March 2005 Archives

This picture of Dom (taken at the same time as this athena shot that I posted the other day) has kept me tickled all week. I can't look at it without thinking he's the unlikely spitting image of a celebrity but I don't want to be putting ideas in your head. So this picture reveals who I think the little man looks like but to stop you cheating you have to enter the doppelganger's firstname/surname as username/password to see whether we agree. If you get it, leave a comment but please don't give the game away. (Under thirties probably need not apply)

On reflection, I know this is horribly complicated but trust me it's worth it.

(Update Friday 25/03/05) So either it's just me or nobody reads the blog. Or maybe, just maybe, a little of both. As to guesses that have been made so far, it's not Alfred Hitchcock, nor Orson Welles, nor the other staple (all babies are bald and chubby so he must look like..) Winston Churchill. Never one to let a dead horse go unflogged, from today we start making things easier by giving a series of clues as to Dom's celebrity twin. Well worth checking back for, honest.

The Zapruder footage (1.4mb .avi file) is in, as is video evidence of even scarier (2.2mb .avi file) and even messier (2.4mb .avi file) developments. He's growing up way too quickly my boy.

So I got this text message. Myself, I would have cheered.

So the trip to see Jo and Grant in Scotland didn't start so well. 259 miles into a 266 mile trip Dom decided to splashily lose his dinner over himself and the back of the car. Expect a forest of pine-tree air-fresheners next time you see the wassock-mobile.

More impressive was as the curtains were opened the next morning when Jo, mindful of having to live up to making Scotland 'free' last time we were up, had somehow arranged for a lone piper to make his way down the street followed in procession by all the local children. Luckily double-glazing and the fact that he still can't quite walk (eight days to go Dom, no pressure!) means Dom's not now languishing in a cave whilst the people of Greenloaming rue not paying the thousand florins.

Between visiting the animal sanctuary on the Saturday and feeding the ducks on the Sunday, Dominic has in one short weekend seen more animals than in the rest of his life put together. (Some fantastic photos by Grant tucked in with mine if you follow those last two links). We unreservedly recommend Hotel Speed for it's fantastic views and fine dining.

We broke the journey back by popping into Keswick, dining at the Lakeland Pedlar, buying hats and a very swift visit to Castlerigg where my photographic ambition was largely thwarted by mist and drizzle.

Wanting the moon on a stick "wŏn'tĭng the mūn ŏn ā stĭk" (obscure phrase): desirous of the impossible; etymology: perhaps best-forgotten early 90s comedy

However what the Domster wants, he gets. Dominic is now the proud owner of an acre of lunar real estate in Area E-5, Quadrant Foxtrot (that's in the Mare Imbrium half-way between the Prinz and Euler craters, in case you were wondering) and has a not-at-all dubious certificate to prove it. And it's on a stick.

Jobley, for services to top quality punnage we salute you.

There were flowers but they weren't from him. Instead Dominic made it clear that what he wanted to buy his Mum was this book, if only because of the so-appropiate-it-may-have-been-written-to-order majesty of this double page. (His Dad was also quite pleased that they chucked in matching wrapping paper and a card for free as well).

Also, Happy Mother's Day Mum.

So Helen's batch-cooking Dom's food and I'm sat at the kitchen table doing some biology homework, and can't be bothered to fetch the dictionary.

Me: What's a Phylum?

Helen: (adopting her best Jimmy Cricket accent) Ah sure, it's what you see at a cinema, so it is.

*Groan*