Mummy swaps tantrums for lattes

The time has come.

We didn't know when, but we did know it would happen some day.

Since February 2009, Ellen (my wife) has been at home full-time, initially as nest-featherer in anticipation of our second born, and then as nest occupier with both boys. She has been chirping keenly ever since whilst Daddy returned each workday evening from the clutches of the corporate world.

As of today, this is now over.

Ellen returned to work this morning and was just a tad apprehensive about the whole thing.

On one hand, she has not been working under the finger-pointing authority and shrill directive of a 'boss' for almost a year now. Maybe a year to the day. I haven't been counting.

But on the other hand, bless her, she was was more concerned about how her flight would impact on little Ben and Ciaran - 2 years 8 months and 10 months respectively.

I reassured her that it would be good for the kids to interact with other kids their age - emphasis on the latter - on a more frequent basis. Also, speaking from experience, I told her that she would find her time with them more rewarding as a result.

I also tried to make her view the whole scenario less from a regime-change point of view and more from a step-change point of view.

Yes, she would be working full time four days a week, but another way of viewing this is 4 days in the office and 3 days at home with the boys. It was almost a 50-50 split. Hardly an exodus.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, which helped I guess.

She threw herself into baking me a raspberry cream sponge cake for Valentine's Day to take her mind off things and I surprised her with a bouquet of mixed carnations and a box of expensive chocolates.

Anyway, Mummy's off to work again and the kids' successful trial sessions at nursery augur well for the coming weeks and months ahead.

They'll be fine.

Ben will soon resume his normal routine of protesting loudly when we take him away from nursery.

And Mummy will soon prefer a morning latte to a morning tantrum.

A weekend in Belfast

Just back from a short trip to Belfast.

I say Belfast colloquially. I stayed in Saintfield, 10 miles to the south of Belfast where my parents moved to nearly eight years ago. But I lived in Belfast for many more years than that so old habits die hard.

I did, however, spend a substantial amount of time in Belfast.

I landed on Thursday evening at George Best airport, a quick hop over the Irish Sea from Luton, for a two-day break to visit my parents and Granda. I was travelling light so I was outside in no time, greeted by the gripping wind and pouring rain and soon after, my Mum and Auntie. Dad sheltered in the car, the lucky begger.

We scuttled off through the dimly-lit streets of Belfast for a quick pint in a nice little bar on the Stranmillis Road called The House.

It had to be a local brew for me. Harp lager. It was nice for a change, and also just plain nice, and the four of us huddled in a darkened corner of the bar and had a jolly nice chat before setting off for home after much niceness.

We were treated to a DVD of my parents' recent cruise round the Carribean. I wasn't sure whether it should have been X-rated though.

A certain clip had somehow been caught on camera of my Dad in the nip. The said clip hadn't been deleted either. The said clip flashed before all our eyes too, and Dad had to jump up in front of the TV to hide the clip from everyone's view. Everyone apart from me that is. I saw the clip.

I then crawled off to bed at about 11.30pm.

That wasn't the only bad thing to happen to my parents while they were on their Carribean cruise. Their house flooded.

A water pipe had burst in the loft, buckling under the recent freeze-thaw cycle of Arctic weather that had gripped much of Europe for more than two weeks over the Christmas period. The water had poured through the upstairs roof, gushing down the stairs and leaving the entire downstairs under an inch or so of water.

Bad news for my parents and bad news for the insurance companies; good news for carpeters everywhere. They must love the freezing weather.

Next morning, Dad & I threw some bacon and toast down us before leaving (Mum was at work) at around 10.30am to look around Belfast. It was off to the Queens University sports centre first, where my Dad swims regularly.

Dad give me a meticulous tour of the facilities and I have to say, it was very impressive, all modern, clean, nice coffee house for the students with at least 5 plasma TVs on the wall and gorgeous 25-metre swimming pool and diving area.

We then sauntered up to the Ulster Museum, about 5 minutes walk away, where I'd not been in years.

Thanks to gamblers, it had recently been in receipt of nearly £15m or so of lottery funding, which had been put to good use refurbishing the inside and parts of the exterior. Bring on the super-casinos I say.

Walking through a new glass frontage, it felt for a moment a little like strolling into a grand hotel in Bournemouth, with spacious, leather-sofa'd reception area greeting you squarely and white paint and glass darting up and down every wall in sight.

The museum was packed full of interesting exhibits and artefacts that we didn't really have enough time to fully appreciate in any great depth, from ancient Egyptology to the recent 'Troubles'.

I liked the novel touch of consigning the Troubles to the "history" section.

I also liked, and was particularly taken by, the 'Mummy'.

To address her by name, Takabuti had been transported to Belfast way back in 1834.

A legal immigrant from Egpyt, she lay horizontal under a sheet of protective glass, half-entombed and teeth and hair still almost fully preserved. She was some sight. I had seen her before, but not for about 10 maybe 15 years.

I wondered how many of my own grandparents and great grandparents had made the same journey past her ancient sarcophagus, staring at the same teeth and face and making in all likelihood the same remarks that we were.

It was then off to see my Granda, who was in hospital after a recent illness. He was improving, but understandly tired bearing in mind all the medication he was taking. I stayed for about an hour and we had a nice chat.

That evening (Friday), my parents had reserved a table in my favourite Belfast eaterie - the Italian restaurant Scalini's (pictured below).

I ordered my usual - a piccante pizza - and we left for Ravenhill to watch the Ireland Wolfhounds play beat Scotland A at Ravenhill. The Irish won. Comfortably.

After the rugby, we adjourned to the Four Winds Inn for a drink before heading home. No sooner had we arrived when Dad and I grabbed the guitars and somehow, from somewhere, found the energy to begin a guitar/singing session that finished just shy of 2am.

Next morning (Saturday), we rose feeling predictably tired but a festival of sport on TV had the pulse racing. That evening, Mum laid up a lovely candle-lit dinner with homemade garlic bread and lasagne and it was then off to George Best Airport where I said my goodbyes to my parents and my hellos to my newly-found phobia of flying.

It had been a lovely weekend in Belfast.

As usual, my feet barely touched the ground but I wouldn't have it any other way.


(Pictured, right - Ben in his new Northern Ireland football gear that Daddy got him)

Squash championship level

That's my third night in a row on the squash court.

I played a match on Monday, had a practice session last night and another tonight and my fitness levels are really improving.

I felt I could, and perhaps should, have won on Monday and the practice I put in last night seemed to have paid off.

My serve, that I'd practised to a tee the night before to get it landing plum in the corner almost every time, was really strong the first set as well my drops and I raced to a 9-2 first set lead.

The second set began a bit like the first and I led 4-1, then Robert starting to fight back a bit. He took a close set to make it 1-1.

My game was getting stronger and I took the next two sets to make it 3-1, when Robert had to retire injured.

3-1 to me on the night to level the championship.

*Two matches played since. Scores updated below.

2010 Standings

0-1
1-1
1-2
1-3

Robert leads the 2010 Squash Championship 3-1

2010 Squash Season begins

Robert and I kicked off the 2010 squash season last night.

We've been playing now for three years and we're aiming (time commitments permitting) to join the local squash league later in the year, but our own mini competition will continue alongside this.

Last night's match - the usual 2 x 40 min sessions - was a close contest.

We both began fairly slowly.

The first four sets were really tight affairs and could have gone either way. But he managed to snatch victory in each one and I was feeling a bit miffed to say the least to be 4-0 down.

I did manage to finally take a set next time round, making it 4-1, and I took a 6-2 lead in the sixth set. But I let him back into it and lost the sixth set to find myself 5-1 down.

A quick glance at the clock told me we only had 20 minutes left - not enough time to pull back four sets. So the match entered into a kind of no-mans land where I tried for some shots and didn't really give a damn on others, and I wasn't too bothered to lose them. I just used the remaining time to focus on improving my technique and warming down.

So the match finished 7-1, which on paper looks like a trouncing but in reality was nothing of the sorts.

It took me two sets to really find my game, a little longer than I'd like, but I was fairly happy with my ball contact and drop shots. I've got to resist my urge to go for winners all the time - I'm giving too many unforced errors away - but, overall, I don't think it was a bad night's work.

2010 Standings

0-1

Robert leads the 2010 Squash Championship 1-0