My Mum, Barbara Hurley

Well the last few days have been chaotic. It started yesterday (New Year's Eve) morning with a phone call from my sister Jayne, saying that mum had been rushed into hospital and she couldn't be sure but she was told it could be a stroke. We awaited more news, hoping for the best.

By 10.30 we were told it was a stroke and it was serious. We jumped in the car and headed for Cardiff. It was only what I can describe as weird seeing mum. She looked a lot better than I thought she would, she was conversing with ease. We talked about family history, the relatives in America, the news (the honours list etc.), and various other matters. She was joking too. Every now and then she'd say something a bit silly, but I assumed it was the drugs that were being pumped into her. Having said all that, the paralysis down her left hand side was almost total and obvious to see.

The hospital staff said the course she was on could disperse the clot that had caused her stroke, but we wouldn't know for 24 hours. There was also a danger the thinning of the blood could cause complications. Other relatives came and went throughout the day, before we arrived and after we left too.

We left feeling positive. Mum's response to questions on how she felt was "tickedyboo" and given her lucidity I certainly hoped for the best.

I phoned the hospital this morning at 10.30 - 24 hours after the first course of drugs were given - to be told there was no visible deterioration, which was good news as far as it went. We'd know more later in the day when a CT scan was given and they could let next of kin visitors to the ward know more as the results came back.

Then this afternoon I got a call off Jayne to say her boy Ross had been in to see his nan. The staff told him that the first course of drugs hadn't worked and that the next few days were crucial to see if mum pulls through or has some sort of relapse or follow-up seizure.

I started by saying the last few days had been chaotic. In fact it's only been two days. But with the emotions, the downs, ups and downs again, the to-ing and fro-ing, it's seemed like much longer.

Now we're waiting and praying for good news.

Richard Vivian Huzzey RIP

It was a sad occasion Monday (16th Sept) as the Huzzey side of the family gathered in Cardiff to say a farewell to my uncle Richard. I was going to just pop a few notes on facebook but it was when sending messages to an American* cousin, who takes a great interest in family events, that I realised it would be a good idea to write a little more, if only for the American side of the family.

It was a lovely late Summer's morning, lots of sunshine but a chill in the air. We arrived early as we'd followed my mum and dad up from Roath and left early just in case of school traffic. Lots of family and friends gathered and it was especially heart-warming to see members of the Cardiff Mini Club there, of which my uncle had been a founding member. The chapel was fit to burst and some folks stood at the back. Seeing Richard's boys - Lewis and Luke - as pall-bearers was heart-rending. What an awful thing... to carry your dad's coffin. God bless them, I don't know how on earth they coped.

The singing of the hymn (Love Divine) was amazing - the Welsh fittingly fulfilling one of our stereotypes. It was like standing in the middle of a group of male voice choirs. The booming words echoed in the chapel.

After the service, many of us stopped to chat outside and then friends and family moved to the Manor Parc Country Hotel. It was a wonderful opportunity to chat with people we hadn't seen for so long. It reminded me that the last time I saw and chatted to uncle Rich was my nan's (his mum's) funeral, and as usual he had had a smile on his face. He'd gone through a lot of problems with his health but you could always rely on Uncle Rich to crack a joke and have a laugh, nothing seemed to get him down.

A funeral is always going to be a sad occasion, and so it was on Monday, but I like to think once the tears have been dabbed away, it's a time for remembering and reminiscing. Having kept in touch with Lewis online for sometime, I was able to have a good chat with him about his recent trip to see Manchester United, and laugh with him about his dad being a keen Chelsea fan.

Then there's the people you bump into, like Alison, the daughter of my (Great) Uncle Herb and (Great) Auntie Deed. It was fantastic to chat to her about her mum and dad. When I stayed up my Nan and Da's in Pentwyn I used to pop over to Herb and Deeds' house. I spent many happy times over there with their budgie, who Alison told me Uncle Herb taught to swear! Perhaps I was too innocent, but I didn't remember that detail. What a lovely lady to chat to, just like her parents were lovely to spend time with all those years ago.

In their little corner of Pentwyn my Nan and Da lived across the road from Auntie Deed and Uncle Herb who lived a couple of doors down from Uncle Rich and Auntie Jackie. So staying up my Nan's meant visiting all three! Alison said that when they were young children her and Richard used to play together and as little more than toddlers Richard had asked to marry her! It's funny the things that stick in our memories isn't it?

Speaking to mum afterwards and reading what others had to say it seemed that everyone 'enjoyed' the funeral. I now that seems a weird thing to say, but I'm sure all of us would want the same when we go - to have our family and friends remember us fondly and gather to celebrate, just as the Irish do, to remember a life, to remember the good times.

I'm sure there's bits I've missed out, but I hope this will give my cousins and other relatives in America a little taste of the funeral of their relative, Richard Vivian Huzzey




*or strictly speaking a Texan as my best-man insists they should never have joined the Union! He is bonkers, but he could be right I suppose.


And as I mentioned on facebook - it was Paul Dingle's idea that I should take some sarnies home in his words "I am, and I only live 'round the corner." Just in case anyone thought I was like Albert Steptoe! :)

An Ode to Auntie Mary (nee Loughlin) - A Late Happy Birthday.

Although your birthday's been and gone
I knew I couldn't wait so long
As another 12 months until next year
To raise a glass and raise a cheer.

So via this ode may I just say
To the best Aunt, Happy birthday.
So there we go: better late then never.
(P.S. We all hope you live forever).

Cardiff City & Mother's Day

The poem I sent to my mum for Mother's Day, 2013:

Roses are Red
Cardiff are too,
You're the best mum
(They used to be blue)

Now that is love!

Private D.R. Hurley Remembered

Private D.R. Hurley

Just the other day I got in touch with an old school friend called Ashley via Facebook and we began reminiscing about the good old days, catching up etc.

It turns out he had gone on to join the Paras and did 119 jumps with them. It was then he spotted a post I'd done on Facebook, on All Souls Day in honour of my uncle who had served and died with the Paras in WW2.

He then told me that he was going to London for the Remembrance Day activities this weekend, and that he would be planting a Cross for my uncle at Westminster Abbey. I hadn't asked him to, it was clearly something he felt he had to do for a fellow Para.

I have to say I was deeply moved. All too often in our daily lives we bump into people who sap our belief in humanity. Then something like this happens and it reminds me that there are good people out there, who do good works because they should be done.

So thanks Ashley! You've done something fantastic for all our extended family, and reminded me that good deeds can have a much greater impact than we may think when we do them.

An Ode on the Golden Anniversary of William and Mary Hurley

50 years ago today young William brushed his hair,
007 was in the cinemas, he tried to match Bond's flair
With a sparkle in his eye, a skip and spring in his stride
He was headed off to a beautiful church to meet his beautiful bride.

Mary Loughlin was her maiden name and a fair maiden was she
She paced, and fretted and tried on her gown (and went for her 50th wee),
But fret not Mary for your Bill awaits, his flowing locks all kempt
No rich man's gilded riches to forestall her fate could tempt.

"Oh William is the man for me" she told all those who would listen,
"And even if many years from now his shiny head doth glisten:
I will love him all the more you see for the family God will give,
I dream of a cottage with roses nearby - in Fairwater we will live."

Some mop haired youth were on the wireless, singing Love Me Do.
But Mary paid no heed to them, Billy was her love so true.
Her face aglow, her heart a flutter she stood aside the Church gate.
The music inside was audible - she would always be fashionably late.

"Oh my Billy, oh William, oh Bill my true love" she cried aloud to the skies
"I will always love you, handsome young man, you are my greatest prize."
Onlookers smiled at such a sight, the young bride made it clear,
That in 30, no 40, no 50 years, she would stand by her Billy dear.

Oh good times would come and bad times too, to test their quality,
Tough times we can't imagine, but seen through cheerily,
By two such wonderful people, who took all that life could give,
And gave it back a hundredfold, yes they have truly lived.  

In Fairwater's leafy glades they settled: in Gorse Place, near to friends.
If anyone asked "whereabouts?" - we'd say "up the posh end."
And for wedded bliss, there's little doubt, they are the golden rule,
To scorn the ways of Bill and Mary you would have to be a fool.

Yes fifty years ago they made their oaths that would they stay
Together - and they kept their word, and did so till this day.
"And for many more" we all do cry and with a glass raised cheer:
"Billy and Mary Hurley"      --   (this poem's sponsored by Brains Beer).

Happy Fathers Day to Old Pa Hurley (and Reflections on Sweets)

Coconut Rolls

You know it's Father's Day when you open your Liquorice Allsorts (other brands are available) and there is a preponderance of Coconut Rolls!

Mmmmm. My favourites.

Sprogs

Luckily Mrs H loves the sprogs (jelly-ish ones) which I do not really like, and the youngest Hurley loves the plain liquorice ones which are pretty hit and miss for me.

So there we are. Like Jack Spratt and his wife, the 'plate' (as it were) shall be licked clean.

Happy Father's Day to all Dads. Especially my dad, Old Pa Hurley who is officially the best dad in the world. I would probably swap a skip load of Coconut Rolls for him. Now that's filial love!

Greater love hath no man than to give up his Coconut Rolls for his dad.

Luckily for me Old Pa Hurley seemed perfectly sated with a big box of Bassett's Wine Gums (other brands are available).

I did try and find a pic of a skip filled with sweets... but no joy. Just how much use is the internet?

Damn Those Disney Films - They Hastened Our Demise

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

It's called "pop music" m'lud

Last year 'The Hurley Family' won the quiz shield at our local school. Our name was the first one engraved on the shield. Perhaps the fame and adulation of our peers went to our collective heads... because this year we came second!

Oh the shame. The ignominy. The humiliation.

In our defence I must say that last year's questions were academic and some of the questions quite cryptic. This year there were a lot of multi-choice and a whole section on 'Disney Films', one of the children suggested it epitomised the dumbing-down of the education system.

C'est la guerre. Next year we'll have to swot up on 'popular culture' -- like High Court judges finding out what Top of the Pops is. New struggles, new vistas, new opportunities.

Congratulations! Baby Josef Daniel Carter is Born

To have a birthday on St David's Day?

Josef Daniel Carter arrived today to Rhys and Kate (Nee Hurley).

As if one Joe in the family wasn't enough? Still, the crying, tantrums, incontinence, regurgitated food, sleepless nights and endless dribbling are a small price to pay for that lovely smile, or so Old Ma Hurley tells us.

No doubt baby Josef will be almost as much of a handful!

Congratulations to all concerned.

Big Needle Paul? Quit Your Jibber Jabber Fool!

My nephew Paul took my great nephew (oh he's his son too I s'pose)  Alex for his first injections.

Here's the report that came back to me from my spy:

"Baby Alex had his first jabs today, Paul had to leave the room when Dr got needle out!!!!!~~~~~~~~~ so Dr gave Paul a sticker for being a brave boy!!!"

You wouldn't think such a 6-foot something strapping young man with a close friend professional rugby player would be such a wussie.

SAS Eddie says that severe action may need to be taken in a 'Black Hawk Down' stylee.

My spy - code name "Old Ma Hurley" - finished her encoded message with this:

"So many times he has passed out seeing injection needles. "

Imagine our heroes, in Elizabethan England, Ireland and Wales facing the 'rack and rope' simply for having a priest visit or attending a secret Mass, being afraid of a little needle... they wouldn't have lasted very long.

Where's Mr. T when you need him?

An Ode to Robert Parsons OBE

Uncle Rob

AN ODE TO ROBERT PARSONS OBE


There was on old(ish) man from Cyncoed
Who was kind to all he employed
With a fatherly smile
He'd walk the extra mile
Whilst remaining incredibly coy

At Christmas he'd put on a big do
The whole family gathered there too
He'd go after a BAFTA
Have us crying with laughter
As he dressed up in drag - woo hoo.

His New Year honour "winnings"
Came from most humble beginnings
On Cardiff's mean streets
Shoes with holes on his feet
He dreamt of nights on fine linen.

Twas back in the year '88
He decided it must be his fate
To help families in need
He must now succeed
(Tomorrow was always too late).

And so now he has his earthly reward
(It was passed and cleared by the board)
He's been helping so long
He deserves this fine gong
What next? Will they make him a Lord?

Uncle Rob Gets an Oboe? Knighthood for Old Pa Hurley?

It was a busy day today. After trying for the umpteenth time to unlock a phone from O2, who have been as helpful as a boil on the posterior, I decided to clear out the shed, which hadn't been done for months (after what seems like an eternity of work leading up to Christmas left me feeling like a piece of Alex Ferguson's match-time chewing gum). So with cardboard boxes flying hither and thither (and back to hither) pots of paint, bikes, scooters and all manner of chattels being cast to the Easterly biting wind, I didn't hear the dingaling as a text message was received deep in the deepest pocket (and I have deep pockets as my children will attest).

So when I read that my uncle Rob had got an oboe, I thought that was 'nice' but, with all due respect, it's a late(ish) age to be doing such things. After all, we're waiting for the results of our littlest one's level two violin exam. But you do hear of these "silver surfers" who start a new venture, such as learning Russian, taking up the drums, or bungee jumping.*

So it came as something of a relief (no offence to oboists one and all) to find out that uncle Rob hadn't taken up the oboe but had rather been given the O.B.E. in the Queen's New Years Honours List, for his services to charity.

So with one gong safely in the bag for the family, it's high time we started lobbying SA Brains Ltd for some worthy reward for Old Pa Hurley, after all over all the many years "Hollow Legs Hurley" has been quaffing ales at the Park Cons, he must have kept many hundreds of SA Brains employees in, erm, employ; not to mention keeping their extended families in the opulence they are accustomed to.

As one of the four 'sins that cry to heaven for vengeance' is to defraud a working man of a just wage, by handing over a bright shiny penny for every quart of ale and thus ensuring, indirectly, that the workers of SA Brains are given their full wage due, might we not suggest to the powers that be that Old Pa Hurley has carried out great works of charity, on an ongoing basis, for the material benefit of a good number of workingmen? Not to mention the many and great developments in the brewing process that must have occurred during his ever-so lengthy life, which I would humbly suggest have been spurred on in the full knowledge that their fruits would be tasted by the old venerable man of Roath.

So three cheers for 'Uncle Rob' Parsons** for his OBE (and a polite applause if he has taken up the oboe too) but let us begin campaigning here and now for the due recognition of Old Pa Hurley.

Arise Sir Old Pa Hurley! Knighted for his services to employment, research and development, charity and dog-walking.


===

*Old Ma Hurley may be taking notes...

**Robert Parsons was also the name of one of the first Jesuits to return to Elizabethan England on a Papal mission to bring the Sacraments to a suffering people, accompanying St Edmund Campion in 1580 who would be captured and horrifically martyred. Parsons went on to found seminaries across Spain and the first post-Reformation English Boys' Catholic School (in France). For a great book, which reads like a boys' own adventure, on the Jesuit missions read God's Secret Agents by Alice Hogge (I bought it cheaper on Amazon - Old Pa "10p doughnuts" Hurley would approve).

Congratulations to the Dingles

Good and bad news today.

Me dancing - badly

Good news is, little Alexander Joseph Dingle was born this afternoon to Paul and Janine.

They dismissed the idea of calling him Dan Glyn Dingle. Hmmm.

Bad news is that I'm now a Great Uncle! Well, I kind of suspected I was a great Uncle, but after turning 40 I am tempted to say this is another foot in the grave, but then I'd have two feet in the grave - and that is just creepy.

Still, commiserations where they are due, because if I'm feeling old, how are Old Ma and Old Pa Hurley feeling? Great Grandma and Great Grandpa! Zoiks!

And so the tail end of 2011 sees another member of the extended Hurley family peek his way into this world. I wonder what he'll be writing about circa 40 years from now? Blimey! If the good Lord sees fit to keep me on this earth that long I'll be a proper greybeard by then.

And so the generations roll on...

Are Old Pa Hurley and GK Chesterton Distant Cousins?

I always wondered was I was drawn to the great English Catholic writer GK Chesterton.

Was it his innate humour? His dry wit? His piercing observations? His loathing of pomposity? His love of the poor and the underdog? His defence of Catholic tradition? His absolutism against relativism? His love of country but loathing of jingoism? His love of politics but scepticism of politicians? His embrace of history but his emphasis on creating a better tomorrow?

Apparently not!

GKC? or Old Pa Hurley?

This you tube video of a GK Chesterton talk, pricking the bubble of Protestantism's central tenet of 'sola scriptura' (scripture alone) in his wonderful style has an artist's computerised impression of a (admittedly slimmer than usual) GKC.

Take a look at the image (reproduced at right) of GKC. Remind you of anyone?

Someone who totters down Albany Road of a Saturday night after righting the wrongs of the world in the bar? Someone who likes to get a 10p clearance bag of doughnuts to nibble as he meanders his way homeward, just as (GKC's chum) Hilaire Belloc wrote of the winding lanes of Sussex in his celebration of life, England, social history and so on, in his famous book The Four Men?

The GKC cartoon character even wears the kind of suit adorned by Old Pa Hurley that led to him getting free beer in one Cardiff hostelry when they assumed he was a plain-clothes policeman!

Little short of a Damascene Conversion (if one can mention such non-ecumenical things in the modern world without straying into hate crimes), I am now given to thinking (I know, it's worrying) that I must have first picked up a GKC tome because of some familial tie, some inner yearning to learn from the wisdom of my old dad.

I thank God (ditto re. ecumenism) that I don't believe in the many-armed elephantine deities and turbanated wotnots of the Hindoos, for with GKC passing away in 1936 and Old Pa Hurley being brought into this unsuspecting world in 1937, one might wonder at the possibility of reincarnation.

Now if I find out that GKC had a fondness for supping Brains SA*, then I think I'll have to phone up some clever genealogist in the morning.

---

* I am still awaiting my letter confirming sponsorship by Brains Brewery. One of their vans travels down our street with worrying regularity as if to coax more pennies from my padlocked coin purse (all very medieval).

A Tale of Two Hurleys: Different by Degrees

Congratulations to Rachel Hurley - my niece - on getting her degree at Aberystwyth University!

And me with barely a CSE (yes that's in old money) from the kindergarten of hard-knocks.

Well done Rachel - you are an inspiration to us all.

A real, live graduate in the Hurley family. Who'd have thunk it?

In the meantime, South Wales Police (the rozzers) have put out a warning about a man claiming a false graduation status who has been called the "Pa Boswell Con Man of Cardiff."

The police have warned pub landlords to be aware of a septuagenarian with a shock of white hair going by the pseudonym "Happy Joe" who claims to be a graduate from the Brains Beer Academy & Taste Centre. He has been seen in the Roath area demanding free beer from bar staff.

In a particularly disturbing episode he was last seen being ejected from The Claude public house after flashing an ID Card (actually an OAP bus pass) to one of the clientele and asking that he be allowed to "test" his pint on behalf of "the Brainsh Acado... Acerda... Occor... er Shpecial Shchool." When refused he swung a Tesco bag (believed to contain multiple discounted doughnuts) towards the customer, missing him by several feet and sending 'Happy Joe' spiralling to the floor, from whence he was collected by the door staff and ejected.

The police have issued this photo-fit of the suspect:

Gruffydd James: New Member of the Hurley Extended Family

Delivery of one Gruffydd James

Congratulations to Huw and Caroline on the fantastic news that little Gruffydd James has been born into the world.

OK they didn't choose Gareth, despite my extensive and expensive lobbying campaign (I suppose I'll have to release Uncle Peter now, he made for an "interesting" hostage...) but hey, it starts with G and that's more than I usually get!

So a big congrats to the Vale of Glamorgan branch of the family --yes, they really are that posh AND they still talk to us! ;-) Perhaps we'll get another visit to St Joseph's RC Church, if we can make it. It really is a beautiful, beautiful building and had a famous parishioner in Dr John Saunders Lewis the founder-leader of Plaid Cymru who converted to Catholicism (hurrah!). I recently spoke to a retired cleric whom Saunders Lewis helped teach to speak Welsh and was, for many years, the parish priest of St Joseph's and had nothing but the nicest things to say and the fondest memories of his old Penarth parish.

So hooray and hurrah for Huw and Caroline, my favourite cousin -- I know I say that to each of them, but don't tell them that ;-) And of course little Gruffydd James who is either sleeping soundly, gurgling a smile or trying out his new lungs with gusto as I type. Let's hope that Saint James, Santiago so beloved of the Spanish over many centuries, looks after his little namesake.

Anyway I must rush, I have to start my next lobbying campaign for a baby Gareth. Perhaps I should consider a mild form of bribery?

"You Lift Me Up!" - Hmmm. Weight and See

Are Lifts Getting a Sense of Humour?

Many comedians will use the phrase "a funny thing happened the other day..."

Well, in my case this is a truism. There we were, in the "big smoke" celebrating one of the little monkey's birthdays, even though it wasn't strictly his birthday.

You see, oh faithful reader and itinerant of the blogosphere, my children are quite intelligent and very wily. So the latest thing is to have their birthday on the day itself -- more often than not a week-day, with school etc. -- on which they will get cards, presents, the adulation of their peers and the teaching staff, a tea-party, cake with candles and suchlike.

They have twigged that one day, especially a school day, just isn't enough for them to squeeze in all the celebrations, treats, trips out, shopping expeditions and other things they can wangle, cajole and otherwise obtain on the back of a birthday. So in order to get the maximum fun and celebration out of their birthdays a new custom has sprung up: the "birthday weekend."

Oh the eldest one started it, being a cunning character and keen to eek out the full birthday potential, but the others quickly embraced this 'great' idea. Funnily enough we grown ups don't seem to get a birthday weekend, unless of course the children decide they want to go to the cinema, or out for a meal...

Besides how could we say no. It all seems so, well... Catholic! To celebrate a feast day and then continue the celebrations for some days afterwards (12 days of Christmas and all that). No dour presbyterianism for the Hurley family thank you very much!

And so we found ourselves in the big city, on the first "birthday weekend" of the year. Everyone was dropped off at the cinema and dad (yes the heroic figure of the hour, for 'twas I) went to park the car. I decided to park on an upper floor of the 'Outrageous City Centre Parking Charges PLC' car park, needing the exercise the stairs offered (ahead of the meal we would go for post-cinema).

After the cinema and a meal we all waddled our way back to the car park. Oh we didn't burp, belch or otherwise add to "climate change" (upwards or downwards or whichever fad the "experts" are promoting this week), but rest assured we were all most satisfied after our post-cinematic banquet. After filling the ticket machine with the national debt of a middling size African state, the little ones (ah! bless) voted to use the lift, despite the protestations of me and the boss. It being a "birthday weekend" how could we say no to the upturned pleading visages?

Yet the day was still to be mine. Carpe Diem (trans: every fish dies one day).

Off we tramped into the lift: a lift we have frequented (if one can frequent a lift without being some kind of wandering minstrel, vagabond, vagrant, ne'erdowell, or erm... tramp) many times before, marvelling at this feat of modern mechanics as it triumphantly hoists us upwards (or indeed downwards) to our preordained
destination, which we alight at with a "hoorah" as we toast the health of Messrs Faraday and Edison without whom, there can be no doubt, the marvel that is the modern lift (that's an 'elevator' for Americans, an 'uppy-downy thing' for Isle of Wighters), would not exist today.

Yet on this magnificent and glorious day, Providence was to lend a hand and deliver victory back to the Stairs Lobby ('mum' and I), yet in such an amusing way as not to leave the children feeling cheated of another ride on the mechanical marvel known as the lift (you may scoff, but it's cheaper than the London Eye).

You see, oh much maligned and put-upon reader of this illustrious and munificent blog, despite having used the lift before; even sharing it -- never let it be said that we are not charitable in extremis -- with strangers (how Biblical!) many times, on this particular joyous occasion on the closure of the doors (in that magical Star Trek way -- fill in your own sound effects), the lift refused to move.

There was no alarm, no movement, no nothing. Yes I know that is a double-negative and so means there had to be something. Back of the class Smarty Pants, because that is exactly what I mean. There was something, but the little lit symbol on the control panel (I know, very Captain Kirk again) wasn't immediately obvious to those of us present on this little lift adventure.

Yet there it was, when we checked to see if the little finger at the end of the little arm that belonged to the little person who had pleaded with such fervour to be allowed to press the button (as if her very life depended on the outcome of this particularly weighty parental decision, especially as this wasn't her 'birthday weekend') had indeed carried out her specified task and pressed the aforementioned very same button. There was a little yellow light shining for all the world to see (all the world within the lift anyway):

OVERLOADED.

Cue sinister music. Jaws may be too "moody." Psycho would be apt, yet most unsuitable. I'm thinking something along the lines of John Carpenter's The Fog, but feel free to insert your own favourite, as long as it's not Magic Roundabout (Dougal et al) or Rainbow (a la Zippy), which are sinister for their own occult reasons, best not entered into here, but highly unsuitable if we are to maintain an air of subtle horror at this outcome.

Had it been the particularly fine tapas food we had enjoyed at a Spanish-themed hostelry? Or had the children over-done things with their choice of vittles in the world-of-cine foyer?

The doors of the lift opened (serwish!) and we spilled out into the lobby area of the car park (the payment machines looking at us with a cocky glare that said defiantly "we've had your money already - losers") with bursts of laughter.

Either the lift was playing up (damn you Edison and Faraday, what use to us is your genius now?) or we weighed considerably more than the last time we used the lift - even with an extra pair of 'far from svelte' people.

So we climbed the stairs. Hoorah! The grown-ups had exerted their authority. Not really, but let me have my moment of victory. And the children didn't even mind, so happy were they in the "knowledge" that we must be morbidly obese as a family for the lift to refuse to budge on account of our combined weight.

As Del Boy might well intone, "everyone's a winner."

Happy Birthday Yatod!

We had an important occasion in the Hurley household last week.

A landmark Birthday.

One of the sprogs (Yatod) was celebrating a special birthday. Oh yes. The heady days of youth.

So Mrs H went out to get some goodies, including special balloons which we inflated with helium.

Ta Da! Happy 91st Yadot.

The Family is Growing

Congratulations to Paul and Janine on the fantastic news.

I will temporarily overlook the idea of being a great uncle! Me being 30 an all.

Just a gentle reminder: Gareth is a great name for a little boy. No pressure...