Book Week Harry Potter Tie-In Aborted in Favour of Fictional Dancing Starlet

In all the flapping around I had to rely on my Loan Phone (my real one is being repaired, hopefully) to take a crappy picture of Eloise after her dancing exams.

Further flapping was in order because she needed to get changed for Book Week, when everyone gets dressed up as a character from a book they have enjoyed.

Eloise had invested precisely no effort whatsoever - there had been no time, leaving the lack of inclination to one side for a moment - and when pushed had decided to go as Hermione or Ginny from Harry Potter, which we are reading together at the moment. She had hoped to avoid tired cliche by going as Hermione or Ginny on their days off, that is in plain clothes, and when I suggested that at least a wand might be in order, she decided that trainee wizards/witches/magicians wouldn't carry wands on their days off.

However given that she was having to take time out of school for the dancing, it seemed only appropriate that she should cut down on changing time by attending Book Week Dress Up as a dancing character. Clearly this would involve going as one of the four Magic Ballerina heriones from Darcey Bussell's unfamous Magic Ballerina Books.

What a decision! Should it be Delphie, whose hair isn't quite the right colour, or Rosa, whose hair isn't quite the right colour, or Holly, whose hair isn't quite the right colour, or the one whose name we can't remember, but whose hair isn't quite the right colour anyway?

On the basis that no-one else knows who these people are, Eloise chose Delphie.

Turned out that almost every single other girl in the school had gone either as Ginny from Harry Potter or as Hermione from Harry Potter, but that every single other girl had tried to make them look like they were studying at Hogwarts. I didn't ask her about wands specifically, but I'm guessing that quite a few wands would have been in evidence.

Turn Your Back For Five Minutes Part 2

Previously on Turn Your Back for Five Minutes

This time on Turn Your Back For Five Minutes, a series that I can't help but think will have many many instalments, it's the day of Eloise's dancing exams.

I may have forgotten to tell you that she scored a Distinction, which I was very proud of her for having achieved. This time she had two exams in the one day: Jazz and Tap.

Anyway logistics had become an issue with the revelation that Eloise wouldn't be done by 10am as previously thought, and this created logistical issues which Claire offered to lighten by taking Lyra under her wing for a couple of hours at Chipmunks, allowing me to pick up Eloise from her exam with a minimum of disruption should examination be continuing and silence be required from the general public.

At 8.20am, five minutes before delivering Eloise to the dancing school, Lyra emptied a bottle of green poster paint over herself and the back deck. This necessitate a Rapid Cleaning Squad effort with the deck scrubbed outside (obviously) and Lyra transported to the bath, washed, rinsed and her clothes consigned to the laundry.

At 9.40am, twenty minutes before delivering Lyra to the Northside Soft Play Centre of Choice, she climbed up to the shelf where the paints are, retrieved the black paint and emptied it over herself and the back deck. I surmise this course of events because I was downstairs, choring.

I came up to find that she had taken herself to the bath and was in the process of rinsing herself off, a black slick of paint draining away beneath her. She had managed not to get the paint onto her clothes. She soon sat down in the dirty water, though, then laid down in it for good measure.

So another rapid cleansing effort was in order, this time solo.

When I picked up Eloise she was pretty delighted with her performance. No mistakes at Jazz, she thought, but some timing issues over the introduction of the Tap Waltz. Again, proud of her.

Back in the Saddle. Sore.

Warren had lent me some entertainment when I was at the nadir of my powers, and with one thing and another - broken bones and broken phones - I had been unable to return it to him.

With another seemingly endless expanse of Epic Tuesday Time ahead of me, I resolved to return said entertainment. When I found his number (broken phone) I found that he we would be at work, which happens to be in a cycle shop of some repute, and so I further resolved to overcome the final psychological hurdle in my rapid and yet not rapid enough recovery by visiting him at his workplace, and purchasing from him a brand spanking not-shattered helmet of the biking variety, with which I would protect my head whilst getting back on the Conveyance of Catastrophe, the Bone Shaker, indeed the Bone Breaker, that Pushbike of Pain and Perdition.

I got a very schmick Minbari-style number, white with a red stripe running from front to back, and after a trip to the playground and a return to the bike shop to retrieve the milk bottle little Lyra had left there, we returned home to face our fears.

I was a little concerned, I must admit, that Lyra would throw some sort of epi-cadenza at the thought of returning to the gunner's nest but after having some fun with the bike pump and getting the tyres up to pressure she was as keen as mustard, and, strapped in with her helmet on, we activated the hangar door and were off.

Maybe the smile disappeared from her face; I wasn't game to look behind me just yet but she seemed happy enough as we gently at first made off down the road, then down the hill to the bike track by the brook, then out past Stafford City and through Grinstead Park.

Time was ticking on by now so I thought a trip to the playground might be in order, to reward her after our little trip. A Pavlovian Playground you might say.

We got off my bike and my eyebrows were raised a bit (I still can't do just the one) when we saw that young Claire was there with little Georgia, with a picnic mat and everything. It's their local I suppose, but it was a pleasant surprise nevertheless. Lyra played with Georgia and I made off-colour semi-humourous comments about helmets and such like.

On the way back we did have a bit of a wobble when the bike left the path for a while; I don't recall why, maybe my short-term memory-writing algorithms were disrupted by my being temporarily scared absolutely shitless. A gentle application of the brakes and some swearing got us back on track. As pedalled homewards (the Royal we), I replayed our accident over in my mind as a sphincter-conditioning exercise. It's the bit where I hit the ground with my shoulder that really makes the muscles down there work hard.

Afterwards, I reckon we'd probably done a cool 10km. No wonder my muscles ached; I'd forgotten how many groups of muscles cycling, especially uphill or fast, requires.

Story Time, and Musca Copulus Sighted At Grange Library

Lyra and I went to the Library at Grange a week ago for Story Time as an exploratory exercise for a Tuesday morning. Tuesdays are very long, with the older females pursuing their pursuits until well into the evening which leaves Lyra and I with masses of time to fill with our trivial pursuits. Time was, and time will be again I think, that Tuesdays may be committed to more extravagant adventuresomeness but for the moment with my lingering impediments we remain depressingly local.

Anyway, be that as it may, last week I was very pleasantly surprised not only to run into a few familiar faces but also to find that Story Time was immensely enjoyable with Librarian Chris magnificently, and by that I mean surreptitiously sardonically, deconstructing the underlying narrative devices and stereotypes underlying young childrens' literature whilst reading them in a way unconventional enough to actually scare one child away, screaming. I laughed and laughed! Some nannies even looked up from their flaming (not literally) mobile phones to give me funny looks, which is a reward in itself.

I went back this week in order to confirm that this was not some flash-in-the-pan one-off never-to-be-repeated experience of the type that should have been savoured more than it was, but it was not to be repeated. Another librarian, more conventional was on duty, I observed in the brief moments that I could cajole stroke manhandle Her Ladyship into the room. She just wasn't interested. So I suppose I can't really comment.

On the plus side, though, in the playground afterwards, we (of course I mean I) saw some flies having it away, which certainly brightened up my day, in an Attenborough-esque kind of way. I even got my flaming (not literally) mobile phone out to take a picture (not a very good one).

What the Chickens!

Our three backyard Dr Who companions wear their privations well. While we were in England who knows what went on: before we left they were laying in at least predictable places: in wheelbarrows, chimeneas, even sometimes in their nesting box.

Something must have happened though because when we came back they were laying in the leaf compost, on the shelves in the garage, not very often in their nesting box.

And things only got worse. Now it seems that open warfare has been declared by our local crow, a rather beautiful if large and daunting bird with striking Celeste blue eyes and plumage so black it's almost midnight; and behind that Torresian crow's eyes a crafty intellect; it hangs around until the chickens do their thing, watching them; and when they're done down it swoops to steal our eggs. if Nicole or Eloise go out it'll flap away but then glide back down again as soon as their backs are turned to claim its prize.

Which leaves us on egg patrol for the moment in the hope that we can beat young Colin to our eggs, and maybe he'll (I don't actually know if it's male or not) get the message and squawk off somewhere else.

I went out the other morning and found an egg on the windscreen wiper of the car with a little hole in it. Clucking Bell, I thought, that's a clever crow. It turned out that Nicole had found the egg but couldn't be bothered taking it upstairs, so she'd left it on the car. Obviously really. In hindsight.

Lyra Language Checkpoint

Let's have a little checkpoint on Lyra's language development, which is at an amusingly potty-mouthed stage. I'll leave the contentious ones til after the break, because now I know how to do a break so I'll do it just for the sake of doing it.

So, we have:
Mummy - Mummy
Daddy - Daddy
Eloise - Aloise
Lyra - Isla
Mary - Mimi
No - No
Yes - Yes (a recent additional and rarely used)
Milk - Mock
Juice - Jus
Water - Atta
Shoes - Shoes
Socks - Fox
Up - Uppy
Hello/Hi/How are you doing - Hello
Please - Mease
Pretty please - A high-pitched squeal with the potential to cause permanent hearing damage
Dog - Woofwoof
Miaow - Miaow
Mouse - Mouse
Roar - Rrrrrr!
Owl - Owl
Plane - Blane
Book - Book
Banana - Nana
Food in general - Nana
Oh Dear! - Oh Dear!
Oh No! - Oh No!
Hug/Cuddle - Cog
Car - Car
Come Here - Mere
Catch-all term covering most objects, translate as thingummy - Fafa

A Riddle Nestled in a Mystery Hidden Within an Enigma

I'm reasonably confident that Eloise won't acquire the digital nouse to discover this before her disillusion is complete; I would need to be, otherwise, well who knows what the consequences might be. I suppose I should, in the unlikely event that young children are reading this, warn that the content is strictly adult-rated and that if Mummy or Daddy find out you've been reading about this kind of stuff then you'll be in deep doggy doo doos.

So find something else to do. Now.

Helpless Mirth

Lyra has discovered that not only is she able to climb out of her cot, but that if she pushes a chair next to it then she can climb in as well.

Why she would want to do such a thing she hasn't chosen to explain as yet: perhaps it's to commune with her pantheon of cuddly friends, perhaps she wants to have a few minutes of time just to herself.

Generally she is discovered before long by someone who would dearly love to subvert her plan and replace it with a tickling session. If she objects, she is unable to say so, because tickling has that effect, doesn't it, and little peals of laughter cross each other as they tinkle around the house, escaping the room in a way that Lyra can't when Eloise has her pinned down and helpless.

Cunning Fingers

Cheltenham and Gloucester Demonstrate the Cinemagraph

My mobile telephone, which is of the Nokia persuasion, not one of your trendy i-Phones or Android thingummybobs, but a Windows Phone which is equally and in some ways more capable, can (as you will have noticed) take funny photographs where parts move and wobble and other parts don't.

It calls them Cinemagraphs, which is a funny old-fashioned sounding sort of name, a bit like listening to a 78 on the phonograph or calling Huey on the big white telegraph, but I suppose it sums up its function.

It would have you believe that it "brings photographs to life" and that is true. It also reduces their colour palette almost catastrophically whilst increasing file sizes phenomenally, if understandably.

Here are Claire and Georgia sitting upon the moving wobbly parts in this particular example while Lyra in the background, though actually moving, is rendered uncharacteristically motionless, almost like a photograph. Hang on...