Back in the Great North Run again, this time for the Leukaemia Research Fund in memory of my niece who lost her fight against Leukaemia less than a month before the GNR last year.

My sister’s participation in that race, so soon after losing her daughter, was stunning. And she stopped and sympathised with me as I hobbled along the last three miles with an injured knee, before sprinting off into the distance. She can’t do it this year for much happier medical reasons.

Anyway, there is no minimum fundraising target for the LRF, so don’t feel obliged to donate a large amount… but don’t expect me to talk to you again if I don’t see your name on the list in twelve weeks time…

Tiny Flirt had a tantrum this evening. Not an Autistic tantrum, but a standard, common-or-garden NeuroTypical tantrum.

He had been playing happily in the garden, but not the sort of play that parents approve of. The sort of play that involves mud. So he was told to stop.

“No!”

So he was picked up and carried into the kitchen, the door locked behind him, and his hands pushed under the tap to wash them clean.

“No!” he screamed. “No! No! No!”

His hands were dried, and he screamed again.

“No! Not wash hands! No!”

Then he was left to lie on the floor and kick and scream.

After about fifteen seconds he decided he was thirsty.

“Want drink!” he shouted.

“Not until you say sorry,” I answered.

“Sorry Daddy,” he said, and gave me a hug. “Sorry Mummy,” and she got a hug as well.

Total elapsed tantrum time: sixty seconds.
Injuries to self: none.
Injuries to others: none.
Items damaged or destroyed: none.
Neighbours disturbed: none.
Parental stress level: minimal.

I just wanted to mention something about Little Nutter’s behaviour this evening, after I had collected him from respite.

He greeted me in the most affectionate manner he could: he sat on my knee and shoved two toy fish into my face (Nemo and Marlin, if I am not mistaken) and then nicked my mobile phone, held it to my ear and shouted, “Hello? Bob the Builder!”

Then he held his respite carer’s head in his hands and planted an enormous, sloppy kiss on her nose before saying, “Bye-bye!”

Driving home through a thunderstorm, he sang “Incey Wincey Spider” non-stop for thirty minutes – an appropriate song, given the rain. I sang along with him (this is a major concession on my part, as it involved pausing “Caress of Steel” just as “Bastille Day” was starting up…) and at the end of each chorus he clapped his hands and shouted, “Good boy Daddy!”

Then, at home, he helped Tiny Flirt to build towers of building blocks, paying particular attention to the Ginger Schmoozer’s counting skills. He got very upset about his little brother’s inability to count beyond seventeen. He has a point, mind – two-year-olds just don’t know anything…

And finally, he carefully identified all the important parts of the dog’s face.

That’s more interaction with humans and dogs in two hours than we have seen in the previous month.

Go Little Nutter!

This morning, Darling Wifey and an American friend we met at university got themselves togged-up in silk dresses and hats and disappeared off to the Knavesmire, where Royal Ascot at York is breaking records in attendance, enthusiasm and Champagne consumption.

They will be spending most of the day working their way through the fizzy and the occasional strawberry garnished with extra-fatty-cow-juice, so by tea-time I expect Darling Wifey will have bet the house on some nag that we will be feeding to the dog in another week or so.

Nobody ever said that R&R was either cheap or mindful of the consequences.

The plan is to make a night of it, so my task for the day was to lose the children, iron a shirt and meet the ladies for an evening meal in the city centre. With respite booked for Little Nutter and Grandma recruited for the Chatterboxes, nothing could be easier…

So first I needed to pack bags for the two parties, who would be travelling to separate destinations. Little Nutter got the idea very quickly: Daddy is putting clothes into bags. Little Nutters can help to do that, too. Everything within reach was stuffed into every bag available. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice has nothing on Little Nutter. The only way to distract him was by emptying our pillowcase full of odd socks onto the floor and encouraging him to count them back in.

Yes, I know that sounds mean, but just imagine telling neurotypical children that they can eat ice-cream and chocolate until they are sick while having unlimited access to all thirty children’s satellite channels, and you will get the idea of how happy this made him.

Then I had to calm Tiny Flirt down, who misunderstood “You’re going to sleep at Grandma’s tonight” to mean “I am going to put you to bed for a sleep right now.” He wasn’t tired, and every time he saw me put his pyjamas and toothbrush into a bag he screamed angrily, pulled them out and hid them.

Finally, Little Madam was so delighted at this surprise sleepover that she lost control of all faculties up to but not quite including her bladder. She was also traumatised by the news that we had only one hour to pack. She normally gets at least a week’s notice, and uses it wisely to accumulate all manner of objects to show to the Most Beloved Grumpy Grandpa.

Eventually, however, we managed to get one of the bags packed and everyone loaded into the car. Scooby Doo and the Legend of the Vampire was loaded into the portable DVD player, which for some inexplicable reason now only speaks Español (but that doesn’t matter at the moment because Little Nutter prefers to watch his films backwards one frame at a time) and we set off through the heat haze to meet Grandma at the half-way point (a car park in the North Yorks Moors.)

Grandma, predictably, was late. She had popped into a sale on the way down…

The Chatterboxes were strapped into Grandma’s car & waved off, and Little Nutter’s disappointment at not being allowed to go with them was very short-lived. McOffal’s was round the corner and he was cheered up by something that looked and tasted like a carboard box full of more cardboard and a yoghurt to dip it into. On the way home he watched the Oompa-Loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory over and over and over and over again while managing to arrange the ventilation system in my car to blast the entire output of the air conditioning unit up his trouser leg. It kept him happy, and as Cary Grant said to Tony Curtis in Operation Petticoat, “It’s like watching a strip show. Don’t ask how it’s done, just enjoy what’s coming off.”

Then at home the Respite Routine took over.

A particular pair of pyjamas is put into a particular bag and the rest is like clockwork. Little Nutter kicks off into a routine with all the inevitability of a Hollywood film about Britain. (It all works without quite being right. And it only gets the most important details wrong: the US Navy captures an Enigma Machine, helping to bring the 1941-1945 war to a quick conclusion; or Robin Hood lands at Dover at lunchtime and walks to Nottingham via Hadrian’s Wall – and gets there in time for dinner; or William Wallace leads the Highland Revolt with stirring speeches about freedom, justice and equality; or my all-time favourite – after the test screening of “The Madness of King George III,” the audience said that they would have enjoyed it more if they had seen the first two films…)

Anyway, Little Nutter rushed to the bathroom to pack his toiletries. He put toothpaste on his toothbrush ready for bedtime and stuffed it into his bag. Then he got a flannel as wet and soapy as possible and shoved that in, too. Today he remembered that he would need a towel, so he ran downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel. While he was at it he made a snack: two slices of bread and an extra-large cup of water. This was very carefully placed into the side pocket of his bag. I have bought a small gift for his respite carer, and he has helped me to write a card for her (he signed it, “Train”) but he is quite insistent that this belongs in the bin…

We are due to set off in half an hour, so right now he is in his bedroom packing a train set, his brand new box of alphabet blocks (just in case he needs to write out any railway engine names) and all his railway magazines into his duvet. He has a duvet at the hostel, but he prefers his own as it is full of toys.

Then we have no children until tomorrow afternoon.

Cor.

Yesterday morning I had a ‘phone call from the nurse at Little Nutter’s special school – did I know that he had the Dire Rear?

No, frankly, I didn’t – and just to prevent her from using that supercilious tone with me again, I informed her that the shit he had smeared on his bedroom wall that morning was of a perfectly normal consistency. No trace of diarrhea.

Then she recited Education Department policies to me: to prevent infection of other children, he must be taken home and kept away from school for 48 hours.

So for two days Little Nutter and I have been having some Father-Son-Quality-Time. In a tourist trap like York, armed with a resident’s pass, this is seriously good fun – and free to boot!

We spent hours in the Railway Museum, and even watched an enormous steam train set off, like a mythical beast snarling its way into the distance. Little Nutter went beserk – but no squits.

Then we went to the Castle Museum, where we charged through the exhibits looking for trains – but they were as rare as the runs. So we ate gingerbread men and drank bottled water in the cafe before heading off the the Railway Museum again for some more Locomography.

This morning we went to the Continental Market in Parliament Square to eat marrons glacés and brioche while reading a copy of this month’s British Railways Illustrated (complete with a huge centrefold of utterly filthy diesels. Phoooar!) Then we went back to the Railway Museum to have a look at that saucy Oriental little number, the Shinkansen. Plenty of trains, but no drains – if you get my meaning.

I’ll miss him when he’s back at school tomorrow.

Ah, a happy Saturday.

First, the ‘normal’ stroll to the market for fresh bread and vegetables… past a 21 gun salute and following a military band which was marching through central York and conveniently clearing the tourists out of our way in the process.

Little Madam came into the bread shop with me and advertised our middle-class credentials to all and sundry: “Can I have a ciabatta, please? It’s much nicer than the granary rustic you normally get.”

Then, this afternoon, Darling Wifey & I have been getting our housekeeping out of the way before a friend arrives for a few days. To our delight, Little Madam played with her brothers in one of the bedrooms, entertaining us with a choice selection of phrases echoing down the stairs:
“You can do that if you want to, but you’ll regret it.”
“Don’t even think of going in there looking like that!”
and my all-time favourite,
“That’s it! I’ve had it with you two! I’m leaving!“

1. What is the correct way to wear your seat belt?
a) across your lap and diagonally across your chest
b) behind your back
c) across your ankles as you stretch out over the back of your seat

2. what adjustments do you need to make to your vehicle when driving in heavy rain?
a) slow down, turn on the lights and windscreen wipers
b) none
c) open all the windows and sunroof and stick your head out

3. When feeling tired on a long journey, you should
a) open all the fresh air vents and turn up the stereo
b) stop for a rest and a triple espresso
c) take off all your clothes and lie down on the rear parcel shelf for a nap

4. If you need refreshment during your journey, you should
a) use a convenient service station
b) drink through a straw only
c) always carry a large cup of cool water, filled to the brim, just in case

5. In the car, your mobile phone should be
a) turned off
b) attached to a hands-free kit
c) use to count numbers with

6. What are interior lights for?
a) mapreading and other essential activities only
b) so you can see clearly when fixing make-up
c) creating an entertaining strobe effect during particularly long journeys