Mad Darby Diaries

When you come from a large family I suppose it is inevitable that our politics would cross a wide spectrum.  We range from far left (get rid of the Royal family and stage a revolution) to far right (get rid of everyone who isn't of pure English, not even British, stock).  The latter is a surprising one since we ourselves are a mixture of several races, including Indian and Irish.  Then there are Moroccans, Welsh, Scottish, American and goodness knows what else.  As I say we are a large family and scattered across the globe. I digress however.  The trouble with being on the far left or the far right, or even an avid liberal democrat, is that you only read their side of the story, buy the newspapers that support your point of view and believe anything on social media that either praises your side or denigrates the other.  There is no reasoning that perhaps in some cases the opposing view may be right, it couldn't possibly be, and so healthy political debat...

I went flying on Friday.  Not in the conventional sense, I actually flew off a stationary bike and landed ungainly on the ground injuring my left foot, knee and thigh and strangely my right hand.  My sister, torn between laughing and showing  sympathy, did a superb job mopping up blood and dispensing ice to all the injured parts.  Yesterday going up and downstairs was excruciating, today it is tolerable.  Tomorrow I shall be back to normal.  The bike is on its way to the Salvation Army.  The way my sister thinks of it is if I fall off it when it is not moving, there is no way she is going to ride it.  I told her to buy an electric one. I tried phoning the Bognor Regis branch of Sainsburys but the number was unavailable.  I phoned directory enquiries but they said it was ex-directory.  Ex-directory?  A supermarket?  This could be a clue as to why Sainsburys financial results have been floundering.  It was  important...

I have been toilet training my 2 year old grandson this past week, with some success I might add, but it takes perseverance and a keen eye.  You have to be fleet of foot, persuasive and a certain amount of bribery and incentive also come into play.  I set up a star chart for him so each time he used the potty I put a sticker on his chart. In a rare week I also managed to see all three of my sons and 3 of my grandsons.  My eldest son was full of his sarcastic humour and good conversation.   My second son, when shown the fruits of my labour with the toilet training, looked at the long row of stickers and said, 'that's impressive'.  I  preened.  Praise at last.  Then he added, 'how does he manage to pee that many times in one day?'  

I am looking after my 2 year old grandson this month so no time to reflect, or write much.  The weather in the UK is unusually dry and hot but I don't mind that, although running after a 2 year old and pushing him uphill is challenging.  I sleep in the attic, which has 2 windows, one on each side and keeps up a nice temperature during the night.  It isn't the heat that keeps me awake it is a pesky pigeon.  It sits outside my window and repeats over and over and over again that same boring 3 note sound that all pigeons make.  What is it doing there in the middle of the night?  Don't birds sleep?  If I was a kid I would probably get the old fashioned catapult out and if I was Donald   Trump I would grab my shotgun, or order one of my lackeys to shoot  it.  What do I do?  I ineffectively go shoo, shoo, and then when it inevitably returns to my window I end up talking to it. t