Goodbye 2016 - aloha 2017 - year of the Honey Badger!!!!!

Welcome welcome 2017 - year of the Honey Badger and officially not as bad as 2016 already.

You may have noticed the lack of blogging for the last 7 months. Only now can I reveal the true reasons for this. To avoid the full depressing political horror of last year I basically did a "Buck Rodgers" for the last 6 months and launched myself into space on a secret NASA funded mission to the outer edges of the solar system. During this period frozen in time - I only had Wilma and Twiki for company. When I returned to earth it was a bit of a head-wobbler.

A). I was expecting a baby with Twiki (a medical first) - the first cyborg hybrid AI ever created.
B). Colonel Wilma wasn't speaking to me.
C). The whole planet went officially stark raving stupid.

To make sense of the madness - I have decided to write a festive year-end poem which I submitted to Bob Dylan to read out at his Nobel Literature Prize ceremony in December. This was proof-read by Dr Theopolis, my good friend Buck and Princess Ardala (look her up - she's a close aquaintance of mine). It is entitled

F* you 2016!!!! GRRRRRR

Brexit - Trump - Leonard Cohen Gone - whose gonna sing me a depressing song?
R2 Leia Corbett no more
Who gonna get "fork handles" for the cutlery drawer?
Bowie no Bowie can it be true?
2016 - oh 2016 - go F*ck you!

But on a personal level - things were pretty ace. And so...in summary. Here's the bits of 2016 that we got a kick from:

The Queen had a Birthday which meant we got to sing Bohemian Rhapsody in the middle of Chester Town Centre. And whilst I may not be a big Queen fan - I am a big QUEEN FAN! Memories of softly singing this to Declan as a baby come to mind..."Mama I just killed a man..." one of his first words. So I was pleased for him to sing this in his school choir! On a shock note - my invite to the Palace went mysteriously missing in the post (The Royal Mail at that - so you'd think she could have put in a word there and traced the invite!)

Met my personal hero - someone who gave me minutes of precious sleep at 6am in the morning once CBEEBIES kicked in. Thank you for your substitute parenting skills over the years Upsy Daisy. And if you were a man in the costume - apologies for the kiss on the cheek dude! I was a bit overcome and Emosh.

We Met Buddha in Port Merrion. He was pretty chilled.

The kids carried out a pitch invasion of the 18th hole at Selsden Park Golf Course and then hid in a tree. Cunning eh? The Golfers never knew what hit them with that surprise attack!

The Clangers are proper Head Bangers! Eight feet brick Sh*thouses now hired out as Bouncers at outdoor festivals... I tried but failed to get back in the Rave tent

Never paddle a plastic canoe down a French rapids backwards. This is the easiest way to capsize, smack your head on a rock, lose your paddles, shoes, wallet, keys, canoe and your kids. Apparently that kind of accident could psychologically scar your 7 year old. Unless you get his catatonic ass back on the boat pronto (once someone goes and finds your boat, shoes and paddles for you and canoes upstream with them). Cheers Chris!!!!!

Festival Hat - Check. Car Fest - check!

The Ostrich Burgers added an extra zing to the kids at Car Fest

Mystery Beach Bum declares undivided love for me and Sarah...this is slightly unsettling but eventually we outran the guy onto the quicksand and left him for Dead...Phew. Close Shave!

Sam Quek invites me to a personal private, invite only special super secret meeting to get some Hockey Coaching tips off me and some of the lads.

The new Guinness Ad didn't go quite as Viral as expected. And Santa got p*ssed again...every year it's the same! Santa blames the moonshine Papa Elf makes - made from real juniper berries and reindeer dung

Good night - farewell and into the soft dark night 2016...see you on the other side...

Cidertini's with Mexican Dave and the Morris Men Massive

We are in deepest Worcestershire and it all feels decidedly like the script for Leaving Las Vegas - if they upped and moved the whole gig to a strange village on the river Severn.

Johnny Depp has been replaced by my buddy Simon and a gang of us wearing Sombrero's, thick Mexican moustaches and drinking "Cidertini's" from straws. We invented the "Cidertini" after a few hours drinking local homebrew cider in the village. It's your standard vodka, scrumpy cocktail for the more refined yokel drinker with access to Martini glasses and plenty of free time. The straw is a necessity, otherwise our rather dashing gaucho moustaches get too soggy and eventually fall into your drink.

The kids - all nine or ten of them (headcounts are over-rated) are in their element. They also have fake moustaches to go with their cowboy hats and neckerchiefs and we are busy bashing the bejaney out of a pinata that we have hung from a variety of trees in the garden of the house we are renting. At some point, for reasons unknown, Simon is about 50 foot up the tree. A lone Mexican in sombrero and multi-coloured poncho. But this does not give him any additional Pinata hitting abilities.

We eventually kill the pinata and play a few games of hide and seek and 52 bunker (Blocky 123, twenty twenty - take your pick depending on your playground geography). The garden is about 4 acres apparently, which means there are plenty of places to hide. I team up with Caitlin, mainly because the adults have decided that playing hide and seek next to a massive thirty foot wide fast flowing river is a recipe for disaster otherwise, and we enjoy a number of Blocky 123 victories. I forgot just how much I liked playing stupid games in a field.

Within the grounds, there are chickens and a duck with a weird round helmet "growth / ball" on his head. As the scrumpy kicks in, we surmise that he must be some sort of maverick stunt duck, or a member of a strange duck cult. We find some plastic eggs in their hen house which really confuses us. The kids want to cook them (the eggs not the chickens) but we put them back. Being city folk, we wonder if the chickens lay more if they see plastic eggs but cannot be bothered to google it. Let nature have it's little plastic egg mysteries...

We walk along by the river, taking note that the "high flood" mark against the garage in town is about six foot above our heads. The garage itself comes straight out of Deliverance - dilapidated ancient pick-up trucks rusting out front. All it needs is a man with a banjo and a small child whose mumma is his pappy's sister and we are there.


We pass a small tudor house - all wattle and daub and rustic timbers. There is a blue plaque up against it (I love a blue plaque). Apparently, Oliver Cromwell stopped here for a quick beer / coffee / chat with the locals after the Battle of Upton. I love this place. This place is a timewarped gem. This is the village from midsummer murders, this is the village from Hot Fuzz. This is England at it's most uniquely insane.

We hope it doesn't rain to a Biblical level as we wander into the world's largest ever Morris fest. We had no idea that we were at the centrepoint ground zero of "Morrissing" when we booked the place in Upton upon Severn. But we are. And it is absolutely delightfully bonkers.

The village has about five ancient 16th century pubs along the riverside and high street. Ye Olde Anchor...the Swan... the Little Upton Muggery. Outside each pub are what looks like the equivalent of "patched" biker gangs armed with wooden baseball bats (cunningly disguised as Morris sticks) and metal tankards for ale clasped to the side of their outfits by caribiners. Imagine what would happen if you crossed all the Sisters of Mercy, Hawkwind and Fairport Convention fans in England, exposed them to the hallucinatory effects of ergot poisoning (this happened alot in medieval farming communities back in the day) gave them access to several barrels of real ale and cider and let them make their own costumes, songs and dances up.

The effect is staggeringly mental and a heap of fun. There is a Morris parade through the village which is interrupted by a hefty woman in a Nissan Micra who takes a wrong turn and nearly takes out the "Dartmoor Border Morris" team mid dance. A tense three point turn ensues which threatens to ruin the vibe of the Morris group led by a tree (yes a tree).

By the river, the kids are mesemerised by the Morris dance-offs (I kid you not! They were awesome) and within a few hours all our children were shaking their plastic Mexican maraccas and banging drums in a giant hypnotic Trad session in the Swan pub. Literally, the music seemed to whirl and carry on for ever, like the pied piper leading everyone towards ultimate oblivion.

We eventually dragged the kids free from the Piped Pipers clutches and headed back to our pad for more fun and games. Needless to say, this ended with Simon, Sanjib and I sitting in the hot-tub with our recently purchased metal drinking tankards (full to the brim with Cider), watching "Kung Fury" - a high quality movie about a Miami cop travelling through time to prevent Adolf Hitler from getting to power. Except his cop partner is a dinosaur called "Triceracop" and his main help comes from Thor and some vikings.

We leave the crazy of the village behind and return to the reality of school runs and homework on Tuesday. The bank holiday truly felt like a wildly wacky and wonderful diversion from reality.

Today we go to the zoo. The sun is splitting the stones and the lion's for once can sit out and sunbathe. We have our picnic in the "secret" picnic spot by the Chinese garden (no - we did't eat it in the red panda enclosure).

And when we get home we fill up the new paddling pool and the kids go crazy. First thing they do is stick the plastic slide INTO the pool. Then they line it up with the climbing frame slide to make some sort of assault course and then they roll in the "grass that has now become mud" until they look like swamp people. Literally, they look like the kind of street urchins you see on Oliver Twist.

They shower, I BBQ some chicken, I warn them not to roll in the mud in the garden because they just had a shower. They jump off the wendy house into the mud in the garden. I give up. And Sarah pours me a Gin and tonic. The sun is shining, I just burnt my thumb on the hot coals in the BBQ (again) and we are listening to the 8th rendition of the Jurassic Park theme tune on the speakers in the garden. I never new it had been covered by so many many many instrumentalists... despite no subliminal messages from DJs Fintan and Declan at all... for some reason we elect to watch Jurassic Park the movie before bed time.

I'll let you know how it goes...

Balloongate trauma, renovating the Pantheon Irish Stylee and the inevitable slide into a muddy ditch by half of my family

I walk in the door with Sarah. We've been shopping for essentials. Milk, Bread, Wine, Strawberry Splits and Rocket Lollies.

I dump the shopping in the kitchen and we begin to pack away the lollies before they melt. Caitlin comes running into the kitchen. Nana has been looking after her whilst we were doing the "big shop".

She's very excited and has demands.

"Er...Daddy..."

"Yes Cutie Pie..." (I call her this to disarm her, it throws her off her game).

"Blow my balloon up Daddy". She gives me a smile and jumps up and down with excitement. Her pigtails bouncing as she does. Ahhh so cute.

"Er...but this balloon looks broken..." I say. This is the well worn balloon she has been asking me to turn into a dog since Fintan brought it back from a laser quest party on the Friday.

"Blow it up Daddy".

"Ok". So I take the crickled up red balloon and begin to blow. I'm getting nowhere however hard I puff. I soon realise this is because there is a massive hole in it. It looks like a long red tongue lolloping from my lips.

I look over and Nana is telling Sarah a funny story that happened whilst we were out.

"So - Fintan and Declan found something in Caitlin's potty," she said between laughs. "Nana Nana, there's something red in Caitlin's potty. It's on the poo and sitting in her wee!" Apparently this was the most comical event the kids had ever seen in their lives. Even Nana was finding it stomach-splittingly funny herself.

I look up from my failed balloon blowing. Caitlin looking forlornly at me. I catch the end of Nana's story.

"So I took her balloon out of the potty, gave it a quick wash and gave it back to her..."

I stare at my mother-in-law in horror and spit the balloon out of my mouth. I run for the stairs three steps at a time and begin to rinse my mouth out with an entire bottle of Colgate mouthwash and then move on to squeezing tubes full of toothpaste into my poor compromised mouth. I feel like I'm living that scene from the crying game. (I'm sure it's the Crying game...if not - you get the idea).

I compose myself in front of the mirror, shake my head and wander downstairs. My entire family are now laughing at me. Apparently this is very funny.

"Who washes a poo-soaked broken balloon and gives it back to their child?" I ask - still in shock. Nana is laughing so hard. But between choking laughs she says she didn't think anyone would want to blow up an old balloon.

Silly me - what other possible function and activity would I use a balloon for?!

I take myself back to a happy place before balloongate. The week before in Rome with the family. We stayed a Gelato's stroll from the Trevi fountain in a beautiful apartment block with orange trees and lemon trees and a small fountain in the courtyard. Turtles (God knows how they got there) sitting trapped but apparently happy in the fountain. Eight in all. Although one never moved much and stayed pretty firmly stuck to the bottom of the fountain from what I could see.

I carried Caitlin around the entire Vatican including the Sistene Chapel - skipping the massive 2 hour queue by taking the worlds most boring tour guide. I can never take those minutes back but sincerely hope that if there is a purgatory - that tour guide will be forced to listen to the sound of her own voice for eternity. Trapped within it. The most impressive thing for me was Emperor Nero's 22 tonne purple marble bath. Wow. That must have taken about a week to fill up.

We explore the Colosseum on the Saturday which is more lively. And then bask in the warm spring sunshine as we cut a path through the ruins of the Forum and back towards the Pantheon. The Pantheon blows my mind. The worlds largest unsupported dome for centuries - millenia. So long in fact that they had to wait til Brunelleschi came along before they got anywhere close. We stand inside the temple / church. (They built it before Jesus was born). There's a large hole in the dome letting the sunlight and the elements in. Bright light against the dark shadows of the ancient building.

Sarah looks at this. "I wonder if they put a carpet down when it rains. Maybe they should cover that hole in the roof. You could slip on that marble".

A wonder of science and engineering. Possibly one of the greatest feats of architecture on the planet and Sarah wants to put a carpet on it and cover the roof. Thank God they never had a stable or garage for their chariots - or she'd have wanted to convert that too. Its the Irish in her! If she sees a garage. They have to convert it! It's practically the law!

We eat our bodyweight in Pizza and sink a few gallons of Chianti over the course of a few days. Bringing home Italian cheese and a bottle of wine each night to consume before disco time and bed (the kids took to breakdancing across the smooth parque floor of the apartment to Noah and the Whale, Bowie, Madness and the Cure).

Over the Easter holidays I manage to amaze myself by scoring my first goal in competitive hockey for 20 plus years for Chester 6s. I continue to tell my family that I am playing at an international level. With 3 members of the team playing for Wales and England. I fail to tell them that this is over 65's internationals! No need for detail. Ah the joys of a mid life Crisis and retaking up Hockey after a 2 decade sabatical! Later I referee the boys in their "animal magic" hockey match. This makes for an interesting match when you have no whistle, no clue what you're doing and 20 kids to chaperone round a pitch! Still - apart from Declan getting his hands smashed up with a hockey stick - it all goes swimmingly.

We attempt Cheshire Ice Cream farm over the weekend along with the entire population of Manchester and Liverpool and Wales combined. It's proper busy but the toffee ice cream cone takes the edge off of the pain. Fintan falls over on the farm by the Llamas in a tractor divot filled with mud and water. Caitlin quickly follows suit - leaving Declan as the sole winner of the "Can my family not fall over in the biggest muddy puddle" competition.

We go home and dream of tractors, chickens and red balloons. 99 red balloons..circling a potty.

Caitlin enters her "Pink" Piccasso phase...

Friday night. Long week at work. January is taking it's toll on us all. I speak collectively on behalf of my family and every other family who just about survived Christmas and are in the throes of readjusting to waking up again and having to function without cheese, crackers, wine, Guinness, Port, Cheese, Crackers, Quality street, Cheese, Turkey sandwiches, spicy Mexican cheese and Elf being on repeat for an entire month. No cheese. No wine. No Elf. No fun. January proper sucks. (Except for Flash Gordon - which takes the edge off of Saturday morning!)

I walk into the living room - summoned by Caitlin's strange whine / caterwaul that indicates that the current television programme on the Cartoon Network is not to her tastes.

I stare at our nice newish grey material sofa. It is now coloured in pink.

"Caitlin why did you do this?" I ask her. Trying to stay calm. Trying to reason. Apply logic.

"Grrrrrr....." she kind of growls at me and hides her head behind her hands.

"Caitlin. Our couch is pink! You coloured in the couch!" I am getting angrier the more I say it out loud.

She beings to cry. Huge chunky sobs, calculated to pull at the heartstrings and deflect her ambitious attempt to create a new look for our living room.

"Seriously Caitlin. I cannot believe you did this! Why Caitlin? Why?" I feel like the guy in platoon. Sinking to his knees, gun raised in bewilderment as his Nam buddies fly off in their chopper.

I realise that my Five Why's approach to the pink sofa incident is doing no good for my root cause analysis. Sod this Lean Six Sigma approach on the three year old. I am going to Defcon 1.

"Caitlin. No Tv. That's it!" The foot goes down. I am the dad in Inside Out. This dawns on me and I feel like a sad predictable pixar character of a dad.

She has now escalated her sobs to "hyperventilating until I pass out" levels. This is a cunning bluff. But I am falling for it. She peeps up from behind her hands and the buried head in the pink sofa. I relent and give her an Ipod. This allows me to technically remain faithful to my removal of all tv rights.

She looks at the Ipod like it's a lame dog that should be put down and points at the Ipad with the dead battery.

"I want the Ipad!" she sobs. And here come her demands. "Team Umizoommeeee!"

"The Ipad has run out of battery Caitlin. It's broken!" I say.

"Your phone?" she tells me.

"I don't have Team Umizoomee on it.." I plead. I am trying to negotiate with someone with many many years more expertise in this field than me.

"Download it! she orders me!

"I can't, I need to upgrade to IO9" I tell her. She stares back blankly. This is crazy jibber jabber. She has no need for the intricate details. She has needs only for the now. For Iphone.

She begins to cry uncontrollably. I pick her up and cuddle her. I sing her my faithful "I can sing a rainbow song" badly and eventually place her back down on the couch again.

Sarah comes in to inspect the damage. She is on her way out to pick up one of Declan's friends for a sleepover.

"At least she didn't draw on the carpet," she says. Trying to take some single element of positivity from the whole disaster.

"Oh Crap," I stare down at my feet and don't know why I didn't just cover the floor with my body, or a small child or a large bowl of cheesy Doritto's and dips.

The light coloured carpet is now pink. Streaks of pink. Everywhere.

Sarah marches over to Caitlin and like some horrific never-ending Groundhog day meets Twilight episode we begin the interrogation again.

"Why did you colour the carpet in pink Caitlin? Why?"

This morning I finally got my revenge. And it's definitely best served cold....

A faint dusting of snow overnight was just enough for my needs.

I got Caitlin covered up like the Michelin Man before releasing a barrage of sustained snowball attack on her and her brothers. Oh revenge is sweet. However, I think I lost out overall. Somehow Fintan and Declan managed to plant at least 3 litres of compact iceballs into my jeans pockets, where they slowly melted...and Caitlin took her first snowball inside and said to us:

"I love this daddy! I will keep this in bed with me forever," as she held it in her dainty cold hands.

It was a tough job breaking the news about what happens to ice when it gets hot. I thought she would have copped on from watching Olaf melt in Frozen for the millionth time but apparently not. And lo..the shock and hurt began once more...

If you're bored. Here's a visual summary of 2015. It was mega!

Christmas at Chester Zoo is jazzed up by a few plants Sigourney "the-ten-foot-blue-avatar" Weaver brought back from Planet Pandora

The family goes black and white

We take New Yawk for our ten year wedding anniversary

I am the lone Englishman in Edinburgh...a sad pathetic figure of a man...as Ireland win the 6 nations and Scotland and 50,000 Irish on tour go bananas in celebration!

Jez gets married in Cornwall! And we run aground...literally...

And I hit 40! Boooom!!!!!

Frankie the teleporting Fish, rope swing head-butting and the McGrane horror-fest

So we arrived in Dublin for the weekend by the skin of our teeth. Car packed to the gunnels with scooters, a few million lego bricks (never leave home without them) and a number of kids.

The A55 roadwork planning department (this is more of an imaginary entity living in another dimension) made the whole thing slightly more interesting. Their main game (for it must be a game) is to lay out as many traffic cones as possible on a 3 mile stretch of the carriageway. Any part of the carriageway between Anglesey and Chester will do. Doesn't really matter. They then displace or entice (by means of some nefarious road worker displacement device variously called "a cup of tea / brew / bevvie") all available workmen within a 300 mile radius of Wales. Sometimes, as in this case, they will leave a few mini-diggers besides the side of the road for joy riders to nick. However, the main point of the game is to increase the time taken to get from any point in North Wales to any other point in North Wales. They nearly succeeded but will need to try harder next time.

So we arrive home in Dublin and prepare for an early Halloween horror fest at the McGranes. The whole garden was done up like an interactive horror-fest (and that was before my sister-in-laws had even put on their ghoul make-up!).

Uncle Glenn spent about an hour locked in the outhouse shed dressed as a Mummy just so he could jump out on Caitlin, Declan and Fintan. Karina seemed to have a lost calling as one of those improv mime artists you see on street corners at tourist spots. I have never seen anyone wave a white ghost sheet so creatively above their head for so long. She must have biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger after that work-out! For some reason, Deborah had adopted a strange hybridised German / Russian accent for her Dr Death creation. Grandpa was the only one who got to fulfil a long-term wish by shooting a son-in-law - though he was dressed as a Mummy at the time and the gun wasn't real (I think - possibly need to check on Glenn's where-abouts). I on the other hand mainly sat in the warm, drinking red wine. The evening ended on a high note with Dr Death upstairs in the bathroom for half an hour trying to rub the slightly more permanent than imagined, fake blood from Fintan's face.

Over the weekend, we go for a walk up in the Dublin mountains. Massey's Wood. This is an old school classic woods. No messing around. Proper trees. Mud. A stream. Blue rope tied to huge branches on Oak trees thirty feet in the air with improvised stick wedged through the rope to act as a swing handle. How do people get the rope up there? Does Bear Grylls loiter in these woods, prepping them for ad hoc ninja abseils? Either way - it ends in disaster.

"Mum, Dad - can you hold the rope?" says Fintan. I kind of do - but let go as he flies off. Fintan lands ok. But I notice the big solid stick on the end of the rope hit Sarah in the head full force, before she walks away in silence. Ouch. That's gotta hurt! Whilst we were busy launching ourselves on the rope swing, we became aware that we had by this stage lost a niece, a friend of the niece and a pet dog (Molly). The adults (and Caitlin) are mainly standing in the middle of a gloomy dusky woods like extras in the Blair Witch Project. Randomly shouting "Molly" a lot instead of "Josh". Our order of priority was dog, niece's friend, niece. Eventually - we all herded back to a central point and climbed the best tree I've climbed in years (basically it was like a climbing tree with stabilisers). No-one fell off. This amazed me.

Next day - we became Godparents. So we dressed up proper smart. The kids even wore hats and mainly reminded me of my Grandad. He wore the same style of hat back in the fifties. After the church we headed for a swift Guinness to celebrate, before heading back across Dublin for food and the rugby.

I don't know if it's the "Rambo" effect or possibly "The Deer Hunter" or possibly the red wine and Guinness. But by the end of the night, I was wearing my tie Rambo style (again - this is a common occurrence) and had already accidentally smashed my God child's brick tower down - leading to much serious upset and tears (sorry about that Lisa / Jon - hopefully he will build another tower just as good one day and I will promise not to knock it down). I did pay for it the next day. Enduring a marathon 7 episodes of "Go Diego Go" with Caitlin. God I hate Diego and his bloody Jaguar!

We get home, having encountered a flat tire and a force 8 gale on the sea crossing.

"I feel sick Daddy!" being the most commonly uttered phrase for the entire journey.

Home at last! I turn on the lights in the fish tank. Finn and Ginger the fish are there. But where the hell is Frankie?

"Hello Frankie! Where's Frankie?" Caitlin asks. For she has named the fish in honour of her Grandpa. (She had named her toy pet sheep after Grandpa until quite recently when it underwent a sex change and re-emerged as "Sally" the sheep).

"There's nothing to see here...move along kids..."I utter like a Jedi to a stormtrooper as Sarah and I frantically search the filters and pump intake for a fish corpse. Nothing. Diddly. I take the porcelain unicorn out (spot Caitlin's choice of tank furniture!). Nothing. The glow in the dark plastic pink sea anemone (my choice). Nothing. Sarah begins to worry.

"Oh no - maybe I scooped him out when I was cleaning the tank last week. Try the bin! No - I would have noticed wouldn't I?" she asks. Doubt cast in her face.

I notice Sarah is glaring at the other fish. Do they look somewhat plumper? Fuller round the gills? "Those bastards ate Frankie!" Sarah says. She is convinced. We lift up the final ornament and stuck to the side of the ornament is a fish - hiding in fear.

"Sorry Finn, Sorry Ginger...I never doubted you for a minute..."

It's October 21st 2015 for Flux (Capacitor's) Sake!

It's been a while...however after a long time lost in the wilderness of the future...I am BACK. And it's hip to be square!

There's no room for baby seats...but I could get used to the new ride...

Door blippin, Cave Flippin', Dino Trippin', Dinghy Whippin' Summer 2012

Today I stood at my front door for 2 minutes blipping it with my car keys and wondering why nothing was happening. This is a first for me and a worrying sign. However - let me know when they invent a door blipper device and count me in.

So it's 6 months since the last blog. And 6 months since Caitlin was born pretty much. Anyone would think there's some sort of direct correlation between sleep deprivation and the ability to blog. I do believe it has had a detrimental impact on my higher cognitive functioning. I mean - surely I know how to open a door? Apparently not.

I can't really blame Caitlin though. She's a dream baby. Sleeps for twelve hours at night - smiles when she wakes up and generally chills for the day. She is living my ideal life.

I think it's just a logistical thing. Takes time to get used to. I'd forgotten totally about sterlising bottles, winding babies, cleaning baby puke off your shirt. But it comes back pretty fast. The main rules are:-

a). Never wind a baby wearing a suit (unless it's made of paper. And wearing a paper suit is just a bit weird).
b). Never utilise the "nappy close range sniff test" to avoid a nappy change. This is Nappy roulette.
c). Always hold the baby when the football is on.

I'm not sure where to begin with the highlights of the summer. The Olympics, Euro 2012, the incessant rain? Well - there was the epic ten mile march into Phoenix Park, Dublin to witness the Stone Roses rock the city. Never before have so many middle-aged people attempted to recapture their Madchester Youth with such wild abandon. I never thought that day would happen. The Stone Roses reformed. So it was a bit special to see them. To be honest - they could have strapped a microphone to a chimpanzee and I would have sung along. According to some reports - this is exactly what happened. But not in my books. They were awesome.

Later in the summer we headed off to the South of France to somewhere in the mountains. Despite having 2 sat navs in the car (that consistently pointed us in opposing directions) we did manage to get about and see a bit of the countryside. The lowest point (in our adult eyes) was the world's officially sh*ttest dinosaur theme park / attraction ever. Sarah walks in and jams her leg on a rusty nail at the entrance.

"Are you ok Sarah - are you ok?!" I ask. "Didn't you see that big post there?" I can be really dumb sometimes.

"What do you think?" she manages through gritted teeth.

"Smile by the T-Rex with the kids"...I think Sarah is making strange victory signs at me with her fingers. How bizarre.

"You had a tetnus jab lately?" I ask with concern. Sarah tells me where to stick any possible jab.

We push the buggy over rocky terrain more suitable for a four wheel drive. every hundred or so yards in this forest there's a crappy half-arsed looking dinosaur made of cardboard and bits shadrag found in the tip. There aren't words to describe how bad it is.

However - the kids think it is the most awesome dionosaur theme park ever (it's also the only one they've ever been to either).

The prehistoric swamp has inadvertantly drained away to reveal dinosaur heads on metal poles. Fintan falls over and cuts himself and Declan is scared by the dinosaur roars emanating from a muffled speaker.

We leave and head over to the main part of the attraction - the caves. Apparently - these are some of the most awe inspiring caves in France.

"Is it safe to bring kids down?" I ask the French woman at the till.

She looks at me blankly. So I dig up my best GCSE French from the dusty shelf at the back of my head.

"Le Cave - C'est Dangerous pour les enfants?" I admire my ability to communicate as if I am an actual local. Perhaps she actually thinks I am French? That's how good I am.

She looks at me. Looks at Fintan and Declan who have just knocked a full pint of orange juice over themselves, looks at Caitlin asleep in her buggy and says.

"Non"

"Okay then kids, Sarah - let's go..."

The cave guide takes about thirty of us down into the cold gloom. We are in the middle of the group and immediately I start to pap myself. (To pap oneself is a technical caving term you understand).

I am holding Caitlin in my arms. Holding her tight. Like her and my life depended on it - which come to think of it. They do.

Fintan looks pretty scared but I try to remain dad-like and breezy.

"Wow Fintan look at all these steps going down..." I say cheerily.

725 steps later and I feel like I've been to hell and back. I can no longer feel my arms (they are shaking too much with adrenelin). It turns out that cave safety in France might not quite live up to the standards I'd been expecting.

The rusting, wet metal handrails and stairs led down, down and down into hell. Okay - so the views were spectacular. With sheer 100 metre drops either side. But not great when you first discover your child may have a fear of big dark cave-like spaces and a severe case of vertigo.

As a family we opt to stay at the first cavern as the rest of the group move on. I shout at the guide.

"We Remainee ici!" and he nods.

Are we going to be found dead in a few days time. Does the group come back this way? I don't know. We only have one baby bottle and 2 chocolate biscuits to sustain us. And just when it couldn't get any worse. The lights go out. They're on a bloody auto timer. Luckily the emergency exit signs flicker in the dark (even caves have emergency exits - astonishing!).

I put my phone light to my face and do my Blair Witch impression to raise our spirits.

"Josh! Josh!" I scream in comedy fashion. This doesn't help. So in the end we feed Caitlin her bottle at the bottom of the cave and wait for their return.

Twenty long minutes later they come back and we head up and out. Never has daylight been so welcome.

Later in the summer we head to Alton Towers. Declan takes me on the scariest ghost train ride ever and loves it. He then walks past Sid the sloth from Ice Age 4 and has a freak attack. Honestly - I can't work him out. That boy could sit through the Exorcist totally unfazed - but show him a man in a disney character suit and he's petrified.

Later that night the kids breakdance in the hotel lobby to a Robbie Williams impersonator standing in a giant pirate ship. Which is a hard thing to do - but impressive to behold.

Later still - we head to Center Parcs for a mini reunion with friends from Uni. I'm not sure how it happened but Simon's Yogic balancing on the pool table and the ensuing forehead carpet burn injury was a highlight. Only topped by reliving my youth on the gun games in the arcades, Simon winning the Disco dancing competition with his best Irish jig and plunging headfirst down the "lazy river" in the pool and wondering where exactly all your children had gone. Lazy river = danger!

And last weekend we manage to cram in crabbing in Anglesey, epic fire making and dingy rides in the Menai Straits (If you want to see Funny - imagine Chris in a dinghy with 2 kids when the engine cuts out - repeatedly. Never has one man persevered with a dud motor for so long and for so few...)

What more could you want for a summer?

Until the next time...just do it...