Some numpty sent me a free washing machine

Out of the multitude of emails this blog seems to induce from public relations executives, I occasionally get some I actually read, and very, very infrequently I am fortunate enough to actually get offered stuff I can be bothered to respond for.

And whilst I have never yearned longingly after white goods for Christmas, don’t laugh, one of my mates actually once bought his fiancée a new washer for Christmas. That didn’t go down very well. Worked out ok for me though, I ended up going on their ‘honeymoon’ with him.

Anyway, with an aging washer/dryer, not really ideal for our present home, the offer from Appliances Online to send me one of their washing machines was most welcome.

Their website is superb. I usually find the endless specifications coupled with various comparison tools an absolute headache to ensure you end up with the most relevant machine. Often relying heavily on other customer reviews.

In this case, while all those knobs and whistles are there, they also have video explanations of their products. Not the most gripping viewing, but for a pseudo geek like me, most useful when making my mind up.

I ended up with a Zanussi ZW14791W

Which I must say I have since found excellent. And despite the price tag not being relevant, my inner tight bastard savvy self couldn’t find it elsewhere any cheaper.

The service provided was excellent, booking a delivery time, notification 24 hours before of an actual time slot, then even a call from the driver 20 minutes before the thing arrived.

Have it.

It washes really well, as I would expect, and I can demonstrate that with the most deliberate experiment I performed of only putting one of my child’s grubby socks in the wash.

Washed on the most economical setting (which ideally I would prefer this to say scratter, scumbag or tightwad but hey) this is the difference.

They even call afterwards to check all is ok, well actually that’s what they say they are doing, but they eventually try to sell you an extended warranty, but if, like me, that’s not your thing, just let them know that at the outset and they’ll make a note not to waste their time offering it to you.

Is ignorance bliss when you're five?

The 14^th of October is a significant date in British history.

On this day in 1066 The Battle of Hastings was fought. Battles were so much more efficient back then, as was personalised tapestry, obviously.

However many years later, but on the same day in October, my wonderful wife, my son's fabulous mother, was born.

As she loved them, the celebration of her birthday was always a tumultuous affair. She yielded much enjoyment from presents, surprises, well wishes and the attention a 'loud' birthday can bring.

And those around her, that loved her, obviously got great pleasure in her happiness too. Not least of all me.

My son never got to share one of his mother's birthdays in the flesh, although he was a huge part of her last birthday celebrations, her 30^th.

She was six months pregnant with him, so technically, he was at one of her parties, albeit as a foetus.

The growing question though has been how to handle them since her passing.

To me anniversaries of her birthday, her death and other significant dates in our lives are no big deal, I even managed to forget our wedding anniversary this year.

They are simply another day, today I love her no less, and think of her no more, than I will tomorrow.

However I am aware that this isn't the same for everyone, and as I try to help my boy manage his grief for his horrendous loss, today gave me a dilemma.

Do I tell him today would have been his mother's 36^th birthday?

I am not sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do this morning.

Most likely as he is getting to the age where he will work out that I am keeping things from him.

And however well intentioned my shielding is, interpretation by him could possibly lead to mistrust and worry about what else I am not passing on.

I also think he has the ability to accept things for what they are, face reality, feel sad about things, but act with acceptance and understanding.

He didn't quite gloss over the fact today, he most certainly acknowledged it, but it wasn't long before I was getting his breakfast order and quizzed on who I preferred. Indiana Jones or Jesus Christ being my 'either or' this morning.

The walk to school was a pleasant one, and he was clearly in good spirits going into school. I chose not to tell his teacher or any of his peers. I didn't want them checking 'he was OK' all day, rather treat him like normal.

Concern for my child while at school is never zero, but today it was a little higher than usual, and I envisaged his mood possibly being a little sombre at home time.

That wasn't the case at all.

He was the third kid out of the door today, with a huge whacking smile on his beautiful boat race.

I got a squeeze, and obviously his school bag and lunch box a few seconds later.

Our saunter home was joyous, not least at all because two Justice League DVDs had arrived, recommended to me by Mr Hughes in light of me revealing I think most of children's television is awful.

I was tempted to call these impromptu items gifts on the day of his mother's birthday, but didn't, fearing creating a beast, and setting a dangerous precedent.

Who knows, next year may be very different, but today has been anything but sad.

Super boy even managed to swim a length of the pool tonight, a whole 25 metres.

Have some of that.

His mom couldn't have asked for a better present.

Although, I'm sure she would have tried.

Do you actually like kids' telly?

When my son was a pre-schooler/toddler/infant*(delete as appropriate) I accepted that television programmes that he might engage with would be shit, or at least I wound find them shit and be irritable watching them.

I wasn't wrong.

With the exception of The Fimbles, there wasn't a show minus a character that I didn't want to cave their head in.

Some that have even survived from my childhood. Like Postman Pat. His incompetence at his job appals me, and is not entertaining at all, he's just a twat. No wonder the Royal Mail is on its arse.

Balamory seemed to be a Scottish haven for the inept, and its replacements, Me Too and In The Night Garden, absolute gash.

There was the occasional programme I could tolerate, I could even stomach Big Cook and Little Cook in the right mood, but I did have to sing my own words for the theme tune to stop myself from smashing the television in.

Then my son's choices 'matured' to cartoons, and eventually to Ben 10.

Ben Tennyson, to me, is tripe. Written to a formula and re-branded every 20 minutes so children worldwide, in stereo, can continually ask for the latest alien, Four Arms, Monkey Butler, Bollock Ache or whatever nonsense name they come up with at the money printers.

Star Wars has always been of common interest, but I can't really take to the cartoon version, although it does mean I ask a lot of questions, to which my son has to articulate answers about Jedi heritage and so on.

Horrid Henry, Tracy Beaker, I ignore with aplomb.

I find Deadly 60, with Steve Backshall, superb. We really enjoy that together. My boy loves wildlife, as do I, well the brutality at least, and both find this gripping, and it will prompt all sorts of discussions between us.

The boy has taken to ChuckleVision of late. You know, to-me, to-you, that sort of stuff. Except they don't seem to do that any more. Paul Chuckle does a rather irritating 'da da da da da da da' stopping-his-brother-in-his-tracks thing, but I do smirk at some of it.

After bath time we tend to sit and watch The Simpsons, which I know is not a children's programme, and I am sure there are many parents that would not judge that as age appropriate for a five-year-old.

But discussing our favourite episodes, and subsequently my son doing impressions of Homer mimic Stephen Hawking are moments I properly treasure.

Total Wipeout has sprung up on CBBC, and we have laughed at daft folks falling off stuff in tandem.

But it really is hit and miss what we both like.

So what kids' shows can you stomach, and which ones have you wanting to liquidise your eyeballs?

Giggle minute

In an attempt to get over my post holiday funk I've been watching clips from the interweb that generally make me smile.

Then I pondered if I, as a complete imbecile (copyright Dan Hughes 2009), would be able to stitch together a minute's worth of my favourite skits.

Et voila.

It seems I can.

Quite a few I couldn't lay my hands on, like Stephen Hawking's visit to Moe's Tavern in The Simpsons, but there are other personal classics that I could.

No nudity, but there is ample swearing, so probably not best for those with tender earoles.

What would your 'Giggle Minute' look like?

Praising destructive behaviour

Generally when children break things, material things, is it or a good or a bad thing?

During the school summer holidays my boy created quite a catalogue of destruction, yet some of it left me positively beaming.

I don't remember ever being praised for breaking anything as a child, perhaps I was and I don't recall, but there are a couple of things my lad put into the BER category (Beyond Economical Repair) that I hope he remembers my reaction to forever.

The first was a 21” diameter plant pot, and I know its exact size as I tried to source a replacement.

I bought my boy a new bike this summer. He had outgrown his old one, and I spotted an ideal place to buy a bigger version (they did trade-ins) and an opportune place to encourage him to learn to ride a bike without stabilisers.

The place was where my parents have a static caravan.

The site has a decently sized grass hill, that I deemed brilliant for teaching a five-year-old to ride their bike.

All was going swimmingly, the hill was steep enough for him to not really have to peddle, thus concentrate on balancing, and, much more importantly, save me the bother of actually having to push him.

Such was his progress I went to fetch his grandparents to watch him ride from the top to the bottom of this hill.

My boy, confident from his recent improvements, set off.

Getting quicker, and quicker, and quicker.

And at the same time my dad was saying: “He does know how to brake? He does know how to brake? He does know how to brake?”

You can see where this is going right?

Yes.

Straight into that plant pot.

Make that newly obliterated plant pot.

I ran down the hill heart in mouth.

He was OK.

The plant pot was not.

We tried to salvage her.

But she ended up still being BER.

After checking he was OK I told him how brilliant he had been to the point of impact, and that I bet he couldn't do it again.

His face changed. From not being sure, thinking he was in trouble, to one of a cheeky smirk and confidence. He even went and had another go straight afterwards, albeit after familiarisation with the workings of brakes.

I hope I reacted in the right way, not overly concerning myself with apportioning blame. Blame I wholehearted accepted and absolved him from.

But more so focused on the excellence of actually now being able to ride, and crash, a bike.

The second destructive act I cheered him for was when he split a polystyrene body-board in half.

Again something borne out of his summer improvements.

Last year he wasn't really interested in surfing waves, more so being knocked over by them.

But this summer he cracked it, riding a body-board all the way to the beach, hence running out of water, and thus breaking a board in half.

My reaction?

“Wow son, that was absolutely awesome. Look how far you went? You are brilliant.”

And again his face changed.

I explained to him that I remembered doing similar as a child, much older than him though, and that it just meant he needed a more robust board.

A board we already had.

One he was on. Merrily surfing to the shore, about two minutes later.

What can I say?

He's a smasher.