Link to Richard's filmmaking blog

I said I'd put a link in and I have, so there you go (if you're reading this Richard):

http://diaryofashortfilm.blogspot.com

Screaming commando

You know those painful long haul flights where there is a family with a screaming kid? How annoying is it! I just want to shout, "Shut that kid up! There are people here who want to sleep!". Yes, our flight had the screaming kid. This kid was in a class of his own, not only could he scream but he could scream consistantly... for nearly 10 hours! He wriggled, kicked the seats in front, threw anything he could get his hands on and pretty much pissed everyone off, including me, his dad. Owen was a total nightmare! He didnt just cry, he screamed. Loud and piercing screams. I must admit, I was proud that he could keep on going. Good lungs equals good genes, that's my theory.

On arrival I was expecting our luggage to have gone missing but everything was as it should be.

Anyway, we arrived in Mexico and got to our resort. Started to unpack and then realised I hadnt packed any underwear. I now have the choice of either "going commando" for two weeks or getting the shonky mexican bus into the nearest town and trying to find some. I may try it tomorrow but for now, it's commando-city.

Holiday, hip hip hooray!

Hooray! Tomorrow we go on holiday. Mags, me and little O are hopping on a plane. Okay, so the in-laws are coming too and also Mag's sister. Mags wanted to invite Johann because "he would be left all on his own". No way! Boo hoo, poor Johann, no way!

Anyway, Owen has got his new water wings and his some new shorts, a bucket and spade and some beach toys. I've dug out my shorts and my nasty Hawaiian shirt that Mags hates so much (ha ha). We are flying to Mexico. I'm dreading the flight. 10 hours with Owen screaming. Nightmare. I always hate it when there is a family on the plane with a screaming kid. This time its going to be us.

I'll let you know how we get on, upon our return!

Wait and see

I'm scared. I'm litrally shitting myself. I really don't know what to do, my life is in a complete state of turmoil. Why? Okay, brace yourself for this. Mags is being really really nice to me. In fact, I'd go so far as to say she is being "luvvy-duvvy"!
Okay, so you might not understand my reaction but the only other times she has been like this before have before she has made some pretty big requests. The first time was just before she announced that she wanted to have a child and the second time was when she told me that I needed to ask her to marry me. I found out what happens when these types of requests are deflected or even refused too. It isn't pretty and the effects last for weeks. I can't guess what she is sweetening me up for. She can't want another baby, not yet. She is always complaining about how difficult it is with just the one. I love my little boy but I don't fancy getting woken up 5 times a night to sterilise bottles again. What could it be? I guess I'm going to have to wait and see. Fingers crossed its just a blip and she'll be back to normal soon. I never thought I'd ever miss her constant nagging.

Sugar

Owen went to a party with his God father Ben, yesterday. His cousins kid was having a birthday party and so O was invited. All sounds good so far. Mags and me had an evening to ourselves (which was great - as she still isn't speaking to me). Then Owen is brought home and he is going mental. He is running around, bouncing off the walls, rolling on the floor, alternately giggling and then screaming. Mags went to pick him up but he just bit her and then slapped her. I must admit, it was hard to supress a laugh. She was distraught and ran out the room. I asked Ben what had happened to O and he went quiet.
"Ben man, come on, what happened? He's not like this normally", I said.
"Erm, well, it was like this, erm..."
"Come on! Out with it!"
"It's nothing bad, well not really, but...", he said.
"but, what?", I asked
"Chocolate cake", he finally responded.
"What about chocolate cake?", I quizzed.
"He ate one."
"Right, and?", I said.
"No, he ate all of one", he said.
"Okay. He has had chocolate cake before", I said. It's true, Owen has had a bit of cake now and then, when his mum isn't looking. Mags doesnt believe that children should be exposed to sugary foods and drinks because she says that it affects their palette and makes them into fussy eaters. Fair enough, but I don't think a bit now and then hurts, so if she isn't looking and one happens to be there...
"You don't understand. He ate a whole chocolate cake.", he said.
"Right...", I said, waiting for the punchline. He gestured with his hands. He drew a head sized "O" in the air.
"He ate a full, big, proper chocolate cake. All of it. I took my eyes off him, just for a moment and when I found him...", he started.
"You lost my son?", I said.
"No, I didn't lose him exactly, just temporarily misplaced him a bit", he tried to explain.
"Ben! You were looking after my son! You don't misplace someones son!", I was getting angry now.
"He's fine, just a bit excited"
"He's off his nut!", I cried.
"I only turned my back for a minute and he got into the kitchen and set at the birthday cake. When I walked in, he had two handfuls left. It's not so bad, most of it was round his face. Looked like he had a beard."
I told Ben that we'd discuss it later and he left with his head bowed. Owen in the meantime was trying to force Pete the cat into the washing machine. Pete wasn't too happy about this and was making quite a noise. I rescued him, much to Owens displeasure. Owen ran at me, head down like a bull charging. I caught him and lifted him up. He lunged at my face, his hands, like crawls, pawing at my face. My God, this boy had turned ferral! Luckily it didnt last long. A few minutes later he crashed and fell asleep on the floor with his bum up in the air. I put him to bed and checked on Mags. She was in bed, pretending to be asleep.
Owen was back to his normal self in the morning and I thought all was well. Later this morning we got a phone call from a couple of the other mothers of kids at the party complaining about Owen. One of them, a prissy, sour faced old bag, accused us of raising a savage. She said that Owen had assaulted her little Maisie. Maisie is 4 and about 6 stone! By lunchtime the complaints had been fended off by a combination of apology, grovelling and persuasion. Two potential court cases were averted and Owen was no longer due to receive a summons! I was quite proud of my skillful diplomacy. Mags is speaking to me again but says that Ben is no longer welcome in our house. A bit of a bind as he was meant to be coming round to help lay our new wood flooring in the lounge.

Irresponsible?

I'm back just from the accident and emergency with Owen. He is crying and exceedingly displeased and Mags is "disgusted" with my "lack of responsibility" and is not talking to me again. It's a big fuss over nothing. Owen is fine but Mags insisted that I take him to the hospital. Apparently Pixie nipped at him, stupid dog. It would have been okay, except Mags walked in at the exact moment. She saw me goading Owen on and went ballistic. I mean, if he had been bitten properly it would be different but Pixie is so rubbish and has such rotten teeth (from being fed on a diet of sweets, cake and chocolate buttons (its favourite, apparently)) that it couldn't hurt a soap bubble. Nope, Mags wasn't having it. "I had purposely put our son in life threatening danger", she said. What rubbish.

Pixie + Toddler with Hair Brush = Funny

Mags is at the gym again and I'm stuck in with Owen and Pixie. I love my little son but I was asked out for a beer by Sean at work and I've not had a beer for ages. Mags said that she had asked about going to the gym last week and I had said it was fine (I have no recollection of this). Anyway, so far it hasn't been too bad. Owen decided that Pixie was a naughty doggy and needed a got old fashioned smack with the hair brush (his current favourite toy!). Pixie is used to being treated like a prince and being chased around by a hair brush wielding toddler is foreign territory for him. It's great. Go on son, teach the little shit some manners!

Dog

We're dog sitting. If you insert an "h" into the last word of that last sentence then you get an idea of what the house smells of. I don't like dogs much. Nothing personal to the canine species, just that I've never got on with them. Since I was ten and a poodle bit me and everyone found it funny, I guess unconsciously I've always thought that dogs as a group were out to humiliate me. Anyway, Mags agreed that we would dog-sit for Johann whilst he is away. apparently it's a family emergency and when he came round to ask he was fanning himself with a flapping hand and rolling his eyes and in quite a panic. I must admit, I was loving it. Okay, so I'm mean, but I really can't stand the guy. Probably the fact that he once used my new Gilette sensor XL for men razor to shave his legs when he was out with Mags and co on a girlie night out. I mean, those blades don't stay sharp for long (don't get me started!) and they arn't cheap (but I do like them). So, this dog, although I think pooch is a more appropriate term for the spoilt little fluff bag. I may not like dogs but I respect them. The fact that they fought and survived through a tough evolving world, deserves respect. Johann's dog on the other hand is an evolutionary exception.It's name is Pixie. I say "it's" because I'm not sure if it is a boy or a girl or some strange mixture. So far it does two things: Whine and defacate. Very similar to Johann in fact. If I catch it in the bathroom using my razor then it's out the door!