Well, I suppose

Suffering instead of socialising. An apt description of much of my life's events so far, only more so today.

With more relatives arriving today to see Lucy, Kelly and families, poor Granny Jo was faced with the unenviable task of another mass catering opus. Minus one

Yes, I failed to show for dinner in Banchory following a surprisingly harrowing run this morning. 19km (around 12 miles or so) were covered. A distance covered very comfortably in multiple training runs earlier this year (indeed becoming rather a workaday distance at one point) became an uncomfortable endurance test today. Why? Simple, lack of training over the past 6-8 weeks, allied to excessive Christmas drinking and an inadequate diet.





As the picture above demonstrates, my new Christmas running shoes need a little breaking in too. This handsome burst blister hasn't stopped weeping since its discovery several hours ago. Nice

Still, mistakes are made to be learnt from. I'll try to fit another (hopefully confidence boosting) run in before the New Year Lumphanan Detox race with Lucy as a precursor to any potential discomfort on the day.

Speaking of whom, I enjoyed a run alongside my big sister yesterday. She and her family came round yesterday morning, and while the boys created a cacophony of noise (well, Luca did, as is standard) for Scott and Carole to "enjoy", Lucy and I set out on a run through my local patch. My favourite aspect of running has always been the opportunity to explore, to visit places you perhaps normally wouldn't. For Lucy's benefit we ran by the Aquithie Stone Circle track, Inverurie Hospital (where she worked on occasion before emigrating) and Luca's school alongside other landmarks.

We covered just under a dozen kilometres before returning home, but perhaps set the pace a little high for a local Christmastime trot. Later in the day (we took the boys and spouse's for lunch, funfair and Laser Quest thereafter) Lucy started to look a little washed out. Infamously notorious corporation tax dodgers they may be, but our gratitude for the over-abundance of Starbucks coffee shops which provided the much required caffeine boost will live long.......

Perhaps, with greater foresight, I would have created a separate, dedicated running blog today. For our next image is running related too. Lucy, Carole and I ran the local Banchory Boxing Day Run last week, a fun annual "turkey trot". Dad caught us just before the race start:-





The girls ran great races. Lucy came home first of the two, running an excellent personal best time at this distance (5K), while Carole, a non-runner who hadn't had time to fit a single training run into the previous couple of weeks, determinedly ran without once slowing to a walk. I ran back after finishing to run the last section with her and was really proud of the grit she showed.

It's been great to see the Australian and American branches of our family this Christmas. Cade and Braeden are no longer at the "pick up and bear hug" stage, and are both incredibly switched on. Both will chat till the cows come home, even teenager (teenager!!!!) Cade, who takes a little longer to warm into a blether.

Seeing Kelly, and meeting Chris and Miller, has been great too. Poor months old Miller has been involved in a game Pass The Homo Sapien. He's great though, and has even got over the "Absolutely Terrified Of Uncle Gary" stage (most folk never pass this) to award regular grins and laughs. I did, however, enjoy changing his poopy nappy as much as I enjoyed Luca's. Seriously, how do such small receptacles concoct such volumes of toxicity?

Kelly's exercise schedule has left me rather daunted however. Cross Fit, 6 days a week, 3 times a day. Yep. Woah.

This has been rather more informative blog than normal hasn't it? There's so much to fit in the usual lyrical flights of fancy have been crushed by the weight of facts bursting to appear on the page. Usual unreadable irreverence will recommence next time.

To finish we have a photo or two.




Cade and Luca on our sofa yesterday. Luca's REALLY going to miss his cousins. His eyes just light up when around them.




Christmas morning. Severe storms during the night tilted our fence and blew the gate clean off. Above was taken part of the way through my botch temporary repair job. Yes, that is duct tape.




Christmas Eve. A mince pie for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph. Santa can confirm the pie was delicious.




Same night. Luca climbed across the back of the chair to sit atop my shoulders while I was reading. Carole offers chastisements for the fact he still - at nearly 7 years old - still receives the occasional carry in my arms when sleepy early in the mornings. But heck, he'll always be a baby in my eyes.

Apart from every time he talks.

**Useless fact of the day - You can only dream about faces you have already seen**

Walt Disney

It's 3 weeks until Christmas. Which, ashamedly, is a lesser period than the time elapsed since my last blog entry.

My repeated failings in updating this site, and the now almost prerequisite apologies, have become a Catholic confession of sorts. Except without the good bits that a Catholic priest (assumedly) bears audio witness to.

Since the last post, Luca has now passed his 27th birthday and begins his fourth anniversary as CEO of Apple Industries, having become bored of life as a World Cup winning Nuclear Physicist.

Luca is actually a healthy little chap, of sorts, just now. My revamp of his dietary intake is nearing completion, and I'm quite pleased with the healthiness and variety now involved. Instead of chocolate bars he now eats natural fruit bars (prune, coconut, etc), some made from scratch by me. Crisps have been eradicated completely. Dinner varies nightly, and is no longer as concentrated on the old "favourites" of fish fingers, sausages and beans.

Thankfully.

The change to his diet has been necessitated, I felt, by his ill behaviour. Most notable has been complaints from school about his cheekiness, chattiness and disobedience. The headmasters office is not an alien environment to him.

As we, as parents, can't affect his behaviour during school hours, all we can do is attempt general life improvements in an attempt to rectify matters. On top of the diet change (something I feel to be a key factor), he's also faced lengthy bans on the activities he enjoys. Computer games and television have been most prominent of those removed from his daily life as punishment (and as a precursor as reward for good behaviour).

Do these changes make a difference? Undoubtedly. The complaints from school have ceased, and just as importantly it hasn't adversely affected Luca either. He's quite happy to exist without TV (etc) and is becoming more creative as well as better behaved. He draws constantly now, completing at least 10 pictures daily - some are really very good too.

Contrarily, I do feel the issues at school have been exaggerated. Until his long term teacher left recently on maternity leave we'd faced few issues. I'd probe her at every parents evening for details of misbehaviour, all the while receiving positive reports. However, the school appears to have been ill prepared for her departure, and after 6 months have still not appointed a permanent replacement, instead bouncing 2 part timers around his class. Is it too coincidental to notice the "issues" have only began since this endless disruption with the teachers began?

Have I bored you stupid yet?

Shall I move onto the pictures before I lose you completely?




Guess where we are here? That's right, the "Aberdeen Maritime Museum". Again. I genuinely can't understand his fascination, yet can't consciously deny him the cultural learning experience that such premises offer. At least, on this occasion, our visit followed a cinema trip, where Luca and I watched new animated movie "Free Birds"

Which was ace




We've been to a wedding too. How good does he look in a kilt? Luca was page boy at my cousin Kieran's wedding a week ago. An initially shy child dived (dove?) into his responsibilities, to such an extent that the best man in his speech paid heed to Luca "photo bombing" every time a camera appeared.

And he wasn't kidding either. I'd be surprised if the happy couple have a single picture without that Luca grin being present somewhere.




He's been good over the last couple of weeks now though, so earns his rewards. Here we are in one of his favourite places, the Inverurie Garden Centre Cafe. Each to their own I guess.




And above, crossing a rail line bridge. Luca is of course terrified, my transmitted fear of heights still to leave him.




The above is a "Where's Wally" moment. We were snapped by the official photographer before the start of the recent Fraserburgh Half Marathon. I'm obviously easily visible. But that blue coat is Carole's. And you win a banana if you can spot Luca.



Having been injured lately I'd decided to take this race easy. However, despite sensibly starting the race near the back of the field I quickly bored of this plan and instead made my way rapidly through the field. The above was taken near the start as my lanky legs took me past a hundred or so bodies.




Bizarrely I ended up running a personal best (by 4 minutes) finishing in 1 hour and 33 minutes. I actually felt strong throughout and was never in trouble until the end. The last half mile was seriously painful and my infamous sprint finish was nowhere to be seen on this occasion as I stumbled over the finish line. The picture above was taken yards from the end, and the pain is demonstrably palpable.

I don't always run to my best though. I had a cross country race (I hate cross country races. Why do I do them?) yesterday, but hadn't accounted for feeling quite as bad as I did. A tip kids - never race with a hangover. Carole and I had been at a farmers dinner dance the night before (I now know A LOT about pig farming) and I rather over consumed on the vodkas. Wanting to throw up continually throughout a 10k race whilst sinking in mud is not what a good Sunday is all about.

But it was worth it, of course, for the night out with my wife.

Speaking of whom, we have been horse hunting together. Rather a rarity, and although neither horse is (likely) to be the one eventually purchased as Harvey's replacement the experience was invaluable. To be around horses and horse people was an education, and learning is always desirable.

More on this to follow soon. For now my stomach rumbles and, as always, is overruling my every other impulse.

**Useless fact of the day - there are about 75 million horses in the world**

Good Lord

Seriously, this really is a new blog post. Alcohol is to blame, or lack thereof.

As is commonly an issue, with so much time having passed since the last entry I am at a loss as to where to start. Do I comment on current issues, or exercise my memory to recall incidents from 4, 5, 6 weeks ago?

I'll, naturally, accommodate the easiest option.

Luca serves as a standard starting point. He can, at last, ride a bike unassisted. A distressingly abundant quantity of blood, sweat and tears have fallen (mainly from myself) to realise this task, but achievement is thus no matter how it is achieved.

He can also play football competently too, albeit demonstrating rather less commitment than is necessary. Who'd have thought he was my offspring? (Arf). He scored a lovely solo goal in his latest tournament, yet blotted his copybook with a distinct lack of effort and courage when supporting his teammates. Work in progress, as so many theoreticians enthusiastically plead.

Swimming is much the same, albeit with a marked improvement of late. We went swimming after school today (I'm on holiday this week), and after an atypically nervous start he began working those little arms and legs hurriedly, thrashing about like a sea lion unsuccessfully attempting escape from a ravenous Killer Whale. Pleasing, and an experience only negated by the vision of myself in the pools changing room mirrors, appearing rather more bony than I'd imagined in my swimming trunks.

Well, who generally looks at themselves semi naked?

Despite a severe lack of running these past couple of months (due to a ligament injury) my body is clearly ridding itself of fat faster than Roseanne Barr's ex husband.

But why? Possibly due to the new dietery regiment I've established here. Due to Luca's recent misbehaviour (more of that to follow) I've become sergeant-major-esquely strict with Luca's diet, cutting out chocolate and crisps and varying his (and our) day to day meals greatly in an attempt to physiologically affect his mood and behaviour in a positive fashion. Is it working? Yes, gradually.

I do need to readjust my own intake however. Especially with my first race since the Aberfeldy event fast approaching - this Sundays Fraserburgh Half Marathon. I managed my first serious training run only last Saturday, running a comparable distance over 6 minutes slower than I'm capable of. I'm confident this is due to a basic lack of reserves in my system. Too late to affect it now though, I can but eat sensibly for the next couple of days and hope I don't humiliate myself too greatly.

Carole's running now too. She surprisingly agreed to a 5 kilometre training run on Sunday, and did very well. Considering the time period between now and the last time she ran (last year) I was impressed with the consistency in her pace and determination to finish strongly too. She wants to keep it up (once/twice weekly) now, and I'll be really happy to support her through.

Naturally, of course, it's still secondary in her priorities to the search for a new horse. The insurance is still to be finalised (par for the course with such companies) but once resolved to search will gain momentum quickly. Personally, I hope an appropriate ex-racehorse becomes available (I'm very comfortable with the basic ethos behind such a rescue) but hopes are slim and we'll welcome whichever new "dobbin" eventually arrives.

However, I've just discovered to presence of a previously partially hidden bottle of spirits on the back of our sprits cupboard, so with lip-smacking certainty will prioritise this find and end today's entry rather more in advance of original intentions. Graciously, however, I've supplied to following images to prelude the imminent arrivederci:-




Halloween. Luca's first ever time trick'or'treating. A terrifying abundance, albeit reduced somewhat by my consummation of the Caramac. Who the heck knew they even still made these?



A cake I baked. As appetising in image as the many I've burnt before.




My blood covered, gnarly toes, immediately following a run. It's just as well I'm not into podophilia.




And Luca, asleep on the emu puppet he loves.

**Useless fact of the day - Rehab following knee surgery invariably takes 12 weeks, but progress throughout is entirely dependant in each individual case and not to be worried about**

Ow

With my right foot resembling that an elephant with a bad case of lower limb gout, I have no excuses for putting off updating the blog any further. With foot akimbo (and details of this to follow later) I'll grumpily begin.




Luca first. As always. Modelling his new football boots, having been only days away from exploding out his previous (smaller) pair Incredible Hulk stylee. Our boy sure can grow, leaving another £31.99 sized hole in my wallet.




At least this slide was free. He has rapidly overcome his vertigo of late, a phobia which in no way was caused by his own fathers transmitted fears.




Look at those spindly little legs. No wonder he takes exception to tough tackling on the football pitch. More interestingly, this picture was taken only minutes after one of my least favourite moments of the week. In Peterhead before Luca's latest tournament, he was "caught short" at this beach we were visiting before the tourneys start. With no toilets in view we were instead forced to "go" against a wall. However, with local blustery conditions allied to a 6 year olds lack of physical maturity and aim, the wee-wee was going everywhere. What has a Dad to do in this situation? Help.

As we walked away, both with urine encrusted hands, I have to admit to a brief mental re-appraisal of my life.




Above, in a Starbucks coffee shop in Aberdeen before travelling to Peterhead. A nice coffee, and no urine on my hands. A good moment.




The day before had begun at the surely unholy hour of 4:30am as I woke in time to begin my trek to Aberfeldy for a half marathon. The early hour was deemed worthwhile however, as the race route was the most picturesque I've so far witnessed, and the endless castles, greenery and arches inspired me to my fastest time at this distance, a full 10 minutes faster than my previous best.




Having already taken one beautiful picture of the sights of Aberfeldy, I decided to take another. Yoda, who'd accompanied me on the trip, decided to wander into camera shot at this juncture. Aw, that's just lovely, I'll get my little dog in this gorgeous scene too. But wait, Yoda, what are you doing? No, don't squat for a poop just as I press click.....




A different day, a different scenario. Yoda and Isis on our middle landing. Playing their favourite game of "how much dog hair can we rub into the carpet today?"




I'd intended to publish a series of photos of Carole's recent event near Huntly, but a mixture of babysitting someone else's demons on site allied to a lack of zoom on my camera phone has left the above as the only legible image. This was of the "dressage" event, which despite endless explanations of how it works I'm still rather in the dark regard the vagaries of the event. However, I'll watch the cross country event next time, that's rather an easier one to understand. Go fast, make the jumps, don't fall off. I like sporting events that require little thought. It appeals to my intellect, or lack thereof.

Oh, and my foot? I went running in the woods yesterday with Yoda and went over my ankle. I now have what female gossip magazines routinely and rather unkindly describe as a "cankle".

**Useless fact of the day - Tests have shown those with higher IQ's tend to worry more**

Marathon Man

I might be stepping on board an aircraft.

And so might Luca.

Albeit very early days regard practicalities and considerations, I'm considering running my first marathon next year. And to add a slightly epic twist I'd mused the idea of running it Stateside with Lucy. And with my elder sibling already jumping on the idea, the youngest female Stewart (Kelly) has rather surprisingly shown a keen interest too.

California's tantalising "Big Sur" has disappointingly already been ruled out due to an oversubscription for 2014. However, the 3.79 million square miles of the United States hold endless marathon possibilities, such as the already discussed Redwoods Marathon, which in turn has piqued Luca's interest. "Big trees Dad?"

With the promise of visiting grand scale forests, visiting his US cousins and eating marshmallows aboard an aeroplane with round windows (I'm still unsure as to how we reached the latter considerations) Luca is driving the idea forward in his own inimitable style. So rapid were his ideas on the trip as we drove to Peterhead today I fully expect to have been manipulated into taking him to Disneyworld instead by next week.

Ah, yes, Peterhead. Today was Luca's first football tournament of the new season. A subtle summer Sunday greeted our arrival, and despite a surprisingly sleepy Luca unenthusiastically rolling out the car door, he generally performed pretty well. Two goals, he also hit the post a few times, had a few close calls and worked hard for his team. Well, quite hard. Hard-ish. OK, he broke into an effeminate skip once or twice.




Not a great picture above, but that kitchen mop atop his head does rather differentiate him from his peers. The image below, however is a little more concise:-




Also taken today, our future David Attenborough quickly identified the coastal town of Peterhead to be a site of great natural interest, as he described in detail the tiny organisms native to our coastline. I don't take him exploring enough. His soul seems most enraptured when engaging with the many other living curiosities of this world.

Mum and Aunt Mary paid a visit yesterday. A visit graciously received, if only for the highly amusing spectacle of both (former) Sowerby girls meeting Harvey for the first time. "Oooh, he's just solid muscle" observed Aunt Mary as she gingerly prodded at the cumbersome creature. It was akin to watching the Egyptian Plover bird picking at the meat stuck in a crocodiles teeth, all the while knowing such interaction could spell tragedy at any moment.

Oh, and Luca's not short sighted after all. Having atypically failed to mention this (and so many other other noteworthy's) in my last entry, I must pay heed now. It turns out children's eyes are a curiosity and he actually has no need for the amusing pair of NHS specs he owns. Or is that optician speak for "we cocked up his first examination"?

To finish, another image of young Miller, emailed today by his proud Mother Kelly. Although barely at burping age I see no harm in deciding on his doppelgänger even at this early juncture. So, does anyone else see a chubby Steven Tyler?



**Useless fact of the day - "Psycho" was the first movie to show a toilet flushing**

Yes, really

I think I should post a blog entry. It has been rather a while.

What to say? Most importantly the announcement of Miller's arrival into this world. Though there is a chance this may have been mentioned elsewhere. Delighted to be an uncle again, and can't wait to meet him in person at Christmas.

Abduction to Inverurie could be a very real possibility if he has that "baby smell". Which, being a baby is a distinct possibility.

I still smell Luca's hair sometimes, in the hope that delightful calming smell will return. Unfortunately hopes remain forlorn as that smell disappeared around about the time he stopped needing afternoon sleeps. Or "The End Of The World" as my exhausted wife and myself considered it to be at the time. We loved it when he napped. Loved it.

We've just had Mike and Val (nee Grandad Mike and Ninny Nanna) up staying for the last week. And I think Luca nearly ended them. As the summer holidays have progressed he's become ever more of a handful, more excitable and unruly by the day. I think every parent would agree that the summer break is far too long, and kids really miss the structure of school and the mental and physical exertion it brings. Quite why such a lengthy holiday remains in an era where most families include both parents working full time is rather beyond me.

Incidentally, another summer has passed without a trip abroad for us. Indeed, our last sojourn from these shores was the mass Tenerife accompaniment of a few years ago. Costs, time and opportunity seem so short these days. We've even (only today coincidentally) turned down a trip to Italy for a friends wedding. Being 2-3 flights away and expensive, we barely considered it. Or am I making excuses? We quite enjoy our routines here, the horse, running, football, movies, local expeditions with Luca. Lack of opportunity or set in our routines? Perhaps a combination of both.

We have a busy few weeks coming up, with a number of riding events and road races upcoming. I'm actually feeling a little dissatisfied tonight, having discovered I missed a race in Fraserburgh at the weekend where the race winners finish time was 3 minutes slower than a time I'm consistently capable of. Yes, I missed my first (and possibly) last ever opportunity of a winners medal.

My last event was a new experience, a relay race (a 3 x 4km sprint). Obviously a shorter distance than I'm used to these days, it was nevertheless enjoyable to stretch my legs and rid myself of a few cobwebs. We came 5th out of 22 teams too in a high level field, so were naturally quite content with this.

As I remain resolutely the only person on Earth without a Facebook page (the last leather farmer in remotest Ethiopia having finally relented), I'm confident this will be old news but.......Harvey lives. The apparent return of the lesions appears to have abated, and a couple of days off drugs he still remains clear. For how long? Who knows. We accept existing in the here and now. And hey, we live in a world of constant life, death...... and taxes.

With so much more to report, I'm having difficulty deciding on the most relevant. So, as indecisive as I am I'll avoid such consternation tonight and, in future, be a much (MUCH, MUCH) more reliably regular blog contributor.

G'night all. Enjoy the beach pictures below of the Stewart clans now 2nd youngest member.







**Useless fact of the day - Adults have 206 bones. Babies are born with 300 (which fuse during the ageing process)**

Lake District 2013

The "staycation" - another example of the modern bastardisation of the Ye Olde English Dictionary, or a current phenomenon precipitated by the Tory governments short sighted view of how to handle the economic downturn?

My bias being obvious and incidental, but for anyone unfamiliar with the term a "staycation" is a summer vacation taken within the confines of our shores, avoiding the costs involved in a foreign vacation.

And this is my long winded way of introducing today's entry, where Luca and I spent the first week of his school holidays 300 miles from home in Carnforth, in the Lake District - an enormously gratefully received few days of Granda Ian's timeshare.

So here goes with the rundown of our activities over the past few days. If you don't like pictures of Luca gurning then the following will be an early purgatory for you.




The above is from our arrival at Pine Lake Resort on Monday afternoon. An agonising drive down, Luca afflicted belated and endless revenge on me on behalf of my parents. "Are we there yet? How many minutes now Dad?". I forgot to pack the horse tranquilliser for the journey.





Lakeside, around 50 yards from our apartments door. No pithy remarks here, just a photo I'm already rather fond of.




In the town of Carnforth now, beside a lakeside pub. Luca adored the ducks. The cold beer was my love of the day.




I have to remember to not take photos of Luca with inappropriate tooth rotting fizzy drinks in camera shot. It rather negates my rather pompous stance when berating others for such sins.




Back on site now, we visited the tennis courts twice daily. No matter where else our travels took us, Luca loved to start and end the day under arming the ball back and forth. He's not bad either. Still Andy Murray circa 2006 rather than resembling the rather more imposing 2013 version, but he hits the ball sweetly and could be very capable if he actually listens.

Yeah, I know, Gary's complaining about his son not listening. What goes around comes around, you reap what you sow, pots and kettles, etc, etc, bloody etc.




Crazy Golf now, which became Luca's favourite activity. "Why do I have to pick your ball out the hole Dad?"
"Because I'm old and sore Son"
"You're not old Dad, you're only 38"
"Thanks Son"
"You'll be old when you're 50 though"




At a local mini zoo/nature reserve. Yes, that's an ancient human skull he's handling. This is the boy who squeals if he gets jam on his fingers.




Who does he look like here? It's annoying me. That facial expression resembles someone famous, but I just can't place it. John Belushi? Murdoch from The A Team?




It is Murdoch isn't it?




Thankfully not the kind who fling their poo at you.




Taken in Lancaster, I thought this noteworthy. Isn't the casual use of the morning after pill supposed to be frowned upon?




Yeah, I have more stamina than my 6 year old. I'm unsure as to whether this is a credible boast.




Now, do one pull up. Just one.




Morecambe beach. Not pictured is the endless procession of morbidly obese citizens grimly trundling past in their motorised wheelchairs, all excitedly eyeing up the 367 ice cream and donut stands along the half mile long promenade. Easily the most frighteningly fat town I've ever visited. And I drove through Hull once.




This was as far as he was willing to be buried. Luca is many things, but "adventurous" is an adjective he's certainly can't be associated with. Or is it a noun? Or a verb? I wish I knew. You stop learning about these things at 15, and aren't re-introduced to them until you're 92, infirm and destined to live out your days eagerly awaiting the afternoon session of "Countdown" on Channel 4.




Broccoli. It's awful. Yet I cooked some for our dinner on our last night at Pine Lake. I don't know why, as it meant I had to eat some too. I even told him it tastes of decaying toe nails, yet he still ate it. Is this good parenting or not?

And finally, the photo's from Sundays Half Marathon are now online. Here's one of me casually, and seemingly easily, cruising along:- http://stoneyhm.webnode.com/photos/a2013/photogallerycbm_708941/60/#img-8628-jpg

I didn't look like this on mile 13. Really. Constipated werewolf.

**Useless fact of the day - China produces 8 million tons of broccoli every year**

Lucas's first lost tooth

In the year of his seventh birthday, the inevitable finally happened. The fruit of our loins became a gap toothed urchin.




You dig the excitement on that face?

£1 was deposited under his pillow last night, assumedly from a supernaturally fairy-esque source. Rather akin to a dolphin, Luca kept one eye open for much of the night in anticipation of the Tooth Fairy's arrival.

I'm not, however, suggesting dolphins sleep with one eye open in order to catch a glimpse of the Tooth Fairy. That would be an incorrect statement and therefore has no place here, on this unmonitored and unsubstantiated Internet blog page.

It was Luca's last day at school on Friday, and the onset of the (excruciatingly long) summer holidays are now upon us. What do you do with a hyperactive 6 year old for two months? I've taken "first shift" and have booked next week off work to look after him.

Works going well incidentally. I thought you'd like to know. Frighteningly off topic granted, but fully in keeping with this blogs lack of structure over the years.

Continuing with the off topic momentum (albeit related), I calculate this blog to have been in existence for two thirds of a decade now. In an online world socially ruled by Facebook and Twitter, how much longer will the medium you're currently reading continue to remain relevant? Indeed is it even relevant now?

To return to the original point, Luca's Granda has very kindly provided an outlet for our tiny terrors first week exertions. He's booked one of his timeshare options for us to cover Monday through Wednesday in the Lake District. If he can now perfect the transporter beam popularised within the wobbly walls of Star Trek in order to avoid what will doubtless be a painfully chatty 7 hour car ride South I'd be rather grateful.

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with......"

Seasoned Calamari and Prawn Salad. Two dishes Carole and I took into the cinema with us on Friday. To explain, it was my birthday on Friday, so Carole took her not-so-young toy boy to the movies. Having not had a chance to eat beforehand, we instead purchased the aforementioned items from a local M&S and brought them in with us. Has such foodstuff ever seen the inside of a movie theatre? I personally thought the subtle vinaigrette essence of the calamari complimented the eye watering body odour of the chap sat two seats away.

The film was good though. It had zombies.

With the summer upon us, Luca's football is taking a sojourn also. Ill timed, as his addiction for the game has reached fever pitch. He just wants to play all the time. Even after a long and sweaty training session yesterday with Colony Park, Luca's first words to me when I collected him were "Can we go and play football together?"

He's going to be so much better than me.

Two goals this weekend too.

Finally, and insisted upon by Carole, I've deferred creation of the separate "running blog". However, I'll keep this brief as, well, I'm not really the interesting one. My first Half Marathon event was this morning, the infamously hilly Stonehaven race. Due to injury my training preparation was poor, but I'm happy with a finish time of one and three quarter hours. I coasted comfortably for the first 8 miles, but the final 5 or so were a lesson in endurance and will - I simply had nothing in the tank.

"Fail to prepare, prepare to fail". A cliche that swam endlessly round my head during the races latter miles. I told you I wasn't the interesting one.

**Useless fact of the day - Dolphins sleep with one eye open as half their brain is always alert, in order to surface for air and avoid sharks**

Unwise

I've made a decision. I'm going to start up a second blog. "But why?" you may ask, "You rarely even update this first one, and when you do make about as much sense as a psychotic monkey at a typewriter wearing a pair of mittens".

However, dear reader, I'm doing this in order to save you having to skip through the interminably dull sections currently spread throughout this blog which describe, in laborious detail, the increasingly uninteresting tales of my latest road races.

So, from next week, I'll (make all efforts to) continually update two blogs. One on running - likely to be read solely by Lucy - and another on The Misadventures Of Luca Stewart (age 6 and two quarters).

Until then however, and for the very last time here, comes a little running news. I made a rash decision tonight. On a whim I entered my first half marathon. Which is only two weeks away. And is also known as one of the hardest of its type in the
United Kingdom.

Good call for your first attempt at this distance Gary (wholly unsubtle sarcasm alert).

The event is the Stonehaven Half Marathon, one of the hilliest road races around, rising to a height of 200m even within just the first 4 miles. Even if I do have the stamina (still dubious) I assume my dodgy knee will somehow wilfully remove itself from my leg by half way before shouting imaginary obscenities at me.

Speaking of runs, I had my latest race today, the Portsoy 10K. A rather more painful run than normal, starting only 30 hours after my most boozy night out of the year so far (a late finishing work night out). Still hungover, still dehydrated, and still with beer sloshing around my stomach, I turned up at a rainy Portsoy this morning feeling both unwilling and (essentially) unable to run 10 metres, never mind 10 kilometres.

I made it, however, albeit not without significant stomach cramps and "dry retching". Attractive. However, I managed to hold on and even came within 20 seconds of a personal best time. I'm not drinking again though, ever again.

At least for a week.

The seafaring town of Portsoy was picturesque however, and the boat festival currently being held was an added bonus at race end. I even climbed to the highest point by the water side after the race to remember its natural beauty. As well as, as you can see below, the incessant driving rain and wind:-




This was the only time I smiled all morning.

I promise never to mention running on this blog again. So now back to more important matters - Luca. Only hours after falling asleep following that dreadfully alcoholic Friday night I woke, crawled (literally) out of bed and gingerly made tracks toward Aberdeen (by train of course, my wobble being a clear sign that driving may be unadvised) with the little one. Would this be one of our infamously high tempo weekend days out?

With my throbbing head? Not a chance. I instead took him to see "Man Of Steel" at the cinema. And wished I'd just stayed at home instead. Ignore the reviews, this new Superman movie is a load of old smelly jockstraps. Unevenly paced and filled with an unbelievably excessive amount of computer imagery, it was akin to watching a 2 hour long video game. And about as much fun as that sounds.

Luca, of course, loved it. Contrary little bugger he is.

After the ordeal that was the film ended, Luca's usual chant began. "Da-aa-aad, I'm so hungry". Now all I wanted to do at this point was go home and find a hole to drunkenly die in. However, I relented, and with his favourite cafes miles away we instead trialled an old fashioned city centre eatery. Bad idea.

Now Luca is one of Scotland's most awkward eaters. He has a tendency to decide what he won't like no matter whether he's actually tried it before. His poor Grandparents particularly take the brunt as this wilfully pedantic child will essentially dictate what he's going to eat for his meals. However, when he's alone with his Dad he knows he can't do this - old hard assed disciplinarian Dad won't take his nonsense and he knows it. Alone, I can get him to eat anything.

Until yesterday.........

Assumedly noticing his Fathers rather "delicate" condition, his face screwed up like a bulldog with a lemon in its mouth when the ordered macaroni cheese arrived at our table. "I'm nooot eating that, you know"

15 minutes of arguing, whining and compromising it took me to convince him to get that first bite down. Which he of course enjoyed before wolfing the rest. I love him and hate him equally sometimes.

While in Aberdeen Luca insisted on having his photograph taken beside this brightly coloured motorbike:-




He insists he'll be a movie making motorbike riding policeman when he grows up don'tcha know?

Note the football kit. He also had football training yesterday. 3 goals scored. Are you bankrupt yet Grandad Mike?

The previous weekend brought a trip to Banchory to take Dad out for a Fathers Day lunch. Mum joined us, and I'd booked us a table at the Douglas in order to see Ross too (working his last shift before returning to coffee shop Tease). A nice time (does my buying a lunch pay for everything Dad's ever done for me?), and we even got a photo too:-




The previous day had seen Luca take me out for lunch - or more prevalently, was it Carole? It was much appreciated and enjoyed, but two pub lunches out on two consecutive days was a bit too much for my skinny frame. I just wanted to sleep afterwards. The heavy weekend Pub Lunch is very much a British tradition, but one I simply cannot understand the appeal of.

I'm meandering my way around the English language now. It's late, and I suppose a couple of hours sleep before work may be advisable. Later this week I'll talk a little more about Carole, and of course Harvey. Todays entry has been rather an opus - indeed, are you even still reading? - but the next will be a little more concise. And wife oriented. As I should be also.

**Useless fact of the day - When you wake up around 2am for no reason, there's an 80% chance someone is watching you**