Posts Tagged ‘Walthamstow’

Days with Tom #4. A Moving Story.

July 10, 2012

Hello Tom,

On Friday 29 June, we packed up our belongings and said a fond farewell to 71 Northbank Road (big shout out to the boys from Grays Storage and Removals for doing such a great job, by the way). You were at Mama Shan’s that day, thank goodness. I don’t think I could have coped with moving sofas while a little whirling dervish barreled around the place. No offence, but you can be a bit of a handful.

Anyway, leaving Florence Villa was a little bit emotional. You weren’t, ahem, ‘made’ there (you were an Argentina baby) and you weren’t born there (although that was the plan, until you refused to come out on time). But the day we brought you back from the hospital, you turned our house into a family home. One that smelled of baby poo, admittedly, but there you go.

You worked wonders for our relationship with our neighbours, too. Even though we’d lived there for 12 years, we never really spoke to many people on our road. But as soon as you arrived, we started to get to know them. You were even given a rather fetching hand-knitted bobble hat.

Baby Dappy was unimpressed by his new headgear.

You’re a wonderful conversation-starter, you know. In the early days I would take you out in your pram to give your mum a well-earned break. People would stop us to look at you and ask the usual questions. Is this your baby? What’s his name? How old is he? Who are you again?

Of course, we didn’t meet that many people, what with it being 5am. But those we did meet were very nice and didn’t bat an eyelid at the tired man wearing his coat over his pyjamas (they were probably  too busy looking at the gorgeous little baby to notice, anyway).

Now, 18 months later, we’ve got a whole new neighbourhood to explore. It’s going to be fun.

Days with Tom #2. Fantastic Day, by Haircut 1.

April 30, 2012

Hello Tom.

Well Wednesday 25/04/12 was pretty cool.

It started, as mornings usually do, with a bit of sofa time. Because daddy needs a while to gather himself before the day ahead. This is not a eupehmism for hungover. Honest.

It wasn’t unproductive, though. We got to look at mummy’s bra catalogue, which you found incredibly funny.

“Hahahahahaha! Babies drink from these! Hahahahahaha! Stupid babies!”

Later, when daddy managed to unpeel himself from the sofa (after Octonauts, naturally) we got dressed. For today there was to be no slobbing. Oh no. Today was haircut day.

Now you’ve had your hair cut before. It was a while back and our tactic was, to paraphrase a fellow parent, “to sneak up on you while watching CBeebies and lop chunks off”. (Her name is Elizabeth, she’s very funny and if you’re on The Twitter, you can follow her here.)

But this time it was to be a professional job. We went to a place called Lotolie in Walthamstow Village. Your behaviour was impeccable.

“Yeah, just a bit off the top, tidy up the back & sides. No gel.”

“Off anywhere nice for your holidays?”
“Well we might go to the park later.”

“Yeah, lovely. Good job. Bit more off the fringe maybe?”

Your haircut cost six quid. Now, I pay that for my haircut, but I don’t get toy cars to play with.

Afterwards, we did lunch. Because lunch is what daddy does. Even on his day off.

We went to a lovely place called Eat 17 (see what they did there?). You were unsure what to order.

Like the Sugarcubes said. “Eat the menu.”

In the end, you plumped for the macaroni cheese, accompanied by a cheeky apple juice (Del Monte ’99 unless I’m very much mistaken). Daddy had Merguez and Malbec. Don’t tell mummy.

Sadly we got rained in, so we had to have afters. I never knew such a small baby could consume so much ice cream. I had a chocolate brownie (well, what little I could rescue from your gaping maw).

“Mmm. I’m Michael Winner baby and that was delicious. Pay the lady, old man.”

Replete, we headed home.

When we got back, daddy inexplicably felt like a snooze. Luckily, so did you.

Sleep tight son.

Days with Tom #1

April 25, 2012

Hello Tom.

Before you were born, I promised myself that I would keep a constant online record of you. It was to be a multimedia extravaganza. Much like that Google Chrome ad (sniff, still makes me well up).

Then you actually arrived.

“Morning! What now?”

And all those grand plans went by the wayside. It had a lot to do with the fact that you were really quite time-consuming. But if I’m honest, it was more to do with my innate laziness. Sorry, son.

Anyway. Now I find myself with a bit more time on my hands than I did before. I’ll be looking after you for a day or two a week. No mummy. No child minder. Just me. And I’ll be chronicling our adventures here.

Starting with…

Friday 20th April 2012

Thank you Cbeebies for being on from such an early hour.

I quite liked watching Postman Pat with you. I say, “with you”. I mean more you watched it, spellbound, while I lay on the sofa wondering if letting you spend the whole day in front of the telly would make me a bad father.

Of course it would. So we went out for brunch at La Cafeteria, Walthamstow’s premier eatery. You ordered the toast. I’d brought a banana as an amuse-bouche. I fed it to you while singing “Ba Na Na Na Naa”. Like the Kaiser Chiefs song.

Oh, we met Brian Harvey, formerly of 90s Boy Band East 17 (it’s good to see some people don’t abandon their roots). You were on your trike and waved at him as he walked past. You said “Hiya!” Good lad – nice to see that celebrity doesn’t faze you.

Of all the times not to be carrying a camera. Sigh.

Anyway, here’s a picture of Brian for old times’ sake.

“And ven ver fackin baby said Hiya!”

After that, nothing could really live up to your brush with stardom. I mean, we went to the swings, you had your obligatory middle-class lunch of pesto chicken pasta and did a poo. You also ran around. A lot.

But in the words of East 17, deep, deep down the whole Harvey thing was the real highlight.

Talking of which (tenuous link alert). You’ve got your first trip to the hairdresser’s tomorrow.

Should be fun. Fingers crossed.


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