Out of the mouths of babes

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This morning, Holly (2) was flicking through one of my guitar mags…

Holly: “Holly looking at guitars for Daddy.”
Me: “Are you going to buy me a new guitar, then?”
Holly: “Yes.”
Jo: “I think Daddy’s got enough…”
Holly: “No, Mummy – more!”

I don’t think anything else needs to be said…

It’s D-Day…

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I can’t concentrate on anything at the moment.

I’ve recovered fully from the excesses of the Festive Season ™ and put away the decorations for another year – Christmas is out of my system for at least another 11 months. So, what’s eating me?
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4 more weeks to go…

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No, I’ve not miscalculated Christmas.

And no, it’s not my countdown to the January Sales (which seem to have started already in some places). And definitely no, it’s not the amount of time left until Easter Eggs appear in my local Tesco.

In 4 weeks, or thereabouts, I will be a *real* Dad – newborn baby, estate car, shed, rusty tin of nails and even a stick *specifically* for stirring paint… yup, I’ll have the lot. OK, I admit it; I’m only missing the first one at the moment.

Before I know it I’ll be knee-deep in dirty nappies; midnight feeds will mean bottles for baby (not kebabs for me) and soon after I’ll be complaining about the youth of today, their lack of taste in music and declining standards in education. My soapbox will be a permanent fixture in the lounge (sorry dearest).

And do you know what’s the best part? I can’t wait. Seriously.

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