The problem with being the predictable, dependable person that everybody knows, that everybody expects to remain the same, and that everybody expects a smile and help from is that the dependable person doesn’t always feel the way he looks.

Sometimes he feels detached, and actually quite lonely.

You float like a quiet ship through people’s lives - sometimes doing good, sometimes doing harm - and little traces of you are left here and there. Others take a little here, a little there. They go on with their lives, and you meander off towards others.

Sometimes you hit a calm stretch though, and look back over your shoulder - wondering if you are doing the right thing - passing through and never stopping. Wondering what if.

I’m spending more time than ever in our study - both doing freelance work of an evening, and often working from home in the daytime. Carving a half sensible working environment out of our otherwise chaotic house has not been easy - but has been necessary to engender any kind of working atmosphere at all.

A room without paintings by three year olds with michelangelo aspirations. A room without half a jigsaw sprinkled across the floor. A room without cuddly toys stuffed in every corner.

If not for the book cases behind me, this room could almost be used to talk to clients. The book cases resemble an overhanging cliff - threatening an avalanche of all manner of miscellany at any moment. It could take rescuers days to dig survivors from the flash flood of Dora the Explorer detritous.

The main benefit of this room of course is that it has a door that shuts. It works in much the same magical manner as going for a walk. No children in direct ear-line means no noise, and that gives our brain half a chance to think about anything other than the war going on in front of our nose.

This multi-tasking business is hard.

In a battle to somehow simplify and also organise my chaotic life somewhat, I have been trying out a task list thingy on the internet called “Remember the Milk“. Lots of people swear by it (or at it), so in the grand tradition of trying everything and it’s dog out (which sounds perverted), I am doing so.

The real bonus for “RTM” as it’s officianados call it, is that there’s a todo list app on the iphone that will sync with it. Meaning I can carry my tasks around in my pocket.

By now you’re wondering why I don’t just use a notepad like every other bugger out there. Simple. I would forget to look in it. “Remember the Milk” will hassle the crap out of me when something is due - texting me, texting me again, going “ding”, and so on, until I do what I told myself I would. It will even tell me how many times I have postponed something.

The only other feature RTM has that I’m bothering with is the ability to create new tasks by email. It’s clever enough to figure out dates from scribbled notes in the email like “due: next tuesday”. Perfect.

Of course none of this task list stuff will really help me become more organised at all. I will just be more aware of what I have not done - and therefore more stressed than I would have been otherwise.

This morning our youngest snapped the eldest’s glasses in two. This caused an inevitable derailing of the entire day that had been planned for the children.

I found the youngest ignoring all calls for her name, fingers in her mouth, daydreaming in the lounge. She has this pose where she tips her toes to the ground, and waggles her heel back and forth. I grabbed her by the arm and marched her into the kitchen.

(pointing at glasses) “DID YOU DO THAT?”

No response.

“DID YOU BREAK [insert eldest's name] GLASSES ?”

No response.

“SHE CAN’T SEE NOW - AND NONE OF YOU CAN GO OUT TODAY NOW EITHER”

Cue waterworks.

Of course they are still going out, but not without an emergency trip to the opticians. Also their Gran, who took the day off work is now finding out that she may as well not have - because by the time they reach their house to set off on the planned day of fun, it’s going to be more like an hour or two of fun.

Here’s the dilemma…

Who do you tell off - the eldest for leaving her glasses where the youngest could get them, or the youngest for mangling her sister’s glasses ?

And low, I did massacre the theme of my personal blog, and pump it so full of sparkle that little girls swooned over it and wished they could help - with stickers on the monitor, and dressing up clothes to run back through the house shouting with glee.

You can tell I now live in a house of four women, can’t you.

If you write regularly, it is inevitable that you will run out of inspiration from time to time. A few movies have stayed with me over the years that leave me wanting to write.

In no particular order;

Finding Forrester

Dangerous Minds

Dead Poets Society

I’m currently waiting for a virtual server to finish processing something intensely complicated. While doing so I cannot fiddle with any other code, so am reduced to twiddling my thumbs. I am reminded of a Dilbert cartoon from many moons ago when the Boss caught Dilbert staring into space and asked what he was doing “waiting for my program to compile”, “well grimace or something then” (which he of course does).

So… I have been thinking about this blog. All blogs really. Wondering what is important. We fill the margins with so much utter crap - and nobody ever takes ANY notice of it.

Therefore this evening I may well do a bit of a re-design. A simplification. Get rid of the crap. Loose everything but the bare essentials.

Any thoughts? Ideas? Anybody want to join me in doing it to their blog too ?

Does the phrase “in fits and starts” exist outside of great britain? It describes the manner in which things happen sometimes at a trickle, and sometimes in abundance. At the moment this blog is “at a trickle”.

It’s not so much that I have nothing to write about - more that I have been balancing that which I think the world would find interesting, and found it not so.

Do you ever face these bouts of apparent apathy? When you do not write because you judge what you have to say uninteresting? Perhaps the uninteresting happenings are the most interesting to others - it would certainly explain microblogging (Twitter, Identica, Pownce, et al).

Perhaps if I spirited myself away to a coffee shop once a week the words might pour forth in more abundance?

If you have been wondering about my absence from the internet at large, wonder no longer. Last week we were on holiday at my parents in Cornwall, and this week our entire household has been struck by bad colds. I have been the last person to catch it, and am busy coping with huge temperatures as I type this.

The kids are all out in the garden, running around in skirts and t-shirts. I am sat inside, wrapped up in thick socks and a pullover, camped out in the living room.

Meanwhile the world is carrying on around me, and I’m being bitched at from all directions for not being there - not having done things - not being “as expected”. Half of it is my own fault - I thought “nobody needs to know I’m ill or busy - it’s not going to be of interest to them”. I’ve found myself thinking like this a lot recently.

I am up at 7 each morning usually, feeding and clothing three children, putting a roof over our family of five’s head each day - doing a full time job, and freelance work too from time to time. Along with my better half who takes most of the strain within the house, we do our best. We don’t play the victim - we deal with life’s hurdles without complaint.

It’s hard sometimes - reading blogs left right and centre that complain and whine about the lot life is throwing at their authors. Never a thought seems to be given to doing anything constructive - far better to write huge self absorbed essays.

All three of our children have been sick for the last few days - with various levels of fever, blocked noses, and sore throats - the product of a visit to a birthday party last weekend.

Our four year old was by far the worst afflicted - running huge temperatures, and waking in the night with nightmares and speculated hallucinations.

Monday night was broken by a little girl on the upstairs landing calling “Daddy” inbetween sucked breaths of air - I was of course on my way there before she called. Something told me the footsteps I heard from the other end of the house were not altogether right.

There were apparently spiders in her bed. After a thorough search in front of her, I kissed her forehead, tucked her in, and switched the lights off.

On Tuesday evening myself and Wendy were busy cleaning the kitchen when we heard screams. We both raced upstairs to find four year old and three year old screaming at the top of their voices in the dark.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a Lion!”

We switch on the lights and show them there is no lion, and both return to bed in immediate silence. The four year old is hot to touch.

Neither of them were awake at all on either occasion. It’s been the lesson of the last few days really - seeing an apparently awake child in front of you doesn’t mean they are awake at all.

Who knew that fever can conjure spiders, monsters and lions ?

The morning brought gentle questioning over cornflakes, and apparent non-recollection from the children. The eldest of course woke up during the screaming episode - and complained bitterly “why did they have to scream at something that they dreamed?” - I guess we’ll remind her when she has a nightmare.

I remember nightmares. I had them rarely, but I remember them clearly… all except the one I had as an adult a year or so ago. Wendy woke me in the middle of the night - I had been screaming with my mouth closed. Figure that one out. I had no memory of why I was screaming either.