belonging to the two smaller humans, half pink, half blue and all a pain in the ass.

In this particular instance, i’m actually glad that the host body is so pathetically lacking in basic motor functions, because a very able friend of his has in fact done the job for him.
(Many thanks to @BlamelessNinja, who very kindly painted the bedroom and in keeping with his name, accepts zero responsibility for any paint related mishaps and/or deaths)

If Clumsy McHostBoob had been doing the work, it would have gone very differently.

Here’s my step-by-step guide to “Dumbass Does Decorating”

1 ) Set up the pasting table

2 ) Mix up a batch of paste

3 ) Remember that you’re painting, not papering

4 ) Pour paste away

5 ) Dismantle paste table

6 ) Search entire house for a screwdriver with which to open paint

7 ) Borrow screwdriver from neighbour

8 ) Attempt to open paint

9 ) Slip and tear ragged wound in palm with screwdriver

10 ) Bleed profusely while wrapping elastoplast and duct tape around hand

11 ) Second attempt at opening paint

12 ) With one mighty wrench of the screwdriver, both open the paint and knock the tin over, ruining the carpet

13 ) Mop up excess paint

14 ) Buy large rug to cover massive stain when job is done

15 ) Very carefully open second tin of paint

16 ) Begin to apply paint to wall

17 ) Look down at paint spatters on the carpet

18 ) Slap forehead, having just now realised that you bought dust sheets for this

19 ) Mop up excess paint

20 ) Call carpet shop, order new carpet to be delivered next week

21 ) Wonder if you should have paid for professional fitting

22 ) Figure you can probably manage to lay a carpet

23 ) Look at the mess you’ve made in the first hour of decorating

24 ) Call carpet shop, request professional fitting

25 ) Lay dustsheets

26 ) Continue decorating

27 ) Finish with the roller, stand back and admire your work

28 ) Realise you’ve leant against the wet paint

29 ) Patch up the mess you’ve made of the wall

30 ) Begin carefully cutting in around fixtures and fittings

31 ) Fetch damp rag

32 ) Wipe paint off of fixtures and fittings

33 ) Step back once again to admire your endeavours

34 ) Cringe as you stand in the roller tray

35 ) Fall backwards, landing on the screwdriver which you definitely shouldn’t have just left lying around, I mean, what are you? An idiot?

36 ) After a lengthy visit to casualty, thirteen stitches and procurement of a “special cushion”, return home

37 ) Find yourself face to face with irate wife

38 ) Realise that you’ve painted the wrong room

39 ) Fling yourself out of the window

40 ) Relax in your hospital bed as professionals clear up your mess

And there you have it, one moron’s painting and decorating tips, free of charge.

Tune in next week when we’ll tell you how to build your very own television unit which will likely collapse in the night, cause a horrific fire and kill you and your family.

Stay safe kids.

No, Diego, No.

It’s time for number 7 on our “10 Things I Hate About Yule” countdown, Children’s Christmas television.

Just this morning, I have heard every Christmas song ever written, most of which were sung by that dancing douche of a dinosaur, Barney.
The Barney Christmas episode is a crime against humanity, but nothing could compare to the terror which followed.
I have, in one day, seen Santa’s sleigh pulled by a llama (Go, Diego, Go), a stuffed donkey (My Friends Tigger And Pooh) and Pluto, Mickey’s lifelong canine companion (Mickey’s Clubhouse) and, inexplicably, the only animal in his world which CAN’T bloody talk.
What sort of message is this sending to my Children?

ME: “Well kids, what are you asking Santa for this year?”

DAUGHTER: “I’m asking for a bike, Daddy”


ME: “Uh-huh, uh-huh. So, do you think you’re going to get those nice

presents that you asked for?”

DAUGHTER: “Oh yes Daddy, we’ve been ever so good”


ME: “Don’t burn your sister son. So, you’ve been good, but I still don’t

think you’ll get any presents kids”

DAUGHTER: “OH NO! Why not Daddy?”


ME: “Because Santa is an ineffectual tit who can’t get from A to B without the aid of assorted fictional characters, to be honest, if he gets four feet from the North pole without banking into a snow drift and freezing to death, i’ll be surprised”



Screw kids TV, time for “Muppet Christmas Carol”