Photography. Series 2

I am having a great run of amazingly artistic photography recently and it would be selfish of me to keep them to the confines of my mothers iPhone. Enjoy!





A photo capturing the hustle and bustle of the hall. My fleecy red onesie is hanging on the door in the background. Does it symbolise a comfortable family home? Or just highlighting the fact my mother isn’t exactly house-proud?










Pepperoni pizza for dinner. Nourishment for the soul.









In this picture I have paired the dogs harness and lead with the hallway clock. Its represents how in life we are all bound by the constraints of time. It also shows that we were running late for school.









Self portrait after eating black Playdoh.












“Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet.” – Vietnamese Proverb







I am thoroughly enjoying my new hobby. She has moved the charger to a higher power point so my photos may not be so forthcoming now unless I can manoeuvre my trusty naughty chair to help me reach up when nobody is looking. I shall try my best, as always.

Love and light x


Disco Bath.

A few months ago the light bulb in the bathroom fizzled and died. In any other household this wouldn’t be a newsworthy event. It is an ordinary, every day occurrence which happens in many rooms, in many abodes all over the world. In our home though it is classed as a major incident. This is because the light in the bathroom requires a type of bulb that can only be purchased when the moon is full, the stars are aligned and you have a spare £50 knocking about. It is not stocked in any Homebase nor can it be ordered via the internet. So, after exploring all conceivable avenues in order to replace the bulb, The Lazy One gave up, waved her dirty white flag, and begun to think outside the box to solve the riddle.

And this is what she came up with;


It is a miniature battery operated disco ball.

At first it was a novelty and quite fun. However, after a time having a bath by disco light can make one feel dizzy and nauseous. Using the toilet can also be a trippy experience. Waking up in the middle of the night and having to urinate in the light of a 1970’s discotheque can be disorientating and uncomfortable.

Surely this amounts to some type of child abuse? Being forced to enter a dance-club like environment every time you need to use the facilities is unreasonable and, if it isn’t already, should be considered an infringement of my human rights.

In protest, whenever I enter the room and this light is on, I stick my nose in the air and ignore the Big One bellowing, “OOHHHH, it’s like a SENSORY ROOM!! Aren’t we lucky?! Look at the colourful lights, Ed!”.

Living in this house is so annoying.







I have recently developed a love for photography. It is an art which I adore especially as it allows me to encapsulate the environment from my viewpoint. Todays post shall be a visual celebration of my art. It is a collection of photographs which I took using my mothers iPhone.




This piece is entitled, “Siblings; The fight“. I think I have managed to capture the hierarchical position of frustrated older brother and annoying younger sister perfectly.










The Toy

This was taken in the front room. It is a little soft toy that appears to be burrowing in to the skirting board to get away.








Squidgy bottom in leggings.

This photo raises so many questions for the viewer. Why is the bottom so soft and flabby? Why choose to clad said bottom in these very thin, slightly see-through leggings? Mysterious…








Legs. A self portrait.

The time I drew on my leg with cheap felt tip pen which didn’t wash off for over a week. I suffer for my art.









For me, this photo has captured the sense of absolute defeat and weariness felt after a long, hard day at work.











Wake Up, Fatty. I Want My Breakfast.

This is my mother simultaneously being woken up by the flash of her phone and my loud requests for CocoPops.








Personal Space.

Now this is an interesting piece. You can see how, despite the fact there is a rather large corner sofa installed, the siblings choose to lie right on top of the mother with little regard for her comfort. Note also the glow of the screen as a phone is thrust into the mothers face in order to be shown yet another meme about poo.










This is a photo of me kicking my lazy mother in the lung as I try and rouse her from sleep.






I hope you have enjoyed looking at some samples of my new hobby.  I shall add to my collection just as soon as Mother leaves her phone on charge and I can once again kidnap the device.

Peace and Love x



The Naughty Chair.

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

In an attempt to install discipline into the household, we have something called The Naughty Chair. It is a rather uncomfortable small wicker chair which has been placed in the corner of the hall. It’s designed to be a tool to aid a “time-out” if you have been rambunctious or cheeky. The idea behind the method is to have quiet time to reflect on your behaviour and accumulate enough remorse to acquire puppy dog eyes and whisper a pitiful, “Sorry, Mummy” (even though on most occasions I certainly am not”) when your allotted time is up.


Now, this technique worked with myself for a few months. I am not ashamed to confide in you that I was actually quite petrified of being sent to the chair. Many of my escapades ground to a halt when I was threatened with a stint in the corner of the hall. However, it was on one occasion after I had completed a rather marvellous mural using the crayons and felt tips in the front room that I chanced upon a thought. Could this chair work for me if I switched the power to work in my favour? There was an opportunity here that I was missing. Being scared of this inanimate object which in itself could really do me no harm was wholly unnecessary. As I sat there with the wicker pattern embossing my derrière, I realised I could utilise this chair and as the name suggests make it a true Naughty Chair. It was at that moment the small chair switched sides and we became allies.

I found that my new friend could assist in helping me reach things that were usually out of arms length. For example, by scooting the chair along the lino in the hall and into the kitchen I could climb up and turn on the light then push the chair over to the refrigerator. Being able to open the fridge was an amazing feeling. Being bathed in the cool light felt magical and the smells emanating from various packets and jars over loaded my senses and made me dizzy with delight!

I can use the chair to obtain a boost and climb up onto the kitchen counters and gain access to the cupboards. I can also open the towel cupboard. I can reach up, pull the towels and sheets out and use them to make a den in the bedroom.


When I am sitting in the chair I no longer sob or wail. I sit in that chair and laugh. I giggle and wiggle and watch my mothers frustration become practically tangible.

By overcoming what we fear we can grow as people and become stronger. So my advice to all who face adversity is this;  Have courage, dear friend.  Be brave.

The Funfair.

At the weekend, despite the drizzle and the colder autumn temperatures, I experienced a family trip to the local funfair. I say “family” because on this occasion my father participated in the activity which made the outing even more significant.

I was thrust into my fleecy all-in-one and boots and we set off into rainy darkness to go have ourselves some fun. On arrival we found there was absolutely nowhere to park the car. People had resorted to abandoning their vehicles on nearby grass verges in a haphazard manner and we reluctantly had to follow suit. We tried to ignore my fathers mutterings about not having a coat as we trudged across the field towards the bright lights and cheery noises of the fairground. The buzz of the fair was exciting and I couldn’t wait to get on a ride. Whilst I wanted to climb aboard the larger rides with the longer queues, I was steered toward the gentler rides which were not quite as busy. My first ride was on the boat. For four tokens, which is the equivalent of £2.00, I was sat inside a little wooden boat and sent round and round until I felt nauseous and dizzy.


My mother stood and waved at me with a manic smile for the full duration. How I was meant to steer the vessel and engage with her at the same time, I really don’t know. This was meant to be enjoyable and not a test of my multitasking abilities!

Both my father and I were made to take a trip on the carousel. This was one of the larger rides on offer and the lights and music were really a wondrous scene to behold. I was eager to climb aboard a majestic golden horse but we were at the back of the queue and when it came to our turn all that was left was a bench. Whilst this was probably a safer option it wasn’t nearly as impressive as the galloping horses with their glorious  decoration. My mother watched us as we went round on our bench but this time instead of waving the Old Fool was giggling  behind her hand. The reason for her cackling like a witch became clear when we dismounted the bench and looked back at the carousel.


For some reason we had a voluptuous  mermaid painted on our seat with her large breasts exposed. It was highly inappropriate and unnecessary and the fact my mother was laughing so hard made me regard her in an even more distasteful light.

Our time at the fair came to end with an extraordinary firework display. Having never seen fireworks before I was absolutely amazed by their colours and loud bangs and screeches. Even my father had stopped mentioning his lack of coat and was watching the night sky with a small smile on his blue-lipped face.



I am now very much looking forward to the 5th of November when I have been promised another family outing to a firework display.

So many exciting things are happening as 2017 draws to a close.

Life is good.


RIP Paul

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  –

Dylan Thomas  (1914–1953).[


It is with a heavy heart that I pass on the sad news that there has been a death in the family.

Last night Paul the Hamster moved from this earthly realm on to a higher spiritual plateau. The discovery was made by my mother who checked on the angry fur-ball after becoming suspicious about the lack of irritating gnawing noises through the night. Upon opening the cage with caution she found dear Pauls corpse on the lower deck of his cage. Now, as you may know from previous posts, Paul was not exactly a happy chap. It would be hypocritical of me to portray Paul as a cuddly critter comprised of hearts and flowers and gaily chomping on his small rodent treats. No. In fact  he was an absolute devil who was always looking for an opportunity to maim or draw blood . Because of this we purchased Paul a  supersized cage and rarely removed him from his quarters for fear of bodily damage. He had an anger inside of him that raged like the heat from a thousand bubbling volcanoes. His persistent, stubborn personality drove him to gnaw at the bars in such an aggressive manner that (after the initial flash of wanting to chuck him through the window at 3 am  to get some peace) you had to admire his ambition and loyalty to the cause. Yes, there have been times when we tried to off load Paul on to an unsuspecting animal lover via Facebook. My mothers honesty lead her to write a truthful description of the pet who was up for adoption and this inevitably put people off. Nobody wants a grumpy old hamster with knife-teeth, ninja skills, holding a personal vendetta against anyone passing his cage.

Even the position in which Pauls body expired looked like it had just dropped down dead mid scamper from the sheer exhaustion of fighting life in his own hate fuelled way.



There was great debate about how to deal with Pauls remains. One suggestion was burial in the back garden but due to the high number of cats (owned by my Mother) in the area this was not a great idea. Sail him down the river covered in rose petals in a tinfoil boat whilst Mother plays a sad haunting tune on the panpipes? Nope. What actually transpired was Paul and all of his possessions including the enormous cage were bagged and binned in the rubbish shed outside, much like an Egyptian pharaoh encased with his belongings for all eternity. Or until Wednesday when the bin-men come.

Rest In Peace, Paul.

I sincerely hope that wherever you may be now your beautiful flame of absolute abhorrence for everything other than sugar snap peas is burning brightly.




Little legs.

And she stopped and stared as she pulled on his boot,

The blue plastic wellington which now encased his foot

was followed by a small leg which had a muddy knee

and teeny tiny golden hairs and scratches from the tree.

A look of fleeting sadness washed across her face

as she stroked the little leg and pulled the other boot in place.

For little legs, they grow and learn to walk away

so make the most of time together each and every day.






Summer 2017.

As the old saying goes, all good things must come to an end. This week is the last of the Summer holidays for myself and my siblings. To quote many an effervescent X-factor contestant – what a rollercoaster this experience has been! The Old Goat has tried her very best to keep us entertained these past weeks. I’d like to share with you a brief run down of some things Summer 2017 had in store for us.

Jam Making.

We were herded to the woods with our Tupperware boxes held against our body as shields. Fighting through the nettles and thorns to reach the juiciest blackberries was meant to be a team building task, I am sure, and not the horrific torturous ordeal it actually was. For some reason we were all dressed in either shorts or dresses thus allowing for maximum affliction to the legs. If anyone dare pipe up about the nasty welts which were appearing one after the other the Old Witch chucked a dock leaf at us and told us to rub ourselves with it. ( I have a sneaking suspicion they were not remedial dock leaves but dandelion leaves which did nothing what-so-ever to help the burning sting). She sauntered about the brambles bellowing out encouragement and offering advise on whether a berry was fit to be carted home or not. I was quite shocked at this sudden nature loving side of my mother. I had never once seen her revel in the fact we could forage for sustenance before today, yet here she was skipping about like a chubby, dishevelled woodland fairy plucking berries with a whimsical look in her eye.

It was short lived.

The bickering and moaning broke her and we were all thrown into car with our bright red legs and purple stained fingers and told to, “Shut up” when a voice from the back helpfully suggested we all partake in an evening meal from McDonalds.


Back home we sorted through the mess of squashed fruit and we were all assigned jobs, which involved stirring the pot, adding sugar to the mixture and squashing the fruit.


Whilst we boiled the blackberries with the sugar we were all eager to try the jam as the smell emanating from the pan was truly delicious. Unfortunately, this was misleading. Once the jam had been decanted into small glass jars and allowed to cool it turned into a solid lump which was more like dried up No More Nails than a seasonal preserve. It was wholly disappointing.

Tree swinging.swinging

We have spent a large majority of the holiday in the woods walking the dog. On one particular uninteresting wander we literally stumbled into a clearing where glorious makeshift rope swings had been cleverly wrapped in the branches overhead. The fact they looked like a first class ticket straight to A&E made them even more enticing. Too busy collecting great piles of dog excrement to sufficiently supervise, our mother let us play on the contraptions despite other dog walkers disapproving stares.


The next fabulous activity we were allowed to indulge in was sleeping in the big bed. Whether it was permitted with intention or complete and utter exhaustion just kicked in I really could not say. We were all just grateful for the chance to sleep in a huddle on the Big Ones king size memory foam mattress with her. And on top of her. Until eventually she gets pushed out and has to sleep on the sofa. Co-sleeping promotes the child/parent bond so I personally think this practise should be introduced as standard. However, the baggy eyed one will never agree as long as she has the excuse of school and the need for us to have a good nights rest. sleep

Nervous Marshmallow Roasting.

Another cheap activity that we were forced to undertake was roasting marshmallows in our little chiminea. The anxiety levels of my mother with this particular exercise in gardenfamily team building were the highest since records began. Being micro-managed with a marshmallow is not much fun especially when it is accompanied with shrieks of, “GET BACK, GET BACK!!” and “BLOW ON IT, FOR CHRIST SAKE! YOU’LL BURN YOUR BLOODY TONGUE OFF”. By the time we had roasted a few treats it was apparent to all involved that although delicious the sweets were not worth the angst created in the production process.

All in all we had a pretty good Summer. But now the air is getting crisp and the leaves are turning golden brown. Soon Autumn will be upon us and with it will bring my birthday. Three years old next month! How time flies.

Until the next time, dear friends.





Summer holidays.

The summer holidays have begun and we were off to a great start thanks to the trip to the lido in Aldershot. Having searched the internet for things to keep us entertained The Big One decided a forty-five minute drive and a dunk in a huge unheated outdoor pool was just what was needed. Having never been to a lido before, I know for a fact that before we set off it never entered her head to check the weather details or even pack the necessary items one would need for outdoor swimming in Antarctic conditions.  After purchasing £50 worth of inflatable fluorescent rubber rings for each of us, we were made to float in them despite our blue lips, numb limbs and chattering teeth. We tried to scramble out but whenever one of us drifted over to the side of the pool she pushed as back out with her foot. Only when we started crying and whimpering were we allowedIMG_20170725_103446 out of the freezing cold water. In the end my siblings and I used the rings to create a warm nest by burrowing into the middle of our rings and covering ourselves with the towel and then refusing to move.  We were only there for an hour. To make the outing even more horrendous we were unable to deflate the rings and there was no way my mother was leaving those behind. The drive home was squashed, clammy and the windows kept steaming up at an alarming rate. Having been exposed to the open elements previously the now snug environment was quite a relief and I fell asleep, using a ring as a pillow, within minutes.

Another activity we have been earnestly undertaking is dog walking. Although it’s not sold as a mere walk with Molly the dog. Oh no! The inventive fool tries to glorify the walk by branding it as an “Adventure” to entice us to come along willingly. There is even a theme tune which is sung when we are all bundled into the car and strapped into our seats. “We’re going on an adventure, we’re going on an adventure, we’re going on an adventure….(fade out)”. Depending on the mood of the walk-instigator it can be sang in a dogwalkinghigh, happy pitch or snarled frantically through gritted teeth. When we get to the park/field/woods we are allowed to climb trees and fight with sticks and chuck stones at each other whilst the dog  is dragged round and multiple piles of poo are collected in little black bags. This is a cheap waste of a few hours. It involves her spending not one penny unless myself or a sibling find ourselves severely dehydrated and in need of fluids after the adventure. Even then it is a struggle to get the Old Witch to stop at the Co-op and purchase a Fruit Shoot.

There are another four weeks until nursery and school resumes. It will be interesting to see the different activities she comes up with in the coming weeks. A trip to Disneyland Paris, a Center Parcs holiday away? I very much doubt it. I have another month of watching her hauling the dog round and eagerly collecting faeces like she’s hunting for truffles. What a delight.




Every well cultured gentleman knows that in order to be on top of your game you need a mode of reliable transport. Much like other people around my age I lean toward the more traditional vehicle; the scooter. I acquired my trusty steed from The Entertainer in town. It is a shop which  is a personal favourite of mine due to the highly attentive staff and true to form when we went to purchase my new Ninja Turtles tri-wheeled scooter the cashier offered to assemble the product for my Mother. Not one to miss an opportunity to avoid doing some work, she gratefully accepted the help and in under twelve minutes I was proudly scooting out of the shop safe in the knowledge that my chariot had been professionally built and wasn’t going to crumble after the first five minutes of being in use.

After many months of practise I now categorise myself as a professional. I have many self taught tricks, tips and skills which I would like to share with you.

  1. The Dismount.  This particular requirement of scooting was difficult to master. It involved a lot of different manoeuvres and many a scraped kneecap. Whilst I am fully aware there is a pedal over the back wheel which acts as a brake, I much prefer the method of leaping from the scooter when it is going relatively fast (preferably downhill) and performing a controlled roll on the ground until stationary. the crouch
  2. The Crouch. This is achieved by pushing off with one foot, returning it to rest on the board with the other and then bending my knees and sticking out my derrière. You must hold on with both hands to the handle for safety but if you are feeling daring, you can close your eyes tight whilst emitting an eardrum piercing scream to heighten the experience. (It is worth noting that whilst this is definitely a firm favourite with myself, the Big One is not so keen. Especially when practiced by the side of the road on a jaunt into town.)
  3. The Go-Slow. This is more of a tactic rather than an actual skill however, it does need to be practiced in order to be as effective as possible. Regular scooting without incorporating any tricks but performed at a snails pace can reap great rewards. Like a literal carrot on a stick, confectionary and other goodies will be promised and dangled up ahead to make you increase your scooting speed.  DO NOT CAVE INTO PRESSURE! The cries of, “For God’s sake, hurry up”  and “We will never get there at this rate” may shake your nerve but be strong and your iron will shall gain you at the very least a Milky Way and a piggyback to your destination.
  4. Maintenance. Keeping your vehicle clean and in good working order is essential. Personally I like to leave my scooter on the patio and allow the rain to do its magic and wash away the mud sprays and dirt. To gain a fabulous shine on the wheels I like to bring the scooter inside after a down pour and ride around on the carpet to buff them up and make them sparkle. (This causes upset for the Lump as she complains about muck on the carpet. Knowing, as I do, that the carpet was purchased cheap from an obscure online shop and then fitted by a random chap found on Gumtree for the princely sum of £40 I really feel there is no need to be so precious about her discount flooring.)

I hope you enjoy trying out these new skills and that you find them as useful as I do.

Happy scooting, friends.