Preparing for the arrival of twins is a huge exercise. I’m lucky that Charlotte has taken charge of virtually all of it so far. One of our greatest challenges has been in ensuring we have enough space and the right furniture in our house. Recently we borrowed several items of furniture from relatives and gave some back which we had borrowed in the past.
A friend of us kindly lent us a white van from his company recently so we could move some furniture back to my parents’ house outside London. It’s a 200 mile round trip so we decided to make a weekend of it. I haven’t driven many white vans before, but if I know one thing, it’s that it is absolutely vital that certain “white van man” codes of conduct and behaviour must be observed. We were lucky enough to get a van which would house a baby seat for Monty in between Charlotte and me. We had no idea how Monty would react to being up front in a van so we made quite a big deal about having a white van and made sure Monty saw us loading the furniture. We told him we were going on an exciting trip and pretended that having a white van was something special. If he wasn’t seriously impressed he was doing a great impression of an excited little boy. He kept pointing to the van and making excited squeals and ooh’s and ahhh’s.
One of the things fatherhood is teaching me is that it’s possible to make even the most mundane and tiresome of tasks much more fun by just putting in a little thought and effort. So, once we were all aboard I decided it was time to teach Monty how to speak like a proper white van man. Several times I repeated slowly, loudly and clearly the words “Oi Oi!”. At first he seemed a little puzzled as if he hadn’t a clue what “Oi Oi” meant or why anybody would want to shout it out to other people from inside a van. I haven’t got a clue either. But my persistence paid off and before long he was Oi-Oi-ing away like the best of them.
At the end of the weekend we all piled into the van and we slowly pulled away from the house heading for home. My father, who I had told of my teaching exercise, joined in enthusiastically and called in through the window to us “Oi Oi!” as he said goodbye. So imagine how over the moon I was when my brilliant son replied, equally enthusiastically, “Oi Oi!”
Sometimes, just sometimes, they make you so proud.
I’m hopeful our twins will become sporty and healthy like their parents. However, although I like sport, I’ve never been a star performer - I’ve always had great admiration for those who are. I saw this clip of Tristan and Nic Puehse on YouTube and thought how I missed out on the whole skateboarding thing when I was young. One or two of my friends had them at school. I tried one once and fell off before I’d actually got the stage of moving on it. I decided from then on that I wasn’t meant to go sideways. It’s why I don’t windsurf or snowboard.
But to see people being talented in a sport is always exciting so I enjoyed watching the clip of these twins out in the USA skateboarding. I have no idea if Monty and our twins will ever want to do this, but I’m all for it if they are…
If you want to see more of the Puehse twins take a look at their website
What a great sense of timing my twins have! On Friday, Charlotte and I went out for a celebratory dinner - it was our fifth wedding anniversary. I remembered it too, and had even bought her a present, so all the more reason to share a triumphant moment together.
We were at a charming little pub restaurant in Dorset and were enjoying a quiet evening of conversation and good food.
And then midway through our conversation Charlotte suddenly looked at me, quite excited, and grabbed my hand and held it to her tummy. I couldn’t help get excited too - I had been getting a little impatient watching my wife get huge and her feeling little kicks and bumps and me not being able to feel anything.
I waited motionless for a few seconds, my hand on her tummy. And then suddenly there it was. A small thump. And then another. It was a really fantastic moment.
And a perfect anniversary present.
And now I want to feel them all the time. It would be a little embarrassing if I walked everywhere with my hands clasped around Charlotte’s midriff I grant you, so I’ll need to be reasonably discreet about it.
But with every thump and bump it’s a reminder of the fun to come.
So where did the term “six of the best” come from? And why were corporal punishment beatings administered in units of 6? Was it an imperial measurement thing? Why not 5 of the best, or 7 or 8? If we were a metric nation would it be 10 of the best?
I was at a boarding school in Gloucestershire when I was 12. It was only for a year and it was a specialised school for kids who needed an extra push to get them through the Common Entrance exams into their chosen private schools, (or public schools as we call them in the UK - because that makes sense doesn’t it?). Beatings were fairly common as were the threats of beatings. It would be easy to go into a kind of comedy appreciation of this experience and say that the beatings were just an occupational hazard, something which built character, “made me the man I am today” (i.e. scared, twitchy, anxious and constantly looking over my shoulder shouting “please sir, no sir, I won’t do it again sir”).
I was only there for a year and was soon promoted to Head Boy, a role which gave me a lot of privileges. I was allowed to drink Sherry once every few weeks and tell other boys off for doing stupid things. It also meant that generally I could do the same stupid things and not get reprimanded.
However, there was one night in our dormitory of 5 boys when we we were all talking after “lights-out” and we obviously weren’t quiet enough. We were surprised by the headmaster who flung open our door and told us all to shut up. I was in charge and was supposed to keep law and order in our dormitory. Instead I had been one of the more vocal and enthusiastic participants of the debate. So I was in bigger trouble than any of the others.
I remember the headmaster’s word clearly. “Cunliffe!”, he growled, “If you weren’t the headboy I would beat you to within an inch of your life. Now shut up!”.
So my question is - Why an inch? Why not half an inch? Or an eighth? An inch is a very specific measurement. It wasn’t a foot for example, presumably because it wouldn’t have the same menace. So, apart from the unnecessary brutality and fear instilled by corporal punishment, I reckon it’s probably a good thing it has now been banned from schools, especially now imperial measurements have been removed from our education.
“Cunliffe! Be quiet, boy, or you’ll get 10.5 recurring of the best and I’ll beat you to within 2.5 centimetres of your life!”
This is bound to be a contentious issue and I’d like to think we’re grown up enough to have a conversation about it without resorting to fisticuffs or vitriolic messages. So I want to put the question out there to other parents. Is it ok to spank or smack your children? If, so, what are the criteria? How is it administered and under what circumstances is it acceptable?
Just so you know, here’s my current thinking.
I was spanked a couple of times as a small child. One of the two occasions I don’t remember at all. The other I remember too well. Without sounding like some nostalgic geriatric, in my day our schools used corporal punishment, but it was used sparingly in controlled circumstances. I never got the cane or the slipper (the school options) but my father is a big man and in those days stood tall and broad. He didn’t batter us ever.
I have decided that spanking and physical discipline is not an option I will ever take with my children. It feels like I would be assaulting Monty if I ever did resort to corporal punishment. And my commitment to Monty, our forthcoming twins and myself is that I’ll never administer any corporal punishment. It means I’ll have to come up with other ways of disciplining them, but so what? That’s what goes with my stance on this.
Anyhow, I’m really interested to know what others think so please leave me any comments if you have strong views, opinions or experience you think would be useful to the debate.
And I don’t even know what the law says about it so if you know that or know where I can find that out, again please let me know.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a more organised person then my wife, Charlotte. When I met her she was an executive PA for the managing director of a major European bank in London. She was the first person I met who owned a Palm Pilot - a very early version. Since meeting Charlotte I have abdicated practically all responsibility for remembering useful things like birthdays, contact details of friends and family, what we’re doing on Friday night, what time is it, what day of the week is it, who am I, where am I and where do I live? All this info and a great deal more is stored in this all-singing, all-dancing piece of technical wizardry. And Charlotte is good with it… very good. “What did I have for supper on June 13th, 2002?” was the kind of question I used to ask, smugly, expecting her to look at me blankly and think I’d gone completely loony tunes. No such luck. She’d look at me thoughtfully, pausing for a second or two, as if just checking I’d said the 13th not the 14th, and then tell me exactly what I’d eaten, where I was sitting, what I was wearing and whether or not I’d had dessert. And if she was struggling even a little she would grab the aforementioned Palm and tap furiously with that clever little pen thingy and look it up.
It was a bit flash, to be honest, but I couldn’t help admire her for having both a Palm, an excellent memory and attention to detail. Sometimes, in the early days, she would remind me of conversations we’d had where I had doubtless made foolish promises which I didn’t think she’d remember. I learned to adapt. I stopped making promises. I didn’t like committing to anything unless I had it written down as well. We emailed a lot more. In those days, we both lived and worked in the same flat and we could just as easily talk as email. But I grew weary of losing arguments about where, when, who and what. I knew I was probably in the wrong, so gave up putting up a fight. But I liked to have documented evidence of our conversations just in case. So Charlotte knew to email me anything we’d definitely decided upon and agreed so I couldn’t deny it at a later date.
And all went swimmingly well for a while. Charlotte was the smart one, the one who knew what was what and was 100% reliable all the time. Even though this could be a bit annoying, I felt safe with her, I could depend on her. She was my rock. She just didknow everything.
Until….
She got pregnant with Monty, our two year old. I make that sound like I wasn’t involved. But of course I know I was. How could I be allowed to foget that. I’ve stilll got the prior email reminding me of my anticipated involvement and booking the time and date.
And after Monty was born things gradually returned to normal. In time I began to trust Charlotte’s amazing memory again, usually unprompted by the Palm.
But then with the conception of twins came something altogether unexpected, by me at least. I knew it was possible she’d become forgetful or slightly absent-minded again. What I hadn’t bargained on was that with twins she would become twice as dippy as before. It may sound obvious now in hindsight, but I just didn’t think it would be (or even could be) worse than the first time around.
For example, not long ago Charlotte and Monty were due to go to a local birthday party of some twins we know. Not long after Charlotte left, she called me on the mobile to check on the time of the party. To some people this would sound not only reasonable, but inevitable. But I know my wife. She just doesn’t forget stuff like that.
And there are many other instances like this where Charlotte has forgotten something or doesn’t recall conversations which even I remember.
So now I can’t help getting nervous when Charlotte goes out the door with Monty in the buggy. I want to tie a label to Monty saying “Hello, I’m Monty. If found, please call my Daddy - he’s called Luke” and then write out my mobile number. And I’m also considering writing another label and tying it to Charlotte saying “Hello, I’m Charlotte. If found, please call my hubby - he’s called Luke. And, by the way, if you see a small fella around here, that’s my son, Monty - can you keep him and me together please?”
I watch them go out the front door sometimes. I can’t help fighting back the tears wondering if I’ll ever see them again. I don’t always know where they’re going. More worryingly, neither do they.
Bring on the twins so we can resume situation (fairly) normal please.
I’ve never liked doing the chores around the house and I have always been vigilant in my determination never to volunteer for anything which may be remotely taxing or tedious. So, you can imagine I find some things about being married really difficult. I’m not one of those fantastic “new men” who relishes in every opportunity to cook, clean, do the laundry or put up shelves.
Over the years I had almost perfected my ability to be absent when required. However, maybe I’m just getting a little too old to put up a fight or a little too slow to run. I now find I tend to do a lot more chores than I had ever bargained for. I used to get a bit annoyed when Charlotte asked me to do things. To her credit, she only ever asked me nicely. But she would often need to remind me several times. Sometimes she would resort to sending me emails.
But now my life has been been changed. Revolutionised, even.
How? Well, I installed ASN a couple of years ago, and since then things have gone from strength to strength. ASN is a human bevaviour programme which can be installed directly into the brain. It stands for Auto Self-Nag.
How it works is clever, simple and entertaining for both me and anyone around me. What happens is that I’ll be going about my normal life when suddenly a voice will kick in giving me mental reminders. So, I may be sitting on the sofa watching television with Charlotte and when the advertisements come on I will hear myself saying things in a similar tone to Charlotte. Such as, “Could you do the washing up, please, it won’t get done by itself, you know.” Or “Could you bring the clothes up from the dryer, please?” As I say, my wife being a polite, well-brought up girl, there’s usually a “please” or a “thank you” somewhere in the request. And it’s great because it means Charlotte doesn’t actually have to say anything out loud to me. ASN has kicked in and is reminding me of tasks to do.
Now, I accept it may look a little silly with Daddy walking around the house, seemingly engaged in conversation with himself. But it gives Charlotte and me a laugh and enables me to take the heat out of any potential conflict. ASN isn’t perfect yet, it needs some development. I know this because occasionally I get email reminders about things I need to do. But I’m no longer the slouch I used to be. And it means that neither Charlotte nor I feel like she’s being a nag.
OK, it’s silly, but it makes us laugh.
Anyway, I haven’t got time to write more now. The dishwasher won’t empty itself…
Being a huge movie fan I like to read movie trivia whenever I have a chance. The Internet Movie Database is probably the best movie website on the internet and I’m guessing is probably used by movie fans the world over to settle bets about who directed which movie and who starred opposite who etc. In fact I recently lost a fiver over an embarrassing lapse of memory when I forgot which actor played the lead in American Beauty. Yes, I know it was Kevin Spacey now, so don’t say it.
One of my favourite movies of all time, for reasons I won’t go into here, is Terminator. And it was when browsing through the site that I did a search on Linda Hamilton, who played the character of Sarah Connor. I was fascinated to learn that in the sequel to terminator, Terminator 2, Judgment Day, her part was occasionally played by a double, none other than Leslie Hamilton Gearren, Linda’s identical twin sister.
Who’d have thought it? I’ve always given credit to Linda Hamilton for being one of the toughest “on-screen” actresses, along with Sigourney Weaver and Linda Fiorentino (who could resist Fiorentino’s phenomenal performance as the calculating femme fatale in The Last Seduction?). But now I find out that not only is Linda Hamilton a superlative hard ultravixen, but presumably her sister is the same. Scary family, even if incredibly talented.
IMDB lists in the trivia section on Linda hamilton that “while attending Washington College, the acting professor told her [Linda Hamilton] she had no hope of earning a living as an actress”. Hmmm “Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach”, right?
If you have any other great twins movie trivia I’d love to hear it.
I’d like to think that one day I’ll be able to go to concerts with my children. I’m not saying I want to do anything as daft as Glastonbury, but I’d certainly like to be up to date with music and go to the odd concert with them.So last night was our first attempt to give Monty a taste of music events. Kew Gardens, in South West London, hosts a series of excellent open-air musical events every summer. Last night we went to see Bjorn Again, the superb ABBA tribute band.
Monty had a wail of a time, dancing the night away and enjoying the view perched on my shoulders for about two and a half hours.
