What's that funny smell?

A mixed bag of pictures today. Let's sort out the wheat from the chaff.



The above was taken last weekend during a lunchtime stop at an astonishingly poorly run cafe in Westhill. Luca is attempting the perverse superhero trick of covering only his eyes to conceal his true identity. Well, if it worked for Batman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Aquaman, etc then it can work for Luca. But what about Superman? All he did was slick his hair back. Why did no-one recognise him? And what's with the pants?



This is from Tuesday. Luca is still on half days at school, so this weeks challenge has been to find things to do to keep him amused in the afternoons. As the incredible quality of my picture taking illustrates, we took a train ride.



Wednesday now, and we took the newly re-imported (from her USA excursion) Granny out to lunch. I'm unsure as which is more prominent, Luca's fiercely determined stare or the fact Granny has much of her lunch attached to her chin.



And now today (Thursday). With Luca recently acquiring a curious fascination in fish, we arranged a visit to his Granda's fish factory in Fraserburgh. Lunch had to be located first however, and we stopped at an innocent looking cafe on route in a town called New Deer. As observant as ever, we'd been in the cafe for over 5 minutes before I realised it was one of those strange church cafe's you find in many rural towns up here. The waitresses, as standard in such establishments, were 116 years old with at least 2 crucifix necklaces on show each. I did worry Luca was going to burst into flame.



He didn't though, and we arrived into Fraserburgh shortly after. Granda received a quick greeting before we lost his attention to the fish tank in the back office. "His name is Borange Orange" Luca proudly announced upon realising no-one had ever named the offices pet fish.



Eventually his attention was re-established, and captured by the many seafaring paintings around the building.

Receiving instructions from Granda on how to behave when entering the factory. He appears to be kind of listening here, but his attention is clearly being drawn elsewhere. Unsurprisingly, it's"Borange Orange" in his line of vision here.

"Is there games on your computer?"

It took a while, but after a folding exercise involving this protective overall an origami master would have been proud of, we wrapped Luca up in preparation for his visit into the factory. He loved it, and had never touched a fish before today. "They're a bit slippery" was his conclusion. The only mildly worrying moment was when Granda demonstrated the machine that tore the skin from the fishes body. As his face turned grey we decided this was perhaps a step too far in his days education.....

A visit to the harbour followed, primarily to allow Luca's clearly still jet lagged Granda to pack up for home. Although he would rather have stayed with his Granda, the boats at the quay held great fascination for the intrepid lad, as did the assorted mutilation of the various catches on display. He is a boy after all.

**Useless fact of the day - 650,000 tons of fish are caught annually in the UK for consumption**

Luca's first day at school - August 2011

Strathburn Primary's youngest pupil (he's still only 4 and a half y'know) began his school life today.



Breakfast time. Tuck that shirt in boy.



By the time we'd reached the car he'd been kissed and cuddled to a point of submission. "He's not a baby any more", "I can't believe he's a schoolboy now", and various other sentimental parent-esque banalities.



Simon Cowell asked for his trousers back.



His Mum actually asked to be in this photo. Seriously. Even Luca was shocked.

So I took two. Snow in the Sahara is more common.

He looked so small in the playground, but took to his surroundings immediately and began his search for other fun-minded kids. His parents became invisible to him.

Until Dad was needed again natch. While we were chatting to other parents and waiting for the teachers to arrive outside, Luca joined some other children in climbing the various apparatus around the play-yard. "Dad!" he called from atop a steep wooden structure. We waved to him.

2 minutes later the call came again. "Dad!" We waved again. "Dad, come here" he called out.

I wandered over. "Hi Luca, are you having fun?". "Dad, help me down" he whispered, "I'm stuck". He'd been too proud to shout his predicament across the busy playground and had instead waited patiently, contemplating his situation and flashing carefree smiles at anyone who walked past.

His teacher is called Mrs Cocker. I know.

Finally the children were lined up, and Luca led his Primary 1 class inside. Did he cry? No. Did he even look back? Of course not.

We expect him to have moved out by the time he's 7.

**Useless fact of the day - The first schools were set up by the ancient Greeks and Chinese**

Get to sleep!

It's 8.20pm on a Monday night. I've already walked Yoda. I've also eaten dinner (chicken pie, yeeurrgh). The execrable Eastenders is on TV. A perfect excuse then, to escape to the confines of our bedroom to post the latest in my ever dwindling blog entries.



Problem. I have no new photo's to post. Quick solution, pop through to Luca's bedroom and disturb his slumber for the instant gratification of a new picture. As above.

Alternately, I could instead post a picture previously taken, yet considered so uninteresting it's inclusion in a previous entry was considered unwarranted. So here it is. Luca and Yoda.

Yoda, the canine equivalent of a tremble machine. So nervous that the sound of a car backfiring 3 streets away causes her to involuntarily soil herself. She's never truly recovered from the infamous firework experience, where she bolted at the sound of the bangs, got herself lost and lived wild for 3 days.

Isis, gratefully, is a much bolder hound. Several times larger than her younger brethren, and many years older too, the prospect of a firework causing such mental scarring is unimaginable. That said, she's not without her quirks. Most notable is her ability to communicate via a fart.

I wish I was kidding. She wanders through to the living room, lets one go, then promptly turns around leaving the rooms incumbents to truly appreciate her gift. Every day she does this, every day. Why? I wish I knew. I think she hates us.

A quiet weekend has just ended. Saturday began with a health check and fitness guide for me at Bannatynes Health Club. An unique experience for sure, akin at times to being at a doctors surgery. My results were printed out for me at the end, and rather surprisingly determined my blood pressure to be below average, my lung capacity great and my resting heart rate low as well. These, amongst other results, concluded (according to the chap) that I'm actually rather fit.

Consciously withholding from the instructor that fact I spend 60-70 hours a week sat at a desk, and had irresponsibly munched on a doughnut and a half on route to the club, I decided it would perhaps be inappropriate to query with him as to whether I should continue with my membership, if indeed I am already fit.

I am aware these results allow me great scope for self delusion. I am both aware, and comfortable with that fact.

I wandered down to wallow in the jacuzzi after that, inwardly gloating at my supreme physical condition, while actively avoiding examining my distinct lack of a 6 pack and anorexic arms.

During my delusions, 20 miles away Carole and Luca attended (another) birthday party. I can't remember the child's name. That said, neither, likely, can Luca. But he had fun, it seems

On Sunday, while I slumbered, Carole drove Luca to Aberdeen to visit her friend Annie (or "Aunty Aunty" as Luca peculiarly refers to her). Annie's dad died this week, which, as you'd suspect and understand, leaves a huge gaping hole and a feeling of dispiriting emptiness.

Luca had discussed the plans with me the night before, as I put him to bed. "I'm going to see Aunty Aunty tomorrow" he smiled. "Her Daddy is dead" he continued. His smile turned into a frown. "Who will be her Daddy now?". Following brief contemplation I explained that no-one would, that you only get one Daddy. He seemed surprised and looked away, briefly looking up at me intermittently as he digested the information. Eventually he smiled. "I'll share you with her, you can be her Dad too"

Sometimes they're worth it

**Useless fact of the day - Thomas Edison's son, as well as taking a cast of his dying Father's face, also caught his Dad's last breath in a bottle**

August 2011

A perfect pale Scottish boy. Living in the North East of the UK gives you that distinctive goth-esque hue due the total absence of sun 11 months of the year. As you can see in the picture, he even has his hands tucked up inside the sleeves of his jacket. In Scotland, we learn to do that before even potty training.

Edit - Scots/English boy before the Southern most members of our family object. Indeed, I adore the fact that even within the same sentence he'll oft bounce between accents.

However, over the past few weeks his accent has noticeably become more anglicised. With my work necessitating an ever lessening presence at home he and his Mum have spent a great deal more time together. As frustrating as my absence is, it has undoubtedly further sealed the bond between Mother and Son. They still butt heads on occasion, but are both slowly learning that it's their latent similarities that have caused previous conflict, rather than their differences

Or more succinctly, they are so alike in nature (they're absolute doubles) that they're essentially arguing with themselves......

I do come home sometimes however. Luca loves the rare occasions I'm here, but is slowly learning that he's no longer my baby. He still often tries to sit on my knee, but as of last week I've banned him. He is so massive now, yet still so elegantly uncoordinated, that he regularly cracks me in the nose with that enormous head of his. I come to bed every night looking like I climbed up Mount Everest on my face.

Having mentioned work, Carole's been keen for me to relax and de-stress as much as possible. With this, I've joined a gym! I know that sounds a bit of an oxymoron (how can you exercise and relax at the same time?), but the gym I've joined is Bannatynes. For those of you who've visited one of these centres (both Carole and Dad are already members), you'll be aware that its as much of a leisurely spa as it is a centre for exercise. They have a "chill out" floor in their gym (I don't get that myself), massages, jacuzzi's, a "slow lane" in the swimming pool and best of all a cafe with comfy chairs and huge selection of cream cakes.

I'm not going to get fit any time soon methinks.

Finally, enjoy the video's at the bottom of the blog. The final video was taken as he modelled his new school trousers (the prospect of his upcoming attendance still terrifies me) while seemingly simultaneously auditioning for a role in the new "Planet Of The Apes" movie.

**Useless fact of the day - Apes can learn sign language, and can learn up to 1000 signs**

Gubbins is a real word

"It's been two weeks since my last blog", I thought, "I'll have heaps of great photo's". Absolute gubbins of course, and one of many daily instances where I delude myself with such abandon. I'm a horrible photographer, and should be banned.



The above is the perfect case in point. I took four pictures of Granda and Grandson cuddled up together on our sofa and this was honestly the best one. The lighting is so skew-iff Luca resembles a deity. But he's not. Really. Not even slightly.




Onto the Banchory Show now. Can you see him on the bouncy slide? He's like a chameleon.



Here's the best picture. Not really much to say here. It's a tractor

Petting the lambs. Or black sheep. Are we still talking about the animals?

One of the few things Scotland does exceptionally well. Old school hotels and country houses set in acres of idyllic scenery. In this instance it's Thainstone House Hotel, only a couple of miles from our front door. I paid a visit on Sunday having received a free trial days membership to their leisure club. It was great fun, and following a gym session and a swim, I felt the stresses of my profession drift away as I followed suit in the steam room. Upon hearing their membership rates on my departure though, all those knots in my shoulders immediately reappeared. Cheek clenchingly expensive.

A little more on the cost effective side, however, are Luca's haircuts. I took him to the barbers on Saturday morning - not the type of establishment I normally frequent naturellement - for a quick trim. "Don't watch me!" he squealed every time I raised my eyes from the newspaper to watch the progress of his haircut. I can't decide if this was down to his burgeoning self awareness, or more likely due to his desire to be left in peace to flirt with the hairdresser. "I've got loads of cars you know" and "Have you seen my shoes, they're really cool" were two of his more typical statements (always statements, never questions) as Mr Smooth worked his magic. He's an odd little chap.

**Useless fact of the day - Nearly a third of all bottled water in the US is contaminated with bacteria**