Seven days ago the four of us were getting ready for a day trip to the coast, to blow away the Christmas cobwebs, have a bit of fresh air, exercise and eat a plate of fish 'n' chips for lunch. You can only have so much turkey after all. (Actually, we didn't have any this year on the grounds that it might not have time to cook and/or defrost. As it happened, we'd have had ample time to consume it at least of couple of incarnations before getting sick of it by Monday, but no matter; we were symbolically sick of it so we went to Skeggy for the day.)
Skegness - it's so bracing, so the saying goes. But little did we know what we were being braced for - a drug-fuelled all-nighter in the Labour Ward on Monday evening. Or so we thought. In the event, we were there less than an hour before the show was over and it was time for the encore. In the equivalent of graduating from the nursery slopes to off-piste in a single skiing holiday, there was hardly time to draw more than half a dozen breaths of gas-and-air (for me) let alone the two-and-a-half canisters my wife got through last time. I did tentatively suggest that, as it had been so straightforward, we ought to do it again sometime. Perhaps my timing wasn't great.
And now, one week and several dozen friends and relatives (not to mention umpteen packs of nappies) later, things are settling nicely into the inevitable routine - sleep by day, awake all night. Well, not all night. That's a slight exaggeration. After all, there are the feeds. And the nappy-changes. And there's cricket to listen to on the radio. Or at least, there would have been at four a.m. this morning if it hadn't been raining in Sydney. Honestly.
But we wouldn't have it any other way. Would we Charlie?
(This is the first post on my new site WikiDad - think of something that's a cross between WikiLeaks and Wikipedia and you're nowhere near, but do please take a look!)