Working for Auntie Beeb

A number of years ago, before I was married with kids and living in the U.K...I used to supplement my gigging income with some teaching for a local music authority. Basically I would travel around the county to various schools and teach Drum Kit, Snare Drum, Tympani, Percussion to small groups of kids or 1-2-1 lessons.

There was one particular school I visited which was a very well to do, private, fee paying school and was literally overflowing with amazing music gear for the students to explore.

I had a couple of group percussion ensembles and 6 individual students learning snare drum and drum kit, they were a really great bunch but there was one young lady (Lucy, 6yrs old) who just stood out, she had a gift with music and had an amazing sense of humour, way, way beyond her years..

I later found out her father was a comedian, which really came as no surprise at all

Anyway, one morning I arrived at school after a hard night of gigging and was resplendent in my sensible trousers and shirt (A dress code expected by this particular school) and was busy setting up my teaching room for the day when, in strolls Lucy with her little music bag and drumsticks under her arm.

Good morning Sir, she said offering me a polite little hand shake...Good morning Lucy, and how are you this morning? 

Oh, you know, same shit, different day! she quipped, stifling a laugh I asked her to set up her music stand for the lesson. As she unfolded the stand she was watching me intently...

Sir, do you work for the BBC? she asked with her head tilted to the side.

Yes Lucy, I do work for them on occasion, how did you guess that? I asked

I knew it! Came the reply...

You've got an earring, Dad says it must be a bloody term of employment for the BBC these days..

:   PS: What is Auntie? Older UK audiences used to refer to the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) as Auntie, said to originate from the older presenters (your Auntie) who presented kids TV in the 50-60s and from the term of phrase "Auntie Knows Best"

Pool Fart

We are very lucky to have had a pool installed in the garden last summer.
This new addition to our household has enabled Big and small to master the art of swimming very well. However, due to the harsh Swiss winter and a seemingly endless (and very autumnal) spring this year, I have yet to uncover the pool for the season.

This means that on the occasional Sunday morning Mrs S will decide that it's time for the entire clan to hit the local pool for a couple of hours....

And so this past Sunday we loaded up and headed off to the local baths.

Aside from the usual chaos and laughter from our hooligans in the communal changing room, all was well with Big and small swimming and diving and jumping and generally going nuts.....

After a while Big jumps out of the pool and runs up onto the raised platform for diving, at the top of voice he shouts for my attention....


Hey Pa! Listen to this....

Before I can reply, he let's rip a colossal fart that echoes around the bathing hall..

"Farts are even better with a wet bum!" he enthuses, as parents turn to look at me and his little brother howls with laughter.

And then of course small joins in " Yeah, and in the water you can make bubbles out your bum, look"........


I'm opening the garden pool asap, I don't care about the cold anymore......

The Motorhead

The wife and I take our youngest and most accident prone hooligan (small) to a kind of reiki therapy to balance him up,calm him down and keep his feet on the ground... 

It's a bit freaky-deaky and initially I was extremely sceptical as to wether paying a vast amount of $ for small to lay on a table and have a very kind lady do some magic on him.....I have no idea what happens, but just assume it's some magic thing...obvs! 

But, to my surprise, it really seems to work well for him...

So, we were there last week after his latest head related mishap, this involved him falling off his BMX and impaling himself by the forehead,on the brake lever, a very relaxing Sunday bike ride! 

Anyway,  whilst he's on the table having a kind of a head massage thing, he says to the therapist, ever so politely, 

"Frau Doodah, what is this music?" 


"This is meditation music Will, do you like it?" she replies 

"No it's rubbish, please turn it off, do you have any Motorhead?"


Proud :D

Lost in translation...

A hot summers afternoon and we're all in the Post Office, wrapping a parcel to send to Nana in England. 

As small and I fiddle around with Sellotape and brown paper, BIG is busy looking at books on the shelf and paying particular attention to an old lady at the counter. 

As we finish the parcel and head to the counter, the old lady, who has taken so much of BIGs attention, leaves and bids us "Good Afternoon" in Swiss German. 

Sensing the moment is right BIG pipes up "Wow Pa, that lady looks just like a pig, doesn't she!"

"Ohh, so schone kinder" (What beautiful children) The lady says to the innocent giggling faces of the boys 

Little did she know what BIG had just said, thank god no one in the village understands English!

I must say, he was right though, She did look like a pig ;)

The Vikings are coming!

A couple of years ago small was getting the hang of talking, generally mixing his sentences with half English and half German and a bit of nonsense (I can't even do that now!) It took a considerable amount of patience from him and us to understand what he was on about, or indeed what he wanted, for most of the time..

As with all kids, the boys learned their language skills from listening to Mum and Dad, in our house I always speak English and Mrs S. always Swiss German.

As a direct result of having me as one of their parents the boys have unfortunately picked up one or two...how shall we say...fruity words, which sometimes spice up the conversations at inopportune moments. Therefore I have had to take it upon myself to correct and administer warnings where appropriate in using "Grown-up words".....

Anyhow, around this time a favourite TV show for both the boys was Mike the Knight, a cartoon where a young fearless knight rides across the kingdom with his pals, vanquishing all manner of beasts and sometimes Vikings. Big and small took to dressing up as knights and would practice vanquishing teddy bears, cushions, ladybirds and unfortunate visitors to our house with the help of some foam swords and a dressing up set, sent over from Nana in England.

This particular afternoon the boys were vanquishing the cushions on the sofa and I was writing some music in my office keeping an eye and ear on proceedings. After a rather violent battle in which on of the cusions got utterly destroyed, small was stomping around the lounge in his little knights helmet and plastic chain mail, waving his sword and shouting at the top of his voice "Got you, You fuckin', you fuckin, Got you"

On hearing this, I leapt out of the office and dealt a swift bollocking to small, who retired to his room to have a cry...

Satisfied that I had dealt with the latest outburst of "language" I sat back down in the office as a very folorn Big entered, dragging his foam sword along the floor, with his helmet tucked under his arm, he looked at me and said "Pa, why did you shout at small for getting the vikings?"

Vikings? I said..

Yes, we pretended the cusions were vikings and we got them...

"Got you, you viking, you viking, got you"

Oh bugger.........

Could I feel any worse?

The Bum-Bum Dance

There is a particular type of "Dad Dance" known as the "Arse and Elbows" that has been fully embraced by our household, modified ever so slightly from the original whereby one would bend ones knees, stick out the arse and elbows and dance around like a chicken..

We have added an essential couple of ingredients and now sway the arse from left to right in a faux twerking style move whilst shouting "Bum-Bum-Bum, look at my Bum-Bum"
It's pretty slick, I'm sure you'll agree...Don't judge, just try it!

Anyway, this dance tends to materialise at shower time every evening with both BIG and small enthusiastically Bum-Bum Dancing around the house shouting the words at the top of their voice, God knows what the neighbours must think?.....

It's the Easter holidays over here and the little ones get 3 weeks holiday!
Yes, THREE WHOLE WEEKS...
To break it up a bit, that means a trip to the now regular school holiday Swim Course.

I hated swimming as a kid but learnt anyway and will swim if I have to....
Despite my reservations of swimming as a form of exercise or relaxation I do partake, weather permitting, as we are blessed over here with many, many beautiful clean, clear fresh water lakes, rivers, open-air pools and brooks (one of which runs through our garden) in which to spend the summer months splashing around or having BBQs nearby.....

And so it seemed only right that, surrounded by so much water and possessing zero fear of said water in any form, the boys should learn to swim well as soon as possible. Rather than risk the insanity of trying to teach them ourselves, the wife and I enrolled them in a swim school and I have to say that they have been brilliant, both passing their first two grades last year.

Day 3 of our latest Swim School and, as usual, I'm ushering two excited boys into the changing rooms and into swim gear before showering and hitting the pool. I get them changed eventually then shepard them into the shower area before a quick change for myself BUT this time, upon returning to the shower room... I find BIG doing just what he's supposed to, having a good rinse.. and in the empty space that should contain small I find am empty pair of swim shorts on the floor...

Just as the words "Oh Fuck, Noooo!" leave my mouth, I hear a loud, proud and hearty "Look at my Bum-Bum!" emanating poolside accompanied by the laughter of many, many adults &
children...

"He's doing the dance isn't he Pa?" says BIG

Nevermind the Bollocks....

Wednesday to Sunday touring hard with the band, 

Monday and Tuesday baking hard for Kindergarten!

After a particularly busy week touring the new album, staying up much too late, emptying the mini bar with the sound engineer and enjoying the uninterrupted luxury of my hotel suite and week of lay-ins in a super king-size bed without being woken by small people thrusting Lego up my nose. I returned home to my wife, boys and a pile of ingredients...

I should never have admitted to being good at making cakes, as now I seem to be emergency cake maker for every occasion!

This occasion happened to be a belated Birthday party for small at his Kindergarten, it seems to be the custom here to take cakes for all the little people to eat or rub into the carpet on a Birthday but, as usual, both the Mrs and I forgot to get anything for him to take...

So, here I am then, Road -worn, tired and hungover with a Jamie Oliver apron on, making fairy cakes that "Look like a cat dun a poo on 'em, Papa!"

Thanks son!