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by ben selway
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Deepest, deepest heart felt apologies for the recent slackness on the blogging front. That stubborn south Cornwall slag, Porthleven, has only just decided to draw a veil over its recent exhaustive run of swell and while I will miss that feeling of being part of the local community from spending everyday at the reef, it has given me a chance to put fingers to key board and write some shit.
I was actually hoping to use some of my free time last weekend to bring you all up to speed on current events, but since all of our friends decided to get pregnant at the same time my life has become awash with their babies. It means an average weekend for the Selway household is spent visiting and holding babies. These days, if I haven’t held at least 4 by close of play on Sunday, then something just isn’t right. However, last Saturday the missus and I enjoyed a rare moment together without screaming and crying reverberating around our ear drums. It was then I suppose I could’ve written something, but I didn’t. I figured it was a great opportunity to enjoy some quality time with the missus. She had a different agenda, though. She saw it as a golden opportunity to try and convince me to decorate the spare room - a job which was put on the back burner the moment I drop kneed my way to engagement, and all of the endless planning that goes hand in hand with organising the wedding.
I flatly refused and went running. I told her that I had put on weight and if I don’t do some exercise now, there’s no way I will fit into my expensive M&S wedding suit. After my escape, I returned and spent the entire afternoon editing and re-editing our invites, followed by the careful planning of our wedding playlist. The day after we visited all of our friends and their babies, one of which shat in its nappy when I held it. We also met some of our friends’ friends; two separate couples who both were pregnant and had already had babies themselves – both ultra keen to talk about child birth with my missus, who works as a midwife. After a massive OD of baby talk you’ll understand why I left later that evening with very little energy or enthusiasm to write a blog. I then went to bed that night and dreamt that the missus wanted me to turn our back room into a gym and when she handed me the paint brush I ran away. The next minute I found myself on a train sitting next to a lovely Chinese family with their newborn baby. The mother asked me if I could hold it and before I could refuse she thrust the screaming kid into my arms. The baby then promptly crapped out half digested broccoli all over my jeans and all I could think of was ‘great, just great, the missus is allergic to Brocoli. I’m gonna have to wash these myself.’
Ben
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