If the 'Shoo' fits

Dylan has always been fond of animals—it’s something we’ve encouraged since he was born. A few weeks ago, we were walking home from the railway path and we saw a dog with its owner. I take Dylan over to say ‘hello’ but, instead, he says ‘Shoo!’ This is what I hear. ‘Shoo dog!’ Over the next few days and weeks this same message is shared with the cats and birds that visit our garden, the fish at the aquarium and the horses at Horseworld. We blame his grandmother.

 
I’ve finished my diploma. Towards the end the workload was intense and I even spent a few days gaining work experience with the lovely guys at efex Ltd creative design agency near Basingstoke. The results are due early in the New Year but I must say a big thank you to Holly’s mum for her support with Dylan in the run up to the exam—I don’t know how I would have coped otherwise.
 
In the week before my exam, I made roasted pheasant with apples and cider (Nigel Slater’s Tender vol. II), served it with a creamy fennel bake (Jamie’s Great Britain); and honey glazed partridge with bashed neeps and cabbage (Gordon Ramsey’s Healthy Appetite). I also made walnut and apricot slices (Green & Black’s Ultimate Chocolate recipes – the new collection), which everyone seemed to like more than me.  Last week we had roasted Spatchcock Poussin, which was beautiful, and I’ve made several bottles of Irish Whisky Cream, which probably won’t last until Christmas.
 
Since the diploma, I’ve tidied up the garden; given blood for the first time; helped out with Christmas in Downend; replaced all the light fittings in the hall, stairs and landing; and I’m currently decorating the master bedroom. This weekend I shall be representing the Friends of Page Park as an elf in the Christmas on the Hill parade.
 
I didn’t win the InkTears flash fiction competition but I haven’t given up. Not long ago I was interviewed about my writing and you can read the interview here. And I’m finally ready for another trip to the recording studio—I shall be recording more of my songs in January 2013.

Dylan’s doing really well at the moment. He’s eating and sleeping better than he normally does, and, thanks to his weekly visits to Tumble Tots, he’s always climbing and jumping. Before he goes to bed, he helps me to read ‘Maisy’s Bath Time and Maisy’s Bus’ – he recognises words like ‘hooray’, ‘brmm-brmm’, ‘ding-dong,’ ‘splash splash’, and all the numbers. Potty training has been mostly successful although he’s lost interest a little and now says ‘no’ every time we ask him if he needs the toilet (Holly gives him a choice: ‘toilet or potty?’ which works quite well). Last week he had an accident while sitting in his high chair—it ran off the chair an into the canvas basket where we keep Dylan’s thirty or so bibs. These days the washing machine is always on.
 
Between rain showers, I take Dylan on a rare trip to the park. He plays on the swings and chases the other children, splashing through puddles in his Wellingtons. He’s always been a sociable little boy. He climbs up the steps of the climbing frame and a young girl, slightly older than Dylan, is blocking his path. ‘Move over and let the boy past,’ says her father but there’s no need, Dylan has it covered.

‘Shoo!’ he says, waving his hands at the girl. ‘Shoo!’ He’s such a charmer.

Taking the Biscuit

We’re driving home from Mum’s and Dylan is pointing out all the things he sees. ‘Tractor,’ he says. ‘Lorry. Bus.’ When he runs out of interesting vehicles he resorts to: ‘House. House. House. House. House.’ I’m amazed at how quickly his vocabulary is growing and he’s even managing a few sentences. ‘See you soon,’ he says, and ‘There it is!’ Last week, he came out with his first, self-composed sentence: ‘Daddy ate the biscuit.’ It’s becoming clear to me now that the more he can say, the more trouble I’m going to be in.

No Dodo

It’s my fault really. I’m the person who robbed him of his dummy. Nursery was closed for the Bank Holiday and his Grandma was in Tenerife, so Dylan was mine for ten days straight and I wasn't going to get a better opportunity. We came home from swimming and, while he put the towels and trunks in the wash, I snipped the teat off his dummy. Yes I did. He came to me for his routine cake bar and I showed him that his dummy was in two pieces. He looked forlorn and tried to stick the teat in his mouth. I explained it was broken, took him outside and asked him to put it in the bin. I gave him his cake bar and then, instead of searching the house for his dummy (as had been our naptime routine), we searched for his ducks. He asked for his dodo and I reminded him that it was broken. I put him in his cot bed and he rolled over, and it’s just as well because I had tears in my eyes. I went next door and listened to him grizzle for a minute and a half...and that was it. Job done. He asked for his dummy a few times during the following weeks but a shake of the head was enough to pacify him. And now it's gone he’s sleeping better.

Syrup of Figs

The other thing I’ve cracked in the last month is his constipation. Rather than taking action when it becomes a problem, I’ve started supplementing his diet with a daily dose of Califig. In many ways this has been an even bigger breakthrough than cracking his dummy dependency. He’s happier. He’s discovered food and the joy of having an appetite. And this, too, is helping him sleep. I feel like I’m finally making a difference as a stay-at-home dad and it feels pretty good.

Festival Fever

That said, I’ve hardly been at home recently. In August, I spent four days with friends at the Cropredy folk festival; two weeks later I spent three days at the NAWG Festival of Writing and two weeks after that Holly and I went to her cousin's wedding near London. The 45th annual Cropredy festival was excellent. It stayed dry all weekend and the music, which included Richard Thompson, Big Country, Squeeze, Dead Flamingoes, Dennis Locorriere and fantastic newcomers Brother & Bones (above) and Larkin Poe (below) was spot on. 

 

The weekend between the writing festival and the wedding, I played the headlining slot at the Page Park Bandstand Marathon, with Ant Noel joining me on acoustic guitar, piano, harmonica and vocals, and Howard Sinclair on bass guitar, acoustic guitar and vocals. We had one rehearsal together on the morning of the gig and played a forty-five minute set including three new songs: Chris Cagle’s My Life’s been a Country Song, Ant’s Hurricane Rising, and The Band’s The Weight. It was the first paid gig I've done for a decade and I promised to take Holly out for a meal with my £60 share. After the gig, a member of the audience said I played the best Springsteen covers she had ever heard, which was pretty great.

 

Small Potatoes

Summer’s over and so, for the most part, so is the vegetable garden. Was it a success? I suppose it was in the sense that Dylan ate the strawberries and apples, and understood where they came from, which was my main intention.

In the last month, I’ve harvested a good load of Maris Pipers—probably the equivalent of a couple of supermarket bags worth, which we've eaten as roasters or chips. Believe it or not I’m still picking courgette flowers, and we’ve had some good courgettes, too. For three or four weekends on the trot we had salad with mixed leaves picked from the garden, and last night I had a few radishes and tomatoes too. However, the cost and effort of growing plants has vastly exceeded the benefits, probably because of the weather. The tomatoes are rotting on the vines; the cabbages have all been eaten; the grapes are sun starved; the spring onions never grew and the radishes and rocket produced such a small yield it really wasn’t worth it.

So what will I grow next year? Courgettes: yes. Potatoes: probably. Strawberries, grapes and apples: yes, but only because the plants will still be there. Lettuces: yes. Herbs: maybe sage and basil but I’ll keep them indoors. Tomatoes: possibly, in the hope that the weather is better. Rocket, radishes, spring onions, cabbage: definitely not.

Apples, Apples

Our little apple tree didn’t produce a bumper crop but we didn’t do too badly and I found a couple of great recipes in Nigel Slater’s Tender: Volume II. Apple crisp is like a cheats apple crumble—cheap, quick and dead easy to make. It's also delicious. The sausage and apple casserole was also a treat. Last week I found a roast duck and white bean puree recipe in Rachel Allen's Entertaining at Home, which gave me the oppeortunity to roast some of our home-grown potatoes and try steamed romanesco. I’ll definitely be cooking this one again.

Taking the Biscuit

Holly took last Friday off work because she was suffering with colitis. On Saturday we left Dylan with my sister and went to London for Holly's cousin's wedding. It was a lovely day but we didn't stay for the evening reception because Holly was still poorly. We spent the night at a friend's house and left the following morning. We were about half way home when I was pulled me over for speeding, and I was lucky to get away with three points and a fine. The Police officer asked if there was any reason for me to break the speed limit and I said no, I just wanted to see my son. As I'm sure Dylan would say, 'If you eat the biscuit, Daddy, you have to pay the price.' The price on this occasion was £60. How about that for a coincidence?

On Monday morning, Holly is admitted to hospital. It's Wednesday as I write this and I've just taken clothes in to see her through to the weekend.