Sunny summer July 2011

I did invite her. With Luca and I planning a weekend away, I of course attempted to convince my wife to join us. "What's the plan?" she enquired. "Well, firstly" I began, "we're driving to Glasgow to watch Partick Thistle play football". At this juncture Carole's current plan of lunch with the girls became singularly impossible to postpone. I can't comprehend why.



Luca was positively buzzing with anticipation, even throughout the 3.5 hour car journey. Predictably however, he decided to fall asleep just as we arrived in Glasgow. Here he is, with that weird "eyes half open" sleep thing he does. He may be possessed. It would explain much.




Luckily we were parked near a local playpark, and had an hour to kill before heading to the game. "Luca, we're here". His eyes remained shut, as he emitted a low grumble from the base of his throat. "And we're going to the park". His eyes sprang open so quickly my startled elbow nudged the car horn. Being in Glasgow's west end, this at least served a purpose of instantly scaring off the kids who were at that moment attempting to remove the cars hubcaps.




I'll avoid the prison bar jokes.

Here comes Luca, determinedly striding across the playparks apparatus. I know I joke about his timidity, but he's far more confident than he was. Only a year ago he would likely have crawled across this section (if he'd even dared to venture on it at all). Incidentally, doesn't his stride here resemble that most infamous picture of Bigfoot?

Perhaps he is the missing link. Monkey-esque, he swings himself onto the slide.

"Yeeeaaahhhh!"

And be just like the other apes I'm tired of monkeying around.

The phrase "deja vu" was intended for use with many of my blogs.

Eventually his fun ended and we made our way to Firhill, outside which I took this picture of Luca. What's this sad face thinking? "Dad, are you really going to coerce me into a life of depressing desolation, forcing me to follow a truly terrible football team?"

Yes I am, but I'll buy you chocolate.

"HOW MUCH CHOCOLATE?"

Incidentally, we actually beat our illustrious opponents, Celtic, 2-1. This made the next leg of our journey rather more upbeat, as we inched our way through the Glasgow evening traffic before joining the open roads toward Loch Lomond. We initially stopped in a town called Tarbet and took in the gorgeous view overlooking the loch.

He's either really excited or constipated. It's often hard to tell.

We could have stayed all evening, but instead drove the last 3 miles of our Saturday trek to a nearby hostelry which contained the familiar faces of....

.......Granny, Granda, Aunt Dawn, cousin Jordan, Uncle Barry and Aunt Helen. Luca's astonishment was not staged, as I'd intentionally neglected to advise him of his evening companions. Seeing Granny and Granda outwith their normal realm was of great surprise to him, as was the appearance of the other strangely familiar faces. It took him a while to warm up however, as the regularity of his meetings with the Glasgow (shire) branch of our family is overly infrequent. Indeed, for the first 20 minutes or so he took refuge on his Granda's knee, cuddled up and coyly avoiding attention.

Here's a much improved picture. I attached the previous image purely as it amuses me. It's the pretence people have, of not being aware of a camera aimed at them. You invariably know when a camera is pointed at you, and it's a curiously human instinct to pretend you're unaware unless directly advised. Why is this? My theory is vanity, as if the picture of you is less than flattering you can at least quibble that "I didn't know I was in the picture, you caught me in a bad pose". Perhaps Kelly, our resident head doctor, can offer a more cogent hypothesis?

Following dinner, we retreated to our overnight destination of.......I can't remember. It was late, and I was tired. My brain was on autopilot at this stage as Dad navigated the few miles to the timeshare. It was as befitting an abode as the surrounding scenery demanded, and a beautiful place to stay. The view from the balcony was awe inspiring, overlooking endless grassy terrain, lochs, lakes and hills. You simply couldn't see a single building, road or car no matter what angle you strained your neck at. Awesome.

I'll describe details of the weekend at a later date. As keen as I am to post these pictures this evening, I'm equally as keen to spend the few remaining hours of the weekend with my family.

Plus of course the final episode of "The Apprentice" begins shortly. Heathen that I am.

**Useless fact of the day - Jane Goodall, a famous, legitimate and highly recognised primatologist and anthropologist, keenly believes that Bigfoot do indeed exist in the wild**

Scorchio in Scotland

A 22 degree roaster in Aberdeenshire today. Dogs panted, grass turned brown, women with bleached blond hair forgot to dress before leaving the house and that odd shiny, shimmering effect appeared on the roads, confusing and transfixing at the same time.

And Luca melted.

He woke happily enough at 7.40am with Dad and trundled downstairs for breakfast for some hurried toast. Tous commes normale, at least until we walked out to the car. "It's a lovely day" he opined. This state of mind didn't even last until we reached the car. "It's too hot Dad, I'm tired" he whined, before obstinately clambering into his car seat, with that oddly teenage girl strop look upon his face.

Having long since learnt to tune out his moans, we drove quickly to his football training. He then staggered through the session, only coming alive at the (peculiarly arranged) rugby kicking section of the class. Confidently kicking the rugby ball over the bar successively, I noted a couple of Dad's tell their sons to "watch what that boys doing" when encouraging their offspring.

Proud? A little. A future Gavin Hastings perchance, though hopefully without that curiously monotone Scottish public school drawl.

We departed 5 minutes before the sessions end however, as his skin colour had by this stage began to resemble that of an enraged lobster that had fallen into a vat of beetroot juice. We then drove (all windows wound down) into Aberdeen to visit the cinema. Today's "treat" was the live action/CGI version of Yogi Bear. I've had piles that were more fun.

Following successive quick trips to my office and the supermarket, his deteriorating condition forced me to take him quickly home thereafter. We arrived home to find his new bed built. Have I mentioned this previously? Luca has been (justifiably) complaining of late that his bed was becoming too small for him - no surprise as it's a toddlers bed he's had for a couple of years. See the pictures at the top of this blog, taken this evening of his first sleep in the new bed.

He does, of course, faff, tremble and complain when climbing up and down the two stepped (!) ladder. Bear Grylls our boy will surely not be.

It's my birthday on Tuesday. I'll be 36. Carole, however, last night discovered a way to distract me from my depressing descent toward middle age. She took us to what was undoubtedly our worst ever dining experience.

Having received vouchers, she booked us a table at "La Bamba" restaurant in Aberdeen (http://www.labamba.biz/). Despite it's previous questionable reputation, the appeal of vouchers combined with the fact it's now under new management convinced her it was an experience worth undertaking.

My wife is not often wrong but I suppose if the UN can err if they present incoming US presidents with the Nobel Peace prize before they'd, well, actually done anything, then so can Carole. The difference being I don't love the UN.

We arrived to find (very young) staff hanging around chatting rather than greet patrons and lead them to their table. Once eventually noticed, we were lead to our table in the corner, past a hen party, a 40th birthday and a 30th birthday. All entirely encompassing drunk women wearing clothes two sizes too small for them and enough make-up to make a test lab rabbit wince.

Having squeezed through we were sat at our table near the toilets, with it's handily "wipe-clean" tablecloth. Our order was taken shortly after - no great decisions to be made, having been faced with the smallest (1 page!) menu I've ever witnessed. The starters arrived, and the rubbery taste of my overcooked (by about 3 hours) mussels was at least distracted by the cacophony created by the hen party as they stood upon their tables belting out "It's Raining Men"

We've never eaten so quickly, and gratefully shot out as the hen party roared into the chorus of "I've Had The Time Of My Life"

Oh the irony.

But we did laugh all the way home. This will certainly be remembered. Much in the same way the Ukrainians remember Joseph Stalin.

**Useless fact of the day - Every day you breath in one litre of other peoples anal gases**