I came across this in the park. Exactly as I’ve taken it. Thought it was a bit odd, or maybe someone having a chuckle.
Bonkers conkers
Reply
Chicken bone man
We live in an area with a lot of very colourful characters. Hegel Bagel, for example, is probably the world’s greatest Hegellian scholar but hasn’t managed to work out the rules of ‘conventional’ studying, so has his academic discussions in the aisles of the Co-op, on street corners or occasionally our kitchen. Another guy does an amazing line in make-up which looks great with his long, white hair. There is a couple whose relationships seem to be based on regular, public, spectacular arguments, and our neighbour, Roger, who walks round to the Co-op, every day, very, very slowly, dressed in a very smart suit, to buy a pasty to eat at 10.15am. Continue reading
The professor and the petrol station
Richy and his mate, Petey*, a renowned professor in politics, were chatting in the hall. LB wandered past, looked carefully at Petey’s shirt and said “Do you work in a petrol station, Petey?”
* Pseudonym
My night with the pigeons
I was invited to a workshop in Ottawa last September, all expenses paid. Very nice. I decided to the extend the trip by booking an extra night myself. I booked my one night, in the same hotel, on Expedia. I arrived at the Elgin Hotel early evening. My room (Expedia) was pretty rubbish; dark, overlooking some enormous drum things, but as it was only one night and already evening, I didn’t think it would matter. 
About 8pm a terrible sound started, like the groaning and howling of an old ship engine. It was relentless, oppressive and SO LOUD. Continue reading
The EEG and the asylum
A freshly hatched post for once. Laughing boy had a mobile EEG unit fitted this morning. The neuro person, Noreen, was very chilled as she carefully superglued the electrodes to his scalp. Once LB had gone through his usual questions – “What’s your name?”, “Where were you born?” “How old are you?” “Have you got a boyfriend?” “How old is he?” “What does he do?” – he went back to chuntering about other stuff. I realised he was getting naffed off with the lengthy process when he started going on about asylums, straitjackets and an evil attendant called Noreen. Continue reading
The sperm and the flotation tank
Right. I’m going to heavily anonymise this one (for obvious reasons). I LOVE flotation tanks. Now a number of years ago, I went to a local flotation tank place on a Sunday afternoon and had a blissful, relaxing float. The next day, I went to where I was working temporarily and bumped into Richy Rich who was chatting to some geezer, (Prof) Neville Bunting. He was raving about his weekend which had included his first experience of a flotation tank. 
“Wow, what a coincidence”, I said, so excited to find someone who liked flotation tanks. “I had a float at Hometowny Float Palace yesterday afternoon”. “No way!”, he replied, “When were you there?” “Five o’clock…”, I said. “That’s funny, we must have been in just before you”, he continued. Er. Back up a minute. We? “We?” I said. “Well yes, you know, I gave the receptionist a bit of the old charm and she let my girlfriend go in with me and…”, he said, smirking, “let’s just say, we certainly floated”.
EEEEUUGHH. That was the last float I had.
A few months later I was pregnant and heard that Neville and his partner were having a baby too. Aaawww. Bless. Nine months after the float I gave birth to a lovely bonny baby. Looking out of the window of the maternity ward, I saw Neville walking across the car park with a set of balloons and a cuddly toy.
All true.
Moroccan weekend away: Part 2
Following on from Part 1 (if you can bear to…), we are on the airport shuttle from the car park to Terminal 2 in Heathrow with the tickets, passports and Richy’s wallet on the roof of the car in the long stay car park. I don’t think I need to detail the kind of exchange (or non-exchange) we were having for the remainder of the 20 minute journey. Continue reading
Reversing the car
I got a copy of LB’s medical records at the end of last year. It’s a mixture of letters, reports, results and comments and is peculiar reading. The number of different diagnoses he had, over the years, is a bit of a surprise, and the earlier use of language is a bit shocking. The ‘Chinese whispers’ effect is also interesting; the story shifts with different professionals. That is a bit disappointing considering a major bugbear for most parents I know, is the constant repetition of the basic background details. I wonder at what point, in the doctor patient communication, those details go awry. Continue reading
Moroccan weekend away: Part 1
I’ve decided I’ve got to do this story in sections, otherwise it will be too long (and unbelievable… I’ve already blogged about the very end). I’ll start with the background and beginnings. Richy Rich and I booked a mammoth weekend away last November. Three nights in Marrakech. As I kept boring everyone I came across beforehand, even spending time with Richy in the airport was gonna be amazing, let alone the actual trip. Continue reading
“A picture of Mum?”
One thing that doesn’t happen so much now that Laughing Boy is sixteen, is endless (often meaningless) appointments with professionals. Countless hours have been spent travelling, waiting and meeting a range of different people in different settings. One series of appointments, four years ago, was with a psychologist geezer (Psych Sid*) about LB’s ‘challenging’ behaviour. These appointments seemed particularly pointless as Psych didn’t want LB present. Continue reading
mydaftlife 