Jag står på en flygplats och väntar på känslan
A pretty eventful week last week.
Went to see Arab Strap on tuesday. They were playing at the lovely Kägelbana which is much better suited to them than the venue they played here a couple of years ago - Debaser. Last time you could barely concentrate due to all the babbling from the disinterested masses who'd just turned up cos it was midweek and it was Debaser. Kägelbanan's bar is in a seperate room and noone ever goes there unless they really want to see the band. Just to be contrary though the Strap had got rid of the whole violinist/cello shebang and were now playing at being a proper loud guitar rock band. I was slightly aprehensive at first but it really worked. I mean it was fucking lovely. One of those gigs where you stumble out absoloutely convinced that they are the best band in the world.
And Aidan was very funny and personable as usual and dealt with the quite unbelievably inebriated audience with no small amount of style.
As I mentioned last week Tuesday was also my Dada's birthday - I was gonna suprise him by coming over to London with Polly on Wednesday. So that we could be there for the family gathering they were having at the weekend. My mother and I had done a rather splendid job of keeping it secret. I, however, didn't have enough money to take time off work so was planning on throwing a sickey. It did occur to me briefly that if I said Polly was sick then I could take the time off work and lose even less money but I dismissed it instantly as being immoral. It kinda felt like wishing illness on your own child. Then I thought about it again and decided fuck it, I'll say Polly's sick. I've never been one for vague notions of morality. But God saw and decided to teach me a lesson, cause then Monday Polly was sick. By Wednesday, the day we were gonna leave she was very sick. She couldn't stay awake for more than an hour at a time and when she was awake she was barely contactable, just seemed to wander around in a daze whimpering to herself and coughing violently.
Even before the sickness the idea of flying to London with Polly by myself scared me shitless. there's so many things that could go wrong - plane journies with small children can be a nightmare even when there's two of you. But now she was sick on top of all that and even more prone to hysteria and frightening behaviour.
So I decided it was a no go. I sulked a lot and phoned my mum, who was upset and then phoned my Dad and explained that I had been planning on coming but wasn't anymore. Suprise.
Meanwhile of course I changed my mind packed my things and decided I was gonna give it a go anyway. But by now I'd destroyed the suprise we'd been keeping since christmas.
In any case the flight wasn't that bad. I shot myself in the foot somewhat by deciding that the whole thing would be a lot easier if I didn't have to check in any luggage so just took hand luggage. So I had no pram or anything just Polly in a sling and a backpack. It wasn't at all easier. It was in fact bloody difficult. We had to get a lift to the airport - I'd forgotten that Polly gets car sick - so she added to her problems by throwing up all over the back seat of the car. When we got into the airport, it was so hot that I had to take off her overall and my coats - so now I had Polly in a sling a back pack, two coats and and overall to carry. Lots of fuss at customs and the security checks. Funnily enough when Lola goes through security with Polly she never has any problems, everyone helps her and she glides through. I however was forced to take Polly out of the sling so they could run metal detectors over her (which in all fairness actually looked increadibly funny, Polly sith her hands in the air whilst they checked her) and I was patted down, forced to take off my jumper, shoes, belt etc - despite the fact I hadn't beeped - and keep Polly in check. They kept on aking me where her mother was and why she couldn't keep an eye on her. Obviousley the only man who'd fly alone with a toddler is a drug smuggler.
Anyway when we finaly got to the gate - i tried to give her calpol and nose spray so she wouldn't be in too much of bother from the air pressure - and Polly threw a fit, screaming and hitting anything in the vicinity (she realy hates Calpol) and I managed to empty half a bottle of baby medicine over me her and the seat. She slept through the flight though, so it was all OK. The only other problem being that for some reason there were no trolleys at the other end so I had to carry everything for what felt like miles and not wake Polly up in the proccess. But finaly I got to collapse into a cab and it was over.
The flight back was in comparrison a breeze, I was quite suprised my profficency and confidence so I think, in the end, it was all for the best.
It was a lovely half week in London - so it was all worth it. We were home most of the time, so Polly would have a chance to relax and recover and by Sunday she was up and running again.
Thursday was an esp. lovely day. I didn't do much just went for a walk with Polly and Dad in Bushy Park and talked. One of the best days I've had in ages. It was spring weather - so unlike the minus 15 and snow in Sweden - and I felt nostalgic and glad to get some time with my dad and just take it easy. We walked into Kingston and had coffee in Borders - Polly who'd been sleeping woke up and was briefly energetic and happy and managed to rearange all the books in the kids section with a little boy called Jake whilst I chatted with his parents who seemed really nice.
It might not sound like much, but it was just a really nice day.
Saturday was also nice my sister, her bloke and theit two kids came over and we had dinner and stuff. They had their dog, ASBO with them. I'm very frightened of dogs, so I was doing my best not to let my worry transfer itself over to Polly but ASBO is a very ummmmm lively dog and soon we were both screaming any time the dog went near her. My mum and I tried to decide on whether my sister could be considerd to be a chav or not. I think we decdided that she was too self aware to be a chav. I mean she has a dog called ASBO that's so increadibly chav that it can't really be chav - more postmodern chav. She'd bought Polly a present of a cuddly sheep in fake burberry, definately postmodern chav. Which boils down to that noone can call her a chav but she can call herself one. Or something.
It's always strange with my sister, we used to be insepperable. When we were kids we were like twins but later we drifted. Now when we meet which is fairly rarely we get on really well but mostly chat about superficial things or children. Mostly, to be honest, children. So for some reason I was really suprised when my mum was mentioning some things they'd talked about on the phone - I was suddenly reminded how perceptive and fascinating a person my sister was. It's not strange that she is, she always has been, just strange that I'd forgotten it.
God, I have to go home now. So I'm gonna end without any ceremony at all.
Went to see Arab Strap on tuesday. They were playing at the lovely Kägelbana which is much better suited to them than the venue they played here a couple of years ago - Debaser. Last time you could barely concentrate due to all the babbling from the disinterested masses who'd just turned up cos it was midweek and it was Debaser. Kägelbanan's bar is in a seperate room and noone ever goes there unless they really want to see the band. Just to be contrary though the Strap had got rid of the whole violinist/cello shebang and were now playing at being a proper loud guitar rock band. I was slightly aprehensive at first but it really worked. I mean it was fucking lovely. One of those gigs where you stumble out absoloutely convinced that they are the best band in the world.
And Aidan was very funny and personable as usual and dealt with the quite unbelievably inebriated audience with no small amount of style.
As I mentioned last week Tuesday was also my Dada's birthday - I was gonna suprise him by coming over to London with Polly on Wednesday. So that we could be there for the family gathering they were having at the weekend. My mother and I had done a rather splendid job of keeping it secret. I, however, didn't have enough money to take time off work so was planning on throwing a sickey. It did occur to me briefly that if I said Polly was sick then I could take the time off work and lose even less money but I dismissed it instantly as being immoral. It kinda felt like wishing illness on your own child. Then I thought about it again and decided fuck it, I'll say Polly's sick. I've never been one for vague notions of morality. But God saw and decided to teach me a lesson, cause then Monday Polly was sick. By Wednesday, the day we were gonna leave she was very sick. She couldn't stay awake for more than an hour at a time and when she was awake she was barely contactable, just seemed to wander around in a daze whimpering to herself and coughing violently.
Even before the sickness the idea of flying to London with Polly by myself scared me shitless. there's so many things that could go wrong - plane journies with small children can be a nightmare even when there's two of you. But now she was sick on top of all that and even more prone to hysteria and frightening behaviour.
So I decided it was a no go. I sulked a lot and phoned my mum, who was upset and then phoned my Dad and explained that I had been planning on coming but wasn't anymore. Suprise.
Meanwhile of course I changed my mind packed my things and decided I was gonna give it a go anyway. But by now I'd destroyed the suprise we'd been keeping since christmas.
In any case the flight wasn't that bad. I shot myself in the foot somewhat by deciding that the whole thing would be a lot easier if I didn't have to check in any luggage so just took hand luggage. So I had no pram or anything just Polly in a sling and a backpack. It wasn't at all easier. It was in fact bloody difficult. We had to get a lift to the airport - I'd forgotten that Polly gets car sick - so she added to her problems by throwing up all over the back seat of the car. When we got into the airport, it was so hot that I had to take off her overall and my coats - so now I had Polly in a sling a back pack, two coats and and overall to carry. Lots of fuss at customs and the security checks. Funnily enough when Lola goes through security with Polly she never has any problems, everyone helps her and she glides through. I however was forced to take Polly out of the sling so they could run metal detectors over her (which in all fairness actually looked increadibly funny, Polly sith her hands in the air whilst they checked her) and I was patted down, forced to take off my jumper, shoes, belt etc - despite the fact I hadn't beeped - and keep Polly in check. They kept on aking me where her mother was and why she couldn't keep an eye on her. Obviousley the only man who'd fly alone with a toddler is a drug smuggler.
Anyway when we finaly got to the gate - i tried to give her calpol and nose spray so she wouldn't be in too much of bother from the air pressure - and Polly threw a fit, screaming and hitting anything in the vicinity (she realy hates Calpol) and I managed to empty half a bottle of baby medicine over me her and the seat. She slept through the flight though, so it was all OK. The only other problem being that for some reason there were no trolleys at the other end so I had to carry everything for what felt like miles and not wake Polly up in the proccess. But finaly I got to collapse into a cab and it was over.
The flight back was in comparrison a breeze, I was quite suprised my profficency and confidence so I think, in the end, it was all for the best.
It was a lovely half week in London - so it was all worth it. We were home most of the time, so Polly would have a chance to relax and recover and by Sunday she was up and running again.
Thursday was an esp. lovely day. I didn't do much just went for a walk with Polly and Dad in Bushy Park and talked. One of the best days I've had in ages. It was spring weather - so unlike the minus 15 and snow in Sweden - and I felt nostalgic and glad to get some time with my dad and just take it easy. We walked into Kingston and had coffee in Borders - Polly who'd been sleeping woke up and was briefly energetic and happy and managed to rearange all the books in the kids section with a little boy called Jake whilst I chatted with his parents who seemed really nice.
It might not sound like much, but it was just a really nice day.
Saturday was also nice my sister, her bloke and theit two kids came over and we had dinner and stuff. They had their dog, ASBO with them. I'm very frightened of dogs, so I was doing my best not to let my worry transfer itself over to Polly but ASBO is a very ummmmm lively dog and soon we were both screaming any time the dog went near her. My mum and I tried to decide on whether my sister could be considerd to be a chav or not. I think we decdided that she was too self aware to be a chav. I mean she has a dog called ASBO that's so increadibly chav that it can't really be chav - more postmodern chav. She'd bought Polly a present of a cuddly sheep in fake burberry, definately postmodern chav. Which boils down to that noone can call her a chav but she can call herself one. Or something.
It's always strange with my sister, we used to be insepperable. When we were kids we were like twins but later we drifted. Now when we meet which is fairly rarely we get on really well but mostly chat about superficial things or children. Mostly, to be honest, children. So for some reason I was really suprised when my mum was mentioning some things they'd talked about on the phone - I was suddenly reminded how perceptive and fascinating a person my sister was. It's not strange that she is, she always has been, just strange that I'd forgotten it.
God, I have to go home now. So I'm gonna end without any ceremony at all.