Tag Archives: life

LB, art and Tom Chaplin

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There is something distinctive and stylish about LB’s drawings. I love em. And I love watching him sit, scribbling away so effortlessly.

School kids

Shoot out

I came across a notebook today in which every page, yep all 120 of em, included a picture of Tom Chaplin, from Keane, or the whole band (Rich, Tim and Tom). This was a moment (well quite a long moment) in time; his obsession with Keane is now over. But still spectacular, especially with the consistent backgrounds of robberies and CCTV.

Hilariously genius.

Postscript: Since I started this post, LB has been revisiting his drawings in the notebook and adding to them. Love him.

The Killing

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We started to watch The Killing last week, about 12 years after the rest of the country. On Monday morning, after 11 episodes over five nights, Rich realised he could do cracking impressions of the main characters.  Given that he only does two other impressions (Mick Jagger and Jeff Goldblum in The Fly) badly, it was very funny.

That evening, I was in the kitchen when I could hear some distant shouting outside. We live in a lively area at times, so I didn’t pay much attention to it.

Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway, hovering nervously.

“What is it?” I said.
“I think there’s someone at the door.”

I went into the hall and could see a very short figure shouting something through the letterbox in a very deep voice.

“EEEEEEK…” I thought, “Maybe someone’s been stabbed or something.”

I quickly shut the dogs and Tom in the living room and opened the front door.

It was Richy, bending over.

“WHATTHEHELLAREYOUDOING?????”
“Shouting “Troels!”* through the letterbox,”
“WHY?”
“I thought you’d find it funny,” he said. “You laughed this morning.”

Shrek modelling my Sarasiobhan Lund Christmas jumper

*Troels Hartmann is the key murder suspect at the moment (no spoilers please).

A (de)clutter new year?

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I got to thinking this week that I really need to seriously declutter.  Instead of farting around, producing tiny wins and pretty pictures, I had to confront the big stuff.

Today, I started with our bedroom.

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LB and the ‘c’ word

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“Hey, LB. Tell Mum what you called me when I came in yesterday,” said Richy.
“The ‘c’ word Mum.”
“What?!!! What did you do that for???”
“Dunno Mum. It just came up and out of my mouth, Mum. I’m sorry Richy. I won’t say it again, I promise.”

Postscript: We ain’t made him stand in the corner. He’s peering at the bus depot through the park fence. Honestly.

LB and Stan

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Well this is a biggy. And will make all you dog lovers feel warm and fluffy.  Stan hasn’t featured much in this blog so far (though his paws play a starring role).  Stan is the treasured member of our family.  He is a little bit of a chunky, doting, loyal Jack Russell who likes nothing more than hanging out with us.

After a shaky start – he was Richy’s 40th birthday pressie without us realising how much Richy did not like JR dogs, but lets not dwell on that – he has become a central character. Everyone loves Stan.  Not least, LB.

LB has an unusual relationship with Stan. Though maybe typical for dudes like LB.  LB will confide in Stan, discuss his day with Stan and seek Stan out more than anyone else. If we ask LB about his day at school, or elsewhere, he will disclose nothing. If we say that “Stan wants to know…..”, LB settles down with him and retells his day in detail. Using the voice he always uses when interacting with Stan.  LB’s ‘Stan’s voice’ is a bit of a mystery given how good he is generally at impersonating people. It’s a sort of high pitched, slightly sing song voice, that has stayed the same for many years.

LB loves Stan without question. Stan, on his part, is remarkably tolerant of  LB. Patiently listening to his chatter, sitting with him when he plays with his football guys (with his carefully arranged Playmobile crowd), putting up with some awkward handling.  Funnily enough, LB doesn’t engage with Bess at all. He has got a ‘Bess voice’ when pushed (much squeakier and higher) but he has no real engagement with her. He is a one dog dude.

There are some (schmulzy) books written about how autistic kids’ lives have been transformed through their relationships with their pet dog.  I don’t subscribe to a rescue/cure discourse at all, but there is definitely something remarkable about LB’s relationship with Stan, and the window it offers us into his life.

His literal (intolerant?) side remains constant though. His two most consistent Stan related questions are;

“Mum, is Stan fat, Mum?”
“Has Stan got a small head, Mum?”

I’m ain’t saying anything.

LB and the reversing lorries

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LB was in his favourite place this morning. Sitting at the kitchen table, watching lorries rolling on and off cross channel ferries on youtube.  A cacophony of relentless grinding metal, reverse beeping lights, blaring horns and revving engines.

“Christ LB. That’s just noise,” said Richy, making a cup of tea.
“IT’S NOT JUST NOISE RICHY!!!,” shouted LB, angrily. “It is NOT.JUST.NOISE.”

Richy left the kitchen, leaving LB mournfully talking to himself, and shaking his head.

“It is not just noise. It is not just noise. It is not just noise.”

“Mum, it is not just noise, Mum,” he said, looking at me sadly.
“Well it is really,” I said, as another lorry started to slowly reverse.
beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep.beep….
“It.is.not.JUST.NOISE, Mum.”
“Well what it is then?”
“It’s a way of life, Mum.”

The Christmas jigsaw

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Every year we do a family Christmas jigsaw.  Well, it’s not really a family jigsaw. Rich hates em. Owen, Tom and I have always been at the puzzle frontier. The others used to drift in towards the end when the bulk of the work had been done. The puzzle late-comers. After the glory.

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A slice of breakfast life

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Last Christmas I gave you my heart…
“And the man was sectioned. He was ….”
“Your mum was a big Wham fan, Tom.”
“WHAT? No I wasn’t!”
“… a PAEDOPHILE.”
“Shhh LB and eat your porridge. I was not a Wham fan.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Stop making it up. So irritating.”
“Me irritating? Living with you is…”
“Dad, I’ve lived with Mum for 12 years now and it’s been pretty good.”
“Aww..thanks Tom. How many years have you lived with me, LB?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“Think about it LB. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, Mum.”
“So how many years have you lived with me?”
“Dunno, Mum.”
“If you are seventeen years old, how many years have you lived with me?”
“Three, Mum.”

LB and the Christmas market

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LB came back from his trip to the Christmas market today in fab spirits. He’d seen a girl he liked. An American girl wearing a baseball cap, gloves and an apron.

“Mum.”
“Yes?”
“Mum, she fancied me, Mum.”
“Cool.”
“Mum, she fancied me, Mum.”
“That’s super cool. How do you know she fancied you?”
“She looked at me, Mum.”
“Ah. Did you talk to her?”
“No, I was too shy Mum. Can I go to the Christmas market again, Mum?”
“Yeah, course you can. We’ll go again next year.”
“Thank you, Mum.”
“TO FANCY OR NOT TO FANCY? THAT IS THE QUESTION,” he shouted triumphantly, walking up the stairs.

The bath

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“Mum.”
“Yes?”
“Mum.’
‘Yes?’
‘Mum.’
‘What? I can’t hear you – I’m in the bath.”
“MUM.”
“WHATDOYOUWANT?”
“MUM ARE MY BUSES* IFWEPOIHPAIEHPAW MUM?”
“WHAT? I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE SAYING.”
“MUM ARE MY BUSES IFWEPOIHPAIEHPAW MUM?”
“LB I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. SPEAK CLEARLY.”
“MUM ARE MY BUSES ROADWORTHY?”
“YES LB.”
“THANK YOU MUM.”

* LB has chosen two Canterbury Park and Ride die cast buses with his birthday money. For the geeky among you (or for those with little dudes who love buses), here’s the link.