Family Archive

The presents, revolt

People of the world. Come here and read my words. They bring forth a simple idea. One we must all, by now, agree is needed. Change is a coming. For change to happen, we need to look not inside ourselves, nor even in to the faces of others. No. We need to look at the

Boom!

I’m sure there is more than a hint of irony to the situation when I loudly rebuke Lauren for shouting, as she speaks excitedly. “She’s not shouting” Amy will say. “She’s using your voice.” But then it’s not necessarily my voice. It’s the King voice. What a voice; that booming, sound barrier breaking, dulcet tone of our

Unconditional love

We love you. We love you more and more each day. You love us. You tell us more and more each day. You tell us your love is “Up to the ceiling, down to the floor, round the world and lots, lots more.” That’s how much my Mum loves me – it was the same

Kid’s Meal – Salvo’s (Leeds)

  Intro: This is not a food blog. Until a week ago I wasn’t quite sure what this blog was about; that was until I decided to focus on all things family. Therefore, a review of a restaurant under the subject heading “Kid’s Meal” is not just about the quality of food enjoyed by the

Bin Buckaroo

  There’s a game we play at home. Or at least I think it’s a game. I may also need to consider whether “we” play it at all? Bin Buckaroo takes its name from the now, no doubt redundant game from my youth – Buckaroo. If you are not familiar with Buckaroo, it was a

Waves of jubilation

It’s the liquid. The amount of liquid involved, that flows out, that covers the space, that shocks you, me; the most. Forget tidal waves of emotions – this was a tidal wave of a birth. Delivering your own child is a strange, never to be matched experience. The experience is further heighted when you, sometime

Focus

I’m not really sure why I am here any more. Once upon a time, as Lauren’s stories might begin, I started this blog to fill the space between the words I was being asked to write – and the ones I wanted to find time to write. That position has somewhat changed now. People aren’t exactly

A kind of magic

I have hands. Such a statement may seem unremarkable to those of you who also have hands – but my hands are different. My hands are magic. I first discovered their magical properties when Lauren was struggling with constipation. “Can I hold your hands” she would say; as the pressure built up ahead of the

Postcards from Rome – Cone hotline

I’ve just finished a simple meal of Suppli, Crocchette and Arancini – breaded balls of different shape, size and filling – accompanied by courgette chips and a glass of Frascati. It’s the sort of meal that is crying out for a gelato (ice cream) to top it off. But after today – I’m not sure

Ides of March

Beware the Ides of March, they say. Beware, what though? Mum may be coming over for dinner; there’s a good chance Lauren will be overly tired – work is, well, work. But as I look out of the window at a glorious, sun filled blue sky – I do wonder, what is there to be