Bart's blog

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It's A Wrap

Some say it is the season to be jolly. Some may even go as far as to say 'la lala lalaa lala la la'. I beg to differ. Because Christmas and New Year's eve mean presents. And although I like both giving and receiving gifts, I hate wrapping presents.

First of all, I suck in epic ways in the art of gift wrapping. Especially if the present doesn't come in a neat rectangular box. Secondly, gift wrapping brings back painful memories of school, when at the beginning of each school year we had to wrap our books in paper covers.

Of course, a present wouldn't be a present if it's not nicely wrapped. There would be no anticipation when you see all those presents under the tree and you don't know what's in them.

But I still hate wrapping.

Cool Man

Frozen Horse

Good Manners

I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.
I must not fart at the dinner table.

Not even when Mrs.B makes cabbage and sprouts two days in a row.

Ancient History

Well, there's no use beating around the bush any more. I'm 40, which means I'm officially old. From now on, my body will fail me more and more. My sight will be going. I'll start leaking fluids everywhere. The pipes will bust. The wiring will burn. In as far as that hasn't happened already.

We had a great party last Saturday. Mrs.B and I spent the whole Saturday afternoon trying to turn a bare hall into an inviting party place, and I must say we succeeded brilliantly (if I may say so myself). Amazing what a bunch of balloons, paper table cloths and masses of cheap Chinese lampoons and garlands can do.

We invited a whole bunch of people, some of which we hadn't seen for many years. But in the end only twenty-five or so of them turned up. Still we had lot of fun. It was nice seeing and talking to old friends, we had plenty to eat and to drink, and I honed my DJ skills for the first time in years. I must admit I was a bit rusty and although everyone said they loved the music, I didn't seem to get anyone on the dance floor. Not to worry, I am able to play music and dance, so I had a blast. And finally some people joined my. That's Thirty-somethings for you, they'll yap and gossip all night long instead of dancing the night away.

At least we 40-year-olds really know what fun is.

Duke Pukem

This is a story of woe and sorrow, and of children. So you know what that means, right? Puke party!

It started with Wolf, who had been complaining about pain in his tummy for a couple of days. He spent hours on the loo, but relieve didn't come so his body decided to try the other exit. I was sitting in the sofa at the very moment, with Wolf standing on my left side and Tyl sitting on the ground on my right. And then it came, in big gulps at first, then streaming out like raw sewage out of a hose pipe. All over my trousers and the floor.

I yelled for my wife, while I yanked Tyl out of the way. Meanwhile, vomit was coming out of Wolf's nose and all. Mrs.B came running in with a bucket and the kitchen roll, while I still endured the tidal wave and tried to hold Tyl back, who was very interested in this curious phenomenon.

The upside was that Wolf felt a whole lot better now that his stomach was free. I dunked him in the bath and cleaned myself up, while Mrs.B went at it in the living room with a shovel, a couple of buckets and a small bulldozer.

The next afternoon, I was in the last hours of an all day meeting when I felt a pain developing in my stomach. An hour or so later on the train, I wasn't feeling well at all. The bus ride home was an absolute nightmare, because I felt like throwing up and a wobbly city bus is positively the worst mode of transport in such a situation.

I drugged myself with everything I could find in the medicine cabinet that evening, and I managed to keep the contents of my stomach where they more or less belonged. Put I couldn't bear the idea of having dinner and I went straight to bed. That was Wednesday, and I'm still rather nauseous and a bit wobbly in the legs.

Of course, the misery didn't end there. Yesterday afternoon I had Tyl on my lap, who was thirsty like a mummified camel and sucked vigorously on his water bottle. Then, suddenly, his 4 o'clock fruit salad squirted out, on my trousers again. With the amount of water he'd been drinking, it soaked me right to my under garments. I sent Wolf for a towel, while Tyl kept sploshing me with molten banana in regular intervals. Unfortunately, the towel was hanging out of reach, so Wolf had to grab a chair. Tyl was still going at it. Wolf reached the towel. Tyl still played irrigation hose. Wolf walked back over with the towel. It was of no use any more at this stage.

I walked upstairs like a troll with a haemorrhoid, my nether regions soaking in wet baby goo. Tyl, surprisingly, was not that badly hit, protected as he was by his plastic bib. But I still had to change all of his clothing, after I'd quickly removed my trousers.

They never explain to you in advance that fatherhood involves changing a baby standing half naked with your gonads covered in vomit. Good thing the right door neighbours weren't home either, because their bathroom window is right across the window of the changing room, and I'm not precisely sure what they would have made of this scene. I suddenly realise I could have found myself in jail by now...

Razor Sharp

Wolf found his mother's razor in the bathroom. He asked what it's for, so I explained to him that it was a razor and that it was very sharp, and that his mummy uses it to shave her beard.

He accepted that without further comment.

They are so gullible at this age.

Medic!

Today, while installing a new kitchen sink, I suffered the most gruelling of injuries known to man. I was happily modifying an existing cupboard, whizzing away with my electric saw and drill and all that, when it happened:

A paper cut

OOOOH the pain! The suffering! Will there ever come an end to it? And where is that bloody medevac helicopter when you need it? Public health care standards are in rapid decline in this country, I tell you.

Spare Parts

We were coming back from Wolf's school around noon today. I had to carry Tyl on my arm, because Mrs.B had taken the car to the garage and the buggy was still in the car's booth. We were also out of bread, so we made a detour to the bakery shop. With Tyl on my left arm, a large loaf of bread in my right hand and still a long way to go, I didn't have much patience for Wolf, who was dragging his feet.

Wolf: 'Daddy, I'm tired. My leg hurts.'

Me: 'Ill buy you another one when it falls off. Now move on!'

 

Can You Smell The Snow?

Today I plucked my winter coat out of the closet, I already dug up the old scarf on Monday. We've had a couple of very nice and warm days lately - in conmpensation for the most dreadful summer in Belgian history - but now autumn is definitely here.

I made good use of those warm and dry days to fix the roof of the annexe, or rather, I built a new timber roof over the old one and covered it with EPDM foil - despite advice from a couple of friends not to, but I didn't like the other options and with the winter coming I had to move fast.

So now we can enter the cold season with a roof that doesn't leak. I also added another layer of insulation for good measure, so it'll be warm and cosy inside.

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