Will this work?

Following further "app" purchases (Apple really do have my credit card providers on speed dial) today's blog entry is the first created solely using my indomitable IPad. Any spelling/grammatical errors I shall blame solely on the software, and fully excuse the effects of the rather lukewarm beer currently coursing it's way through my system.




The most recent event of note, of course, is Luca's recent (and first) birthday party. Being my first attendance at such an event (his Mother has previously assumed the responsibility of attending those of his friends) I have to admit at suffering an initial alarm at the sheer volume and intensity of the occasion. I'd always imagined our son to be rather a handful of the hyperactive variety, but the other attendees matched and even bettered his natural exuberance, inevitably resulting in an occasion reminiscent to the battle scenes involving the Ewoks and Stormtroopers in "Return of the Jedi".




It wasn't all bad however. There was cake.




Few pictures today I'm afraid, but the above is a (rare) picture of Mother (clad in my "favourite" attire of a fleece. No matter how many I burn another swiftly appears in its place) and son, both resembling drunken Red Indians with varying paints strewn across their face. Such messiness is a common theme on my returns from work. Reason alone to retire early from work and begin anew with an alternative career in grifting.



Final picture of the evening? A sword duel between grandson and Granda. Who won? Judging by the number of "Gently Luca" and "Ow, watch my hand" I'd perhaps suggest that had this been times of yore then the youngest member of the Stewart family would have won the hand of fair maiden.

Less successful was Luca's most recent football training session, only hours ago. Following an initially successful transition to the elder age group, a firm step backwards was made today. Ironically, he was greatly adept during the skills section of training, showing admirable footwork, but the actual game provided greater disappointment than even the baffling continued success of Piers Morgan. He appeared disinterested and distracted, spending much of the game chatting with one of his teammates. Stern words were provided by Dad during the journey home, and the hope he at least tries a little bit next week most prominent in my mind.

Does the referral to "Dad" in the previous paragraph indicate I've been reduced to referring to myself in the 3rd person? An even remotely capable wordsmith shouldn't be reduced to such errs. What next, will "LOL's" begin appearing in text accredited to my name? Is this carelessness due to tiredness, drunkenness or simply the natural denouement of my current mental faculties? Im really not sure which I'd rather the answer be.

More important than such trivialities, however, is the upcoming hospital appointment for Mike. Although an actual date has yet to be given, it's been indicated that the appointment will occur within the next 2-3 weeks. The details of such I'd prefer not to list on what is technically a publicly available web page, but suffice to say we're grateful the doctors have noticed, and very much look forward to the successful (relatively minor, local anaesthetic) procedure.

**Useless fact of the day - The highest earning underground train driver in London earns in excess of £60,000.00 per annum**

Luca's football debut

Following long periods of inactivity it becomes a perennial battle to rouse the (small) part of you that isn't innately lazy. Therefore a very powerful reason was required for me to rise this blog from the ashes.

Luca's footballing debut was this reason.

With his 5th birthday still fresh in the memory (so fresh indeed his belated party is still over a week away) he and I attended his new football training class today. The new class covers the 5-7 age group, which naturally makes him one of the youngest attendees. "I can't wait to see the big boys" he has oft repeated to me this week. He was almost giddy during the drive there.

The exercises were obviously more advanced than his previous class. Despite my failure to remember to take a water bottle with us ("I'm so thirsty" he persistently whined) he hugely enjoyed the new activities, particularly the one in which he had the dribble the ball past Dad, stop, spin, nutmeg me (knock the ball through my legs for those of you strange non-football aficionado's) and regain it at the other side again.

But you're not reading this to learn about kids footballing drills. You want to hear about the glory!

The small scale (5-a-side) games began in the sessions latter half. Luca was noticeably nervous as he lined up alongside his teammates. Furtive glances were continually shot in my direction seeking reassurance. My smiles and encouragement clearly weren't needed however.

The game kicked off, and an obviously uncertain Luca began slowly, deferring to his teammates, clearly desperate not to make a mistake. However, as the game began to flow his confidence grew. His shoulders visibly relaxed and he began moving at a surprising pace.

BANG! The first goal of the game was scored, and a jubilant Luca spun away and raced toward me. "I scored, I scored!" he squealed with a look of sheer delight across his face. So excited was he that ran clear of the pitch and bounded into his Dad's arms. He repeated this at every goal, and as embarrassing as his exuberance was it was equally warming and, most obviously, enormously cute.

The pick of the goals was his third, his hat trick. One of the opponents knocked it too far in front in him, and the ball spun away toward the corner, nearest the goal Luca was defending. Seizing on the opportunity Luca outpaced his opposite number to the ball, only just keeping it within the confines of the pitch. He then spun and ran with the ball up the entire length of the pitch, during which he knocked it past a couple of (naturally) flimsy opponents from the "Yellows" (Luca was the "Blues"). He then bore down on goal, switched the ball to his good (left) foot and prodded the ball high past the goalkeeper.

I swear I literally yelped as the ball hit the net, drawing a number of amused/bemused/embarrassed stares from a number of the other patents. Note to self, do not do this again. There are plenty of ways in which I'll inadvertently embarrass my son over the next decade or so without adding to his future humiliations in such an obvious manner.

More than any other entry in this long running blog, today's prose is intended primarily for future consumption by Luca. Whether or not he develops into a player of reasonable ability in later years (I fear the footballing genes I've provided to him will negate that possibility) I'd like him to at least know how dynamic he once was.

And also to know how much his parents love him absolutely.

For any other family members still reading (you're still here?) I can't even offer the recompense of recent images, due to this being my first (I'll fated?) entry from an I-Pad. Technology and Gary, two opposites that shall never collide.

**Useless fact of the day -

A Manchester City fan was banned in 1995 from bringing dead chickens into City’s Maine Road ground. He used to celebrate City goals by swinging the birds around his head. **