Christmas snow and friends

Soph was treated to her first white christmas in December. What was less of a treat was our decrepit old boiler breaking down in the coldest week of the year and it taking more than a week to get it replaced. So for one week the Pettet clan camped together in our lounge-room with our working fireplace heating the room up. Bryn lent canine charm and fruity odours, or at least living in that close proximity, that’s who we all decided to blame.

We felt that we were getting to know Soph better and she was getting to know us.

"Good God woman, don’t just stand there and take photos. Get me out of here, this man smells like wet arse!"

One of these two women is trying hard to come to grips with life in the real world... the other has just shat herself.

"Beeeeeefffcaaaake"

"Jesus, the dog just farted"

"You swear you’re not going to post this one on the internet, right?"

For Christmas itself our friends Shanny and Myles were kind enough to invite us up to the Lakes to spend a few days with them in a beautiful cottage where we gathered with Shanny’s mum and aunt, and Ben and Corinne to bring in the festive season.

We got in some wonderful sledding until the sled disintegrated under the combined lethal forces of festive obesity and uncoordination. Corinne was the clear leader managing several runs standing up.

Emmy looking beautiful and just a little chilly.

Sophie enjoying Christmas cheer.

Ben with the youngest woman he has ever picked up in a bar.

Finally this is the casting photo Sophie is using for her audition for a part in a lavish new MGM musical. She is trying out for gay sailor number 3.

Sophie Bophie

Well, well. So much has gone by that the update seems almost superfluous. But in the interests of completeness and to avoid claims of neglect in her troubled teenage years, it is time that I update you all with the arrival of Sophie Elizabeth Pettet on 22/10/2010.

Despite the urgings of the lovely midwives who were all very keen to have us give birth at their centre, or home, or in an organic igloo with healing crystals aligned in a way to facilitate the energising flow of our shakras through the room, we had decided to have a planned delivery at the NHS Stepping Hill Hospital at Stockport. ( I specify this now, so that there is no future confusion and Sophie does not spend her adult life making her family genuflect and spew admiring oohs and aahs every time they pass the hospital ’she was born in’ only to find out many years later that she never went near the place. It happens).

The due date we had originally been given was the tuesday, 19th of october. Up until that date Em was feeling great and we went in to the local midwife centre in Buxton on the day for a check. They discovered that Em had high blood pressure and so we were told we had to go into the Stepping Hill Hospital about 40 mins drive away. So we went in there so that the doctors could monitor Em.

We saw a nurse who gave her another check up and then she was admitted to be seen by a doctor. All that afternoon we waited to be seen. Em was very happy and comfortable the whole time. We had another few nurse checks, but there seemed to be some sort of confusion as to where the doctor was. I went home and the next morning dropped in to see her. There had still been no doctor drop by and so we waited. About midday we asked the nurse if a doctor might be around so Em could be examined. And she said she would see what she could do. After another two hours we went to the front desk and asked the woman there if anyone might see us, because Em was feeling good and if we couldn’t see a doctor, we would rather go home. She said that a nurse would have to check us out and asked us to wait. We waited another hour and then walked out of the hospital. Interestingly as we walked past the receptionist she just pretended to be looking the other way. Deniability is everything and apparently Donald Rumsfeld wrote the protocols for the NHS.

When we got home we rang the NHS and told them we were no longer in their hospital. They were shocked. The next day we went back to the midwife centre and they again said that we should head into the hospital. This time very soon after we got there a very nice young doctor arrived to examine Em. Maybe our records had been marked.

Things progressed slowly but smoothly throughout the night. Em had been put in her own delivery suite so I could spend the night with her. At one point during the night we heard a distant noise that was a mixture of a cat mating and the soundtrack to a slasher film. It grew louder and at first I genuinely thought it was a machine malfunctioning, until we both realised that it was actually another patient in the ward giving birth. Memorably Em turned her magazine page nonchalantly and said, "I think that’s a bit unnecessary." It’s a phrase we haven’t forgotten since.

The next morning we were all ready to go. Sue had come in by taxi and as the morning progressed a steady trickle of doctors, specialists, nurses, midwives, students, bagel salesmen and curious passers-by dropped in to see how we were getting on. Em was stoic throughout and at no stage developed more than a thin sheen of perspiration on the upper lip. I can state for the record that I was never threatened, abused or signed up for an involuntary blunt trauma vasectomy, with a mid thoracic approach.
Suffice it to say, very soon and with an excited room full of spectators, Sophie was born. looking beautiful and unfeasibly large.

4.2 kilos, or 9.2 pounds for those keeping score. To prove my assertion that Em sailed beautifully and gracefully through all events,

Dad on the other hand was rather weary.

Sue was ready for her first grandchild and has I trust sent this photo to John and Julia several times.

Sophie Elizabeth, Grand fille primus, Xerxes Destroyer of Worlds, 2012 Tiger Cub Member had arrived. And here, because it’s what we all want, is a collection of the early weeks.

Soph looking a little pugnacious. Do you wanna fight about it?

Soph the gangsta rapper

There’s quite a good pie shop in Ashbourne, Derbyshire if you ever make your way there. Soph didn’t get a pie but she did get some crumbs spilt on her by Dad.

Soph looking a little tired and emotional (pissed) on Nan’s shoulder.

I may not know much about parenting but I do know there’s nothing as reliably humourous as staging pictures of your baby with alcohol, and...

riding the ever patient Uncle Bryn.

Guernsey

Well here we all are on the beautiful independent bailiwick of Guernsey. Described by their most famous inhabitant, Victor Hugo, as "little pieces of France that have been picked up by England.’ And if that gives you a mental image of England as a dour man travelling along behind a bon vivant poodle with a doggie bag, scooping up Guernsey and Jersey distastefully, then blame Victor Hugo. The man did, to the best of my understanding, write a whole novel about unhappy lesbians.

Guernsey is a very bright and beautiful little island. Population of about 62,000 most of its money comes from finance and tourism. It will be impossible for my photos to do the place justice but for those interested I can highly recommend the local tourism websites for pics of the island itself. For us it is like a wonderful English town transplanted to a Mediterranean climate. A very high standard of living means great restaurants, good work and well maintained country lanes all over the island. Here is Em enjoying a spot of lunch over looking the main St Peter Port harbour.

One slight, ahem, issue for the people of Guernsey to look at is the absence of any street names or numbers. Seriously! The island is divided into ten parishes and each house just has a name. All of which is in French mind you! So my boss’ house is called La Cache, St Peters. Or another house might be La Rocquette, St Martins. And some of these houses are named after old families, so they see no problem with having many houses with the same name. You, of course know which one is which because you know the name of the people living in each of them. So when a newcomer to the island asks someone whose horse or cow he wants to visit where they live, the conversation hits a hurdle. Invariably I get a loud sigh of disgust at my inability to remember the location of the 62000 inhabitants of the island and then an attempt to direct me. It usually goes something like:

Diligent Australian Navigator (DAN): So Mr le Bouvier, where exactly are you?

Knows Nothing Of Bearings (KNOB): Right, Do you know Castel church?

DAN: No I’m afraid I’m new to the island. What’s your address?

KNOB: Do you know Forest Store?

DAN: No. As I said, I’m new, if you could just give me your street name...

KNOB: Hmm it’s tricky. Do you know, as you come past La Chene Hotel...

DAN: No, look I’m afraid this isn’t getting us anywhere. Is anyone in your house able to tell me where you actually live?

KNOB: No, I don’t know the street name. (Long pause) The last vet used to know where we were. Do you know the traffic lights near the airport?

DAN: Mr le Bouvier, I’m going to go now and just drive around the island until I find you. I’m driving a red skoda.

KNOB: Righto, I’ll stand in the street and wave you down. Do you know the....

The constant effort of driving round the island has meant I am quickly becoming used to the island’s landmarks. It has also given rise to a new bedtime song for Sophie. She enjoys it immensely.

(To the tune of Daisy Daisy)

Sophie, Bophy, what are we going to do?

Here on Guernsey, streets are all called La Rue.

The Folk don’t know where, they’re livin’

Directions can not be given.

If you don’t know, just where to go,

You really are in the poo!

Just so you know, if any of the friends I make on Guernsey ever think of visiting me in Australia and ask for an address I’m going to start with, "Right, do you know Sydney Harbour..."

One of the changes brought about by the arrival of the Sophster is obviously that only one of us can work at any one time. As that is me at the moment, Em and Soph have been making an effort to get out and mingle with the natives.

Here’s Soph at a top level baby meeting in Guernsey. On the agenda was Eurozone debt concerns, the Libyan peace process and Japanese quakes. But an emergency motion was passed which called for the immediate serving of strawberries and naps. Soph is bottom right.

In outdoor development Soph has been spending time at the beach, preparing for the summer in Australia. Her favourite part about the beach is the granular texture that sand has in the mouth. Just like her mother I understand.

And here she is with Brynlar. Those of you who know Bryn know that his greatest sign of affection is to try and sit on you, foot, leg or any other part he can reach. Well now that Soph is sitting up on her own he has decided she is blurter worthy.

Tuesday Brunch with Sophie.

So, today was my day off and I thought I would do the good dad thing. So while Emmy went off for a well earned break and hair appointment, I decided to settle in for a morning with the cutest baby in the world.

We started off with a quick walk around town. As you can see, Soph was very fetching in her navy and red outfit and Bryn classed the place up as usual. Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t ideal today, and I’m not the greatest photographer in the world. But here are Bryn and Soph Chillaxin at the water front.

After that we returned home and decided between us that it was time for some refreshment. So while Sophie sat in a bouncy chair and offered advice I got some food ready and much in the style of Jamie’s kitchen or masterchef we have decided to share our menu with you. First here we are setting up. Bryn as you can see, while not the brightest dog in the world, has quickly learnt where the best spot to be during meal times is.

First course today was Baguette Vegemite, prepared on a rich brown bread, with Lurpak butter base and a light dusting of Australia’s finest vitamin B supplement. Sophie appreciated the textural richness of the meal, judging the grain against supple fingers and always keeping an eye on Bryn.

So you know, the rule is once it’s on the floor it’s Bryn’s. Today the division of sandwich spoils went approximately 40% Soph, 35% Bryn and 25% me. I get the bits that wind up stuck to Soph’s hair, clothes and seat but don’t quite make it to the floor. And if you doubt whether smooshed up vegemite sandwich is an appealing meal, you may not have had sole care of Sophie yet. She was quiet for about ten minutes earlier in the day, but, like a schmuck, I wasted that time going to the toilet. While I can certainly use my bathroom time to catch up on reading, I have not yet been forced to the extremes of combining toilet stops with meal times. Those of you who communicate with Em on facebook may be thrilled to know she is an adept toilet surfer, if you get my meaning.

The second course consisted of smooth yoghurt streaked with a jus of strawbraries, (like libraries). Pleased with her tactile approach to the first course Soph saw no reason this couldn’t be tackled in a similar vein.

However, she was finally convinced that this dish might best be consumed with some help from Dad.

Finally dessert was fresh frambois really just served because I had some left over and watching Sophie eat whole strawberries always makes me laugh, and I had earned a treat.

There you go. That was my morning. Em has come home, looking like a fashion model, so we’re going out to lunch. With Bryn beneath the table and Sophie helping me with the serving up, what could go wrong!

And quickly, here are the most gorgeous girls on Guernsey, celebrating a new blog post. Not sure where she’s getting the blonde curls from, but I hear she eats a lot like Ben Warnick.

Jog in the Fog 2010

IT’S ON!

Geb has finally responded to my personal challenge and confirmed that this year we will go head to head in what is half-way to being a clash of the two greatest distance runners of all-time.

Here he is, smiling whilst that option remains a possibility for him because soon it will be his tears on which I coast to victory.

Those of you in the know may be aware that this match-up was on the cards last year until and unforeseen accident in Croatia resulted in me developing a cankle the size of Geb’s reputation.

However, time has flown. Another year’s work pulling the recalcitrant calves of Derbyshire and loading up on an almost entirely carb based diet has me in fighting trim and ready to take on the little master.

Now, you may also be aware that I am running this half marathon to raise money for a children’s homeless charity, Help A London Child. That’s right, when I’m not saving the lives of War Veterans and their cats, I help out homeless kiddies. Does that make me a hero? Well, that’s not for me to say. So if you want all the inside details on the Jog in the Fog 2010 you must now go to www.justgiving.com/danielpettet and donate some money. Excuses will not be tolerated. They accept all cards so don’t even think about claiming that your cheque was tied to a pigeon’s leg and got lost on the way.

So, on september 19 I will be running around newcastle. Those of you in the UK can watch it all live on the BBC. And don’t worry. Due to a technical glitch, I won’t actually be starting at the same time as Geb. I think it’s important to keep it real and run with my peeps. So, in a show of solidarity while he runs in the rarified air of the elite starters I will be near the back of approx 40,000 runners. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if Geb is actually across the finish line before I am across the start. So for that reason you may not see us battling it out in the finishing chute. However I will be carrying a little tracking chip which will give me a precise time for my run and that will also give me the important tactical advantage of knowing what time I have to beat.

If I needed any further inspiration, I plan to be doing the run in this

Inspiration Plus!

Brynlar

It’s time to make a long overdue introduction.

Last November we drove to Lincoln to pick up a little Border Terrier called Bryn! yes, he’s named after uncle Bryn from Gavin and Stacey, although, he also answers to Brynlar, Stinkyface, Poopydrawers, and Numbnuts.

Here he is at home when he first arrived.

And he is reposing gracefully in his bed.

And he does like his ducky, although he needs to establish who is boss.

That winter saw the best snows for thirty years. And here it is through Stinkyface’s eyes.

And here he is enjoying the local park.

Don’t tease him about the jumper he’s very sensitive. Actually it’s a Liverpool jumper. Go the Scousers!

I don’t know why these two are smiling. That’s the frozen lake he’s standing on and if he goes in she’s going after him!

He liked wearing the horns, honest.

And here he is celebrating Christmas on the Essex seafront with Shanny, Miles, Ben and Corinne.

And now we’ll fast forward to more recently. Last weekend we went for a walk through the Peaks District and here he is, as an older boy now surveying his domains.

While we were out he made this girlfriend. personally I think she was a bitch.

Ducks!

Bryn, Lord of the Peak

And here are the two boys. When I was doing a lot of late night calving calls, Bryn used to come with me. Here we both are catching up on naps the next day.

England is full of wonderful pubs with exciting place names. One of the most common is the Red Lion. Bryn has taken a bee in his bonnet and has chosen upon the Red Lion as his nemesis. Here he is challenging the Red Lion at Litton