When I was a teenager back in the late 1980s, I came across a documentary featuring Eric Clapton. Clueless about these things as I was at that time, I still very much appreciated Mr Clapton’s music and especially his guitar skills. In that documentary, however, Eric Clapton said something about one of his influences being BB King. At that time, there was no such thing as the internet, let alone Google and Youtube. So I remember looking up this BB King character in the library one day, and was astounded how famous he was in the field of blues and how pervading his influence has been on the modern-day R&B. Continue reading
Despite being 41 going onto 60 in biological terms, I still behave like an 18 year-old going onto 8 in maturity terms.
I was abundantly reminded of this during our recent family holiday. At all the fun parks, I was often the only adult shoving kids (including my own) aside to get on the best rides. I am the only parent at the resort acting like silly buggers with my boys in the pool. Even during meal times, I couldn’t help but fight over French Fries with the kids, and drawing an exasperated expression of “Oh, grow up!” from my wife. Continue reading
Last week, I went for my annual health check up.
My doctor pointed out that it is not really an annual check up when the last time I saw him was four years ago.
I tried to explain that I am an extremely important man, with an always-packed calendar, and certainly too busy saving the world to attend to trivial matters such as my health.
Unfortunately, the doctor started fiddling with the computer keyboard … tap, tap, tap … and brought up my medical record. Continue reading
I arrived at the first obstacle.
What greeted me was one big pool of dense, black mud with a giant fishing net hanging low above it, leaving just enough room for people to crawl underneath. So I did, on all fours at first, then completely on my front, worming across with my face just half an inch above the slimy bog. Unfortunately, the attempt to keep my face clean was thwarted by the person in front of me whose wiggling motion was spraying the black stuff all over my head. When I finally emerged from the crawl, I felt like the Tim Robbins character from Shawshank Redemption when he escaped from the prison. But instead of covered in human shit with little bit of mud mixed in, I was covered in mud with a little bit of cow shit mixed in.
And that was how my inaugural Tough Mudder race began two weeks ago, on a windy, cloudy Sunday, somewhere between Timbuktu and Wherethefuck, 2 hours outside of Sydney, surrounded by trees, bush, mud and more mud. Continue reading
Every Saturday, I take my two boys out to breakfast at a nearby café. It has been our ‘Boys Club’ ritual ever since they were both able to walk without me having to carry them halfway, and I was able to talk without them having to ask where mummy is.
Indeed, their mummy enjoys this ritual possibly more than we do, as it gives her an opportunity to sleep in on Saturdays. This is hardly surprising after five arduous mornings of getting the two cranky little boys ready for school before she goes off to work herself in a cranky mood. Continue reading