"I'm not kidding Dad, Mum's gone bananas this time..." says Declan. Torn half between comedy and fear.
"So what exactly happened?" I ask again.
"I mean, I don't quite know dad, but the carpet is now painted blue..." he says, trying to contain the laughter.
"Ok - well - I'm sure it will wash out," I suggest.
"It won't...mum already poured bleach on it..."
Ooof, I think. I know the carpet salesman said you could pour bleach on it. He didn't exactly let on what the effect would be.
"And the worse things is dad...she hasn't even noticed that the dog is painted blue as well!"
"Shit! The dog is blue?" Bloody typical, I think.
Days later when I return from my work trip. I survey the damage (which Caitlin had cunningly hidden underneath the porch door matt).
"Woooooahhhhh..." I say. I definitely wasn't expecting it to be that bad. But it is exactly as Dec had pointed out.
It looks like someone detonated a bomb in a Smurf village. Carnage. Blue streaks across a size-able patch of the living room.
"Look," I tell the kids. The important thing is no-one is hurt. Everyone has their health. It's just a bit of carpet I say. I am secretly quite relieved. Now I feel less rubbish about the whopping great holes around the fire place where I accidentally over-stoked the fire beyond maximum capacity and sprayed hot coals onto our apparently indestructible carpet.
Turns out - hot coal tends to melt cheap carpet. Soon we shall have a carpet of very many technicolour wonders (just like Joseph's Dreamcoat) as we stitch together and cover up the floor in various random rugs and door matts.
Daisy seems none to bothered by her brush with the blue paint and there is a blanket-wide denial of any involvement with this. Turns out Daisy thought the paint could be food and investigated too heartily.
Lately though I have mainly been living my alternative best version of me lifestyle in California with my sister and Fintan along for the ride. And what a ride! We packed more action into a week than The Fast and the Furious cross-bred with Mission Impossible.
I learnt many things about myself. Some of them deeply prophetic. For instance...
"Yo Tom - you really need to check out our new Japanese toilet - it's amazing," sis tells me.
"Hmmm...is that ok?" I mean ensuite toilets are quite personal items.
"Yeah - go for it Tom,"
So I Go for it. "Oooooo...."I say. A heated seat. This is the weirdest yet greatest thing my butt has experienced in a long while.
Things go along as expected until I take a look at the control panel. Yes - a flipping control panel for a toilet. This truly is an experience! I randomly press an icon which seems to show an upside down rainshower. The next few seconds are indelibly etched into my mind palace of unusual new sensations.
At first I feel intense violation. I am being violated! I think, as a rapid fire wall of warm water fires up my butt. Reeeelaxxxx I tell myself. And after a stern talking to, I start to embrace the warm fuzziness. I briefly contemplate why exactly butt-holes can feel spice? And then start to panic. I've been there for about 2 minutes and the water cannon is still on rapid fire speed. I give it a little longer and start to worry about the water drought in California. I am using up all their precious resources!
I'm getting anxious now. If I get up - will it fire straight up all over the bathroom? I cannot risk it. So I press another button. The water does not let up.
Shit - what do I do? I am in fear now. This is beyond awkward.
For fear of actually dying on the crapper, I make my bold move and raise my butt-cheeks an inch. The water column subsides. I raise it another inch. It stops. Dear God. Relief courses over me. My arse cheeks are wrinkled with their over-bathing. I have the arse skin texture of a ninety year old man!
Later that week, after a full recovery, we head out to Malibu beach. We hire bikes and cycle along the famous boardwalk on the beach. Past a gang of young hipsters in actual legwarmers and spandex (no shit!) roller dancing to classic showtunes from a massive boombox; past a man on an e-skateboard holding his pet micro-dog in his hands; past cool kids on their e-bikes with a strong waft of weed circling over them as they cruise by; past lithe fit joggers in skinny tops and on towards Venice beach and the iconic outdoor gym and basketball court.
As it happens, there's a crazy lady singing Korean love songs (or possibly she's a Seventh day Adventist trying to convert us - we are not too sure) right by the basketball court. This is not what we see in the movies.
Fintan is keen to head towards the famous GOLDs gym - home of multiple Mister Universe and Olympia's. And where ARNIE works out. He will surely recognise a fellow muscle-man!
We cycle up and head on in. The place smells like muscle and my hockey socks after a particularly intense hockey match - and if I forgot to wash them for ten days. I am mainly mesmerised by the giant golden Dumbells ahead of us as we pay for a one day pass.
"Holy crap - they look heavy," I say.
"They're the heaviest Dumbells in the world dad," Fintan tells me.
Being helluva tough - I think this is merely a challenge. I try lifting with all my might. My eyeballs threaten to pop out my head a bit like the bad guys in Raiders of the Lost Ark at the end. And still - it doesn't even budge a micro millimetre.
"Dang - that is heavy."
"It's the world's heaviest Dumbell. Of course it is. 150 Kg! That's 330 pounds dad!"
Fintan then amazes me as he actually manages to lift one about a cm from the bench.
"Don't lift it!" I yell out loud. I am genuinely worried he might burst his entire body and explode. But he has it.
Fintan puts in a session whilst I sit on a comfy leather chair and watch a tonne of beef-cakes with biceps bigger than a small child lift crazy heavy weights. At one point, She-Hulk actually sits in front of me. She is awesome. And could surely bench me with her little finger. I feel totally out of my league here as the stand-out "fat dad" who has accidentally wandered into an alien landscape.
We cycle back to Malibu pier and eat Wetzel Pretzels and ride the Pier roller coaster - which is actually more exhilerating than it looked from the beach.
Through-out the week - we have a total blast. We hike deep into mountainous valleys (with names like Rattlesnake Canyon) and paddle in secret watering holes as blue sky and hundred degree sun beats down. We see rellies in Montecito and have a really special afternoon and evening with them. We sit and chill at a listening party in Ojai organised by Uncle Jon. Which was truly special under the nightsky with acoustic Brazilian guitar and a mesmerising Columbian DJ set. I mainly struggle with my inability to sit cross legged or quietely. But love it all. Just beautiful.
Fintan eats his first Snow Cone, despite his Monsters Inc advice never to eat a yellow snow-cone. We eat Taco's from a food truck and swing and hit in a baseball batting cage. We eat buttered popcorn at the Ventura showing of Barbie (Ryan Gosling is so good as Ken) and swim in Sarah's pool only a matter of feet from the small but deadly Black Widow spider living happily by the pool steps and nurturing her small white sacs of babies.
"Would it kill us if it bit us?" we ask.
"Hmmmm...maybe Melvin (the dog) but not us. But it would hurt," says sis.
So we carry on chilling in the pool until I achieve full zen and become one with the inflatable avocado and fall asleep on it for at least an hour.
Coming home, the jetlag is a shocker. Fintan is now officially living his new life as a vampire, based on his sleep patterns back home.
The holiday has given me time to reflect on all of the fun this year.
Way back around April we enjoyed a magical mystery tour of Liverpool. Which was a total blast and ended with us in the Cavern sinking a few jars (Caitlin mainly fell into a boredom coma) and THEN at the Eurovision Song Contest Fan zones by Albert Docks. The comedy highlight was security refusing to let us in with a back-pack even though it was searched and contained no bomb. Until we renegotiated with them and they agreed that if we took everything out of the bag and carried it in, then it was fine.
So in we trudged, the whole family laden like pack mules with all our soft drinks, coats, packet of cards, mentos, packet of plasters etc. Stepped a yard inside the fan zone and promptly put them back in the "illegal" bag.
Coldplay at the Eithead blew us away. Whether you think you hate them or actually hate their music or not. I defy you not to love their live show (unless you are a serial killer or death metal fan). A truly uplifting blast of colour and joy.
And the following week - we go mad for Madness at Delamere forest. Declan and Fintan right at the front with all the Fez-headed chunky fifty year old dads reliving their long lost youth. Another true nostalgic wonderful night.
What's next - hopefully a bloody well deserved break. But I will let you know!
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