The wife and I are now officially middle-aged. I've been middle-aged time for a while, but Mrs. Fiendish is now resigned to having that status as well, as all three of our "kids" are now officially adults; number three son turned 18 yesterda7
None of them has turned out how we expected but in the main we are pretty proud of them. No world beaters among them, but no wife beaters either.
Number one son showed a lot of artistic skill at an early age and I also had hopes he might carry on with the music after taking the trouble to learn the bass, but does no one want to play in bands anymore? Even to pull birds? (Not that I ever pulled birds - plural - when I was treading the boards; I met one woman through gigging and went out with her for about two years). Number one son is now studying Marketing & Business Studies at Kingston Uni. He seems to have inherited my gift for the gab and attention deficit disorder.
Number two was supposed to be the maths genius, but two or three years bouncing around "special schools" put paid to that. That might not have happened had he been diagnosed with ADHD 10 years earlier, but, hey, que sera, sera. Turns out he is the talented artist. Fine singer too. He seems to have inherited my laziness; one day it may dawn on him that when it comes to things in which I am interested, I am far from lazy, and willing to put the hard yards in. (Having trouble convincing him of the need to show he can do the basics in his art course work - i.e. get out of the four wheel drive he has just driven round the wall of death and prove he can ride a tricycle).
Number three son is the introvert of the group so naturally I have devoted far less attention to him during his teenaged years than I should have. Even with all my experience as a father I have still not twigged that because a teenaged son does not want to communicate with his old man that I should not make the effort to interfere with his life and make it as miserable as possible. Little bastard puts his headphones on and listens to his own music when I give him lifts in the car, as well, rather than listen to my 1970's blues-based macho rock.
Looking forward to grandchildren now, although not too soon, I hope. Might be interesting to see how I would react to having a grand-daughter; experience suggests I will redefine the word "doting".
Been up to lots of stuff recently but had no time to write about it.
Gigs: Nick Lowe (v. good), Ian McNabb (v. average), Milton Jones (genius, but best in small doses), Dylan Moran (triffic).
Plays: The Mousetrap (a box ticked, an afternoon wasted), Jersey Boys (give us a 4-page bio and then do a 90 minute concert)
Conventions: MidCon (new hotel is fantastic), TringCon (hang on, that's next week).
I've also been playing a game by post (OK, e-mail), which I have not done for a decade or more. I am playing in a United league, having taken over a team (Fameless Fish) from United colossus Peter Stanton. Season one, I could not buy a win and was promptly relegated; season two, straight back up, thanks to sparkling contributions from Luka Codric and Robin Van Perchie. I fear an existence as the new WBA beckons ...