In the beginning there was Jack

I'm not all together sure I remember what Life was like before Jack. Of course I like to think I do, I like to imagine a time of care free abandon when I would skip naked through the trees with Mrs D safe and secure in the knowledge we didn't have a care in the world. I think I even wrote a song about it once.

Then came the boy!!!
In truth Jack coming along was the end of everything and nothing all at the same time. Make of that what you will and if you make anything of it please let me know.

So now here we are.
In the beginning there was Jack and I for one can tell you it, like him, is the greatest thing in the world.

Whats in a name 1

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Whats in a name 2

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Whats in a name 3

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You could lose your balls at any moment

Back in the day there once existed a chunk of cast iron technology known as the Raleigh Chopper. A masterful bit of cycling wizardry built to kill, or at least castrate anyone foolish enough to mount it. The cunningly positioned gear changer became known as the nut taker to all brave enough to sit astride this mighty beast.  A big back wheel and small front ensured immanent speed wobbles and the no passengers warning on the seat were to be quite honest, bloody pointless.

However, the thing was truly a marvel to many of us growing up in the seventies. In a time before health and safety, before hard hats and carbon fibre finger braces, the chopper was a way to get closer to God, to your own mortality and so to life. That out of control feeling as one of these machines hit a speed wobble at twenty miles an hour, the knowledge you could lose your balls at any moment or fly head first through the handlebars did, for sure give life new meaning. It was a sad day when the last original chopper rolled off the production line. A sad day indeed.     

Asylum

Tomorrow the Dobbo's are off (minus the boy) on a road trip to Canterbury. A dear friend has just got through university and we are going to clap and take photos. At least that's what I think goes on at that sort of thing, what ever that sort of thing is.

It's got me thinking, thinking about the place we met and more importantly the people. A number of years ago a happy little band of us bumped into each other in a rehab by the sea. For those who don't know, rehab is polite talk for total fucking nut house.

From my point of view it was a great place to be. I found a wife, a best man, God father for Jack and up till now a couple of life long friends. I also of course found how to walk very softly from room to room in the dead of night. It was there I perfected my now famous stealth mode. Famous at least in the Dobbo household.

It's an odd thing how fate (if that's what you want to call it) can put a bunch of people together and total change the direction their life was going. My trip to the asylum did that and no mistake. I've got to say I'm mostly pleased about that.

Even if

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My Family

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What a weekend

For the most part I get to have the most amazing weekends. Normally things are really relaxed and as a general rule they pass without event or stress. But not this time.

Yesterday was spent getting the car fixed after it's recent MOT. In truth our trusty little motor got of lightly, nevertheless repairs were needed and as is often the case, it cost a bastard fortune.

Today was a much cheaper affair and for that I'm greatfull. Yet despite this I still find myself looking back on the day and feeling it wasn't that great. Is this the truth? Well to be honest, no, no it's not. The truth is the day was ok, just ok.

Towards the end of the day I got to stroll down by the beach with Mrs D and the boy. I got to spend time with my family and I got to put my feet up and at long last relax. What a weekend.

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Track of the day.

A little while ago Mrs D took on a new obsession that involved collecting and building wooden train tracks for the boy. At first I must admit, I didn't quite understand. But I do now. Last night as the boy slept soundly and Mrs D was out, I found myself building yet another track of the day. Yet another creation fashioned in wood with all the cunning of a fox. Turns out that building wooden train tracks is not only mighty satisfying, but also dam relaxing. I might even do it again tomorrow.

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Now I remember why I do this

I haven't written a thing on here for a few weeks, partly because I've not had anything to say, and partly because I simply couldn't be arsed. Actually, that's not true, I've always got something to say, mostly it's shite but nevertheless I've still got something to say. So that leaves me wondering what I've got to say right about now, and for that matter, If it's worth saying.

I find myself wondering how often I say stuff just for the sake of it, just because I don't much like the sound of silence. I know people who love the quiet, Mrs D is like that, but not me. For me silence gets really, really loud.
I've try'd to like it, I really have. All the spiritual giants seem to imply silence has some kind of deeper level connection with spirituality.  For me that all seems a bit on the bullshit side. Bullshitisum if you will. In fact I might have just developed another branch of spirituality known hence forth as bullshitisum. It's defined by the fact its very, very loud.

On the other hand, maybe bullshitisum is no more the bullshit. Or maybe I just needed to find a reason to write bullshit repeatedly for a few minutes.  What I am getting the chance to remember is the value in simply writing. Writing without having to workout what I'm gona say before I say it. Writing without worry about who will read it, of what they (or you) will think. Writing just to write, just to blog. Now I remember why I do this.

A potty that proved elusive.

Fathers day 2011 has been, up till now, the best Fathers day I have ever had. Why? simply because my three year old jack made me a card (granted with some help from his Mum) and wished me a happy fathers day. Simple, so very simple.

All this dispute the fact that the wife dragged me round some God forsaken car boot sale for what seemed like hours in search of some sort of wondrous potty for the boy. A potty that proved elusive. 

Tonight before he went to bed Jack again wished me a happy fathers day and gave me a kiss good night. It's odd that after years searching for this and that, I find myself given total contentment from a few words and a cuddle. It's been a great fathers day and being a father is great.

I like Cycling

Keep me occupied until my illness has passed

Quite a week it's been, quite a fucking week. After almost a year, some stuff hanging over my head has been dealt with and I've got to say, its a relief, a mighty relief. Yet despite this, I still find myself up at some un Godly hour unable to sleep yet again.

The problem started a little over a week ago when I picked up some sort of bug. I suspect it was a chest infection of sorts and for sure it was and for that matter still is, a bastard. Of course Mrs D has given me a hard time about my constant moaning, but for the sake of fuck, enough is enough.

The trouble is, like a lot of men, I have the idea that if I tell you I'm ill enough times I'll feel better. Truth is often I do. And even if I don't, at least I have something to keep me occupied until my illness has passed. Well not this time, not this fucking time in any way.

This time dispute all the pissing and moaning in the world, I'm still ill, still ill I say. And with very little sign of feeling better. Even to the point that I can't sleep because of the relentless coughing. This upsets me so, it really does. I had it the night before last and woke Mrs D up to tell her, she seemed upset with this so tonight I'm telling you. Tomorrow (Sunday) I have to drive to London at 8am, sit in committee meetings all day and don't expect to be home until around ten that night. Bugger!!!!

The wonderful things in life

1974, that's when it was, 1974. I was happily trotting through my seventh year and as far as I can remember, things were good.

I find myself sat in front of the telly tonight watching the planet of the apes film that came out a few years ago,  drifting back in my mind to those Friday nights in the last few months of 74 and thinking how careful I need to be not to miss the wonderful things in life.

The one and only memory I have of sleep walking happened on one such Friday night. We were staying at friends and I had been sent to bed most disgruntled about not being able to stay up and watch the telly, the black and white telly. I don't remember walking anywhere, I just remember waking up in my Mums arms, safe, warm and happy. Turns out that night was to be one of the enduring and till now everlasting memories of my Mum.

Now all these years latter I get to see this sort of thing unfold in Jacks life. The building of memories and feelings that could well last for years and years to come. My part in all this? well I'm convinced my part is to make dam sure I don't miss these most wonderful things, the wonderful things in life.