Losing Faith In Humanity

I couldn't help but do a quick drawing of what I witnessed whilst driving through town last week. It really does prove that humanity is taking a downwards spiral...

British Summer Time - it's all gone horribly wrong

British summertimes - they've never been all that reliable, but things seem to have really gone downhill in the last decade. I remember days out in the park, at the beach even, I remember regular barbecues, I remember sunburn! But now... Happy Summer Everyone...

Never Ending List Of Annoying Things #1 : Supermarket Shopping (Part One)

Annoying Thing #1: Supermarket Shopping. (Part One: Preparation, Parking & Trollies)
I go to Tesco a LOT, mainly because it's the closest supermarket to my house and I detest shopping of all kinds - my strategy is to get it over with as soon as possible. I start off with good intentions but somehow, along the way, it all gets too much and I often end up furious. (To be fair, it's not just Tesco. It's pretty well the same deal at any other supermarket.)
Here is the story of a typical supermarket trip from hell. I am usually accompanied on my supermarket adventures by my 2-year old son whose hobby is repeating the same information over and over. I'm gonna call him OCD-Boy.

The Preparation Stage.

This relatively painless stage involves briefing OCD-Boy about the plan - assembling 'Bags For Life', money (although I have been known to forget this), car keys etc.

This can take an hour or more.

The Driving Stage.
This is the easy bit.
Five minutes of reasonably pleasant driving.
The calm before the storm.

We arrive at the car park via a ridiculously complicated one-way system with ultra-thin lanes and un-necessary bends and turns, and so begins the...

Seeking A Parent & Child Parking Space stage.

For the uninitiated: there are a series of dedicated parking spaces, located close to the store entrance, with a little extra space on each side, to help those with writhing small people to get out of the car without trashing the neighbouring vehicles with the door.

99% of the time there are NO spaces left, because a) there aren't enough of them, and b) all the spaces have been taken by non-child-laden morons. I then play a little 'car park roulette', a game that involves looping around, stalking the Parent & Child spaces, with the somewhat ambitious aim of finding an empty spot.

Eventually, I concede defeat and decide to park 'anywhere' - generally this will be a tight end-of-row spot sandwiched between a muddy kerb and another vehicle, at the furthest point of the car park away from the store entrance. Once OCD boy has been squeezed out of the car, we're ready for the...

Trolley Acquisition AKA OCD-Boy Damage Limitation stage.
This stage of our shopping adventure is to get OCD boy trapped within the confines of an uncontrollable, squealing metal contraption called a supermarket trolley. Most of you will already be familiar with these objects and their novel approach to steering and direction, and will know that there are a multitude of different trolley styles available at supermarkets these days.

There's the bog-standard deep-fill trolley with child seat (and that is the one I need), there's a version with two seats (also suitable but confusing for OCD boy as he has make a choice about which side to sit in), and then there a multitude of 'others' - wheelchair-adaptable ones, shallow ones without seats etc etc, none of which are suitable, but have to be waded through in order to locate a suitable one.

We locate the trollies we require behind the bike racks - why, Tesco, why?

We weave through and I attempt to remove a single trolley from the cluster, with one hand (the other hand firmly gripping OCD-Boy by the hand or he will run for the hills).
This is ineffective as they are stuck together.
This job is going to require two hands.
I have no option but to let go of OCD-Boy for a moment, use both hands to quickly release the trolley, then re-capture the escapee, but I must work quickly.
I let go and quickly set to work on the trolley - nothing.
I wiggle it a little and try again - there's movement - HOPE! - yes, here we go, the trolley is loosening!
I glance back to check on the escapee and see he is on the move. I must hurry. One more tug on the trolley and... YES! then NO! ...as I realise I have got two trollies stuck together, now free from the pack, but stuck quite firmly together. I attempt to prise them apart to no avail.
By now, the escapee has made his way back past the bike racks and is feeling the first rush of freedom. Panic, panic, boy or trolley, boy or trolley? After a moment of dithering and recalculation, I decide I probably should rescue OCD-Boy, so I run for it, scoop him up and wait for someone to return a single trolley. I claim the next suitable trolley as ours and attempt to place him in the seat. This should be a simple step - just lift him in, yeah? Hell no, we're not done here yet. Now that the trolley acquisition is complete, we move on to...
Trolley / Boy Assembly stage
I lift OCD boy (who is about half my size) up into the air, clearing the trolley and attempt to insert him into the seat. And that’s when he goes into locked-leg mode: there’s no bending those legs once he’s decided to lock them straight, and besides I don’t have any free hands.

If the trolley is a double-seater, this adds a further dimension of fun as he can’t understand it and tries to straddle the two seats, so his legs are straight and out wide.

My arms are now beginning to tire and I’m failing big time, but for some reason this predicament tends to send me into a fit of giggles.
When I laugh, I find that all the strength drains from my body, my legs and arms turn to jelly and I become a pathetic wobbly being.
Eventually I somehow manage to balance him against my body, enabling me to free one hand and forcefully bend giggling OCD-Boy into the seat and we are all set.

Suitable trolley - check. Boy secured - check. Giggling stopped and strength in legs regained - check. Let battle commence.
COMING SOON : Part 2 - the actual shopping bit

My Theory On Why Girls Can't Drive

I've been considering recently the possibility that child development really can develop essential skills later on in adult life. Now, I'm not talking about being 2 years old and being forced to work out basic mathematics so that your parents can say "Oh, look how much more developed my child is than yours!", I mean more the years you were sat there playing with pretend guns and barbie dolls (not that you'd ever mix the two together... unless you were a bit weird). I remember being a little boy and being obsessed with my toys, be it; toy cars, Action Man, or even Pogs (oh yes, I remember Pogs!). I'd be playing with them day in, day out without realising at the time just how focused on my imaginary scenarios I was, down to the smallest detail. Now that I'm older, I know exactly how to park behind a cr*p driver to box him in perfectly! I can picture the maneuver I would have used when I was 7, and I replicate it. This got me thinking, is this why women can't drive, or specifically park very well? Bear with me. If little girls don't play with cars when they're younger then why would they know the complexities of parking in a multi-level car park?! To my knowledge, girls grew up playing with baby dolls, toy kitchens, toy vacuums and plastic heads to practice hair and make-up on. This, in my opinion, is exactly why women are so well prepared for looking after babies compared to men, as well as their abilities to cook, clean and spend hours at grooming themselves. I never understood the attraction of these toys as a young boy, and now that I'm older, I am genuinely useless at all those tasks. My friend, The Furious One, has argued her point against this. She told me that she played with cars as a child, despite not having male genitals. I asked if she believed she was a good driver, she replied "Yes". I asked can you park correctly, she replied "Yes". My theory sticks! Regardless of the gender, the toy meets the life-skill! To summarise - I believe Lego creates good builders, cars deliver good drivers, play-kitchens cook up good cooks and baby dolls develop good mothers. I wish my mother-in-law had given my girlfriend a toy kitchen... she can barely butter bread! Call me sexist all you want, I prefer the term chauvinistic. It just sounds posher!