All that comes with it

So we’ve seen what team UK can do, now it’s the turn of team USA. If you don’t know what I’m talking about see yesterday’s post.

Name the TV show to go with the following theme tunes.

As I said before, there is a way to cheat on this quiz (not your iTunes version Phil, I fixed that). If you do know how to cheat, please don’t as it spoils the fun for everyone. We may be at war, but we still have to play fair.

These are all theme tunes from US TV shows. Well, one of them is from Canada, but let’s face it it’s the same thing really.

Tune 1

Tune 2

Tune 3

Tune 4

Tune 5

Tune 6

Tune 7

Tune 8

Tune 9

I have always liked VegasDad. He is balder than me, and that is a trait I approve of in a man. He’s also a great dad, an entertaining writer, and an all round good egg. But the baldness thing, that’s the deal clincher.

And now I have yet another reason to hold him in high esteem. He has very generously presented me with an award.

Now I know what you are thinking, you’re thinking: “How come I haven’t seen that rather impressive piece of blog bling anywhere else on the net?”. Well, that’s because I’m the first one to receive it. Oh yes, I’m in at the ground floor and the only way is up baby.

To quote VegasDad:

As you can see, Dan is definitely a man of distinction. In chronicling his quest, with humor I might add, he’s taught us all a valuable lesson in human strength and kindness.

I’m not too sure about that. In fact I think that if I’ve taught anyone anything it’s been that even a fat man can walk a long way if he’s threatened with international humiliation if he gives up.

Still, thank you VegasDad. You are very kind.

If there are any new readers here who have no idea what’s going on, then you can find out more by going here:

• An Announcement
• An Appeal

And then working your way through this pile of drivel:

• Day One
• Day Two
• Day Three
• Day Four
• Day Five
• Day Six

For everyone else: Don’t worry, I’m not going to pester you for money again (well, maybe a little bit). I just wanted to let you know how the fundraising has been going.

The current total raised now stands at a staggering £5577 ($9875). And to think that in the early days I was hopeful that the ten of us would raise about £100 each.

£5577. That’s just over £70 a mile. Or £1.32 for every cheap knob joke we made at each other’s expense.

And that’s not the final total either. Donations are still trickling in, and there are still a few side projects in the works. There are even one or two of the walkers who have yet to hand over the sponsorship money they’ve collected. I’d name and shame them, but it wouldn’t do any good because none of the buggers bother to read this blog. And anyway, their retisence in handing over the dough is purely a logistical thing. I simply haven’t run into them yet.

All in all I am fairly confident that the final total is going to come in at just over £6000.

Isn’t that incredible. Six thousand pounds.

VegasDad is wrong. It isn’t me, or even my fellow walkers, who should be praised. It’s everyone that contributed to that magnificent total.

When someone comes round rattling the donation tin it’s all too easy to just slip them 50p to make them go away. But everyone was so much more generous than that. People gave £5, £10, £20. People even gave £50, £100 and sometimes even more. These are hard times, yet people still dug deep and for that I will be forever grateful. And of course there is still plenty of time to donate if you haven’t already.

So what next? Well the other day I was poking round the internet and came across a forum where people were talking about walking the Dales Way none stop, without even sleeping. They said that if you maintained a steady enough pace of around 3mph you could get it done in around 30 hours. Here’s an extract:

24 hours would be extremely difficult in my opinion for the Dales Way, my best is 29.25 hours. I have never finished it without extremely bad deep heels blisters, losing all the entire heel thich skin on three separate occasions, because the faster you walk the more the heat build up and 3 mile per hour is very fast for such a distance. The problem of blisters doesnt usually kick in untill around the 40 mile mark, but after that you know about it. You also need a very poisitive mental attitude, because it is ging to hurt like you have never hurt before, and it goes on and on and on.

So perhaps we could have a bash at that next year eh?

Or perhaps not. In fact I think I’d rather gnaw off my own arm. I can’t imagine what unearthly impulse would prompt someone to do something like that; but I can tell you this, they aren’t right in the bloody head.

So I don’t know if I’ll be doing anything next year for the charity. I did have vague ideas of buying a van, painting it to look like the one from the A-Team, and then driving to Moscow – but I was quickly shouted down as being an idiot.

To be honest I suspect I won’t be organising any grand money raising schemes for a little while. There’s only so many times you can badger people for donations. I am intending stay involved with the Joseph Salmon Trust however, and help out where I can.

And hopefully all the guys who did the walk, along with anyone else who wants to join us, will be venturing out for a couple of weekend reunion walks between now and next autumn. We built up a real camaradarie over those six days, and I would be honoured to once again tramp the fields in their company.

Unless it’s raining of course. If it’s raining then I’ll give it a miss and just sit inside watching TV and eating Doritos.

So Amy’s first day at school went very well. She played in the water, found a dead butterfly in the playground, and made cherry buns out of play-doh.

It also appears that the bittersweet realization that Amy is growing up had obviously not been hammered hard enough into our conciseness quite yet. Why else would fate land us another body blow if not to reinforce the significance of today.

This evening as Amy was brushing her teeth she noticed a little wobble. A loose tooth. Probing it with her finger she discovered that she could flap it around like a T-shirt on a washing line. This caused Kerry to shriek in horror and run from the room completely freaked out.

My wife has a phobia of loose teeth. Who knew.

We weren’t expecting this. And more to the point we hadn’t prepared Amy for this. She became very upset, telling us, quite reasonably, that she didn’t want new teeth because she was quite happy with the ones she has now.

She also got very worried about the tooth fairy. For some reason Amy is convinced that she doesn’t sleep at night - she is adamant that she just goes to bed and waits there until morning. A theory that is very difficult for us to disprove: “Hey Amy wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE… Ah, ok. Hello. Just wanted to tell you that you were sleeping”.

So if she doesn’t sleep, how is the tooth fairy going to leave her money under the pillow? We finally settled on writing a letter to the tooth fairy and asking her to leave the cash downstairs instead. Or even better, perhaps she could set up some sort of direct debit system.

Is it me, or does four (ok, nearly five) years old seems a little early to start loosing baby teeth to you? We certainly hadn’t started thinking of it as an imminent possibility. Isn’t there some way that we can slow down this growing up business? Things are moving too fast damnit!

Anyone got a slow motion button or something?

My wife and my sister are conspiring to make me feel miserable.

My sister, who like myself works for the NHS, has just got a new job. I’m not sure what her exact job title and description is, but as far as I can make out it involves going round and telling people to eat their greens because it’s good for them. Oh, and stop smoking because it causes cancer you know.

Basically she’s being paid to nag and tell people stuff they already know.

I on the other hand work as part of a team who provides rapid crisis response to people who are acutely psychotic or suicidal. It is my responsibility to dictate who needs to be in hospital and who doesn’t. Every day I walk a fine line between pressure to keep the hospitals as empty as possible and pressure to never make a mistake. If someone I have assessed kills either themselves or someone else I am held accountable by my managers, by my professional body, and by the coroners court. But more than that I have the death of another human being on my conscience.

Guess who gets paid more, me or my sister?

I know it’s not her fault. I know it’s the system wot’s to blame. But that hasn’t stopped me grumbling loudly about it. I used to complain loudly even back when she was getting paid the same as me; but now that she’s on a higher salary scale I imagine she’s going to break into a sprint every time she sees me coming.

I guess it’s probably just bad karma coming back to bite me for all those times I posted up extracts from her secret diary on the boy’s toilet wall at high school.

Come to think of it my brother earns more than me too. And all he does is tell people to turn off their lightbulbs and cycle to work.

Well bollocks to the lot of ‘em, that’s what I say. I still have more letters after my name than them, no matter how much they protest to the contrary. And I’m still the big brother, that gives me automatic bullying rights. Next time I see either of them I’m very tempted to sit on their chest and force them to smell my farts. That’ll teach them.

And as for Kerry. Well, guess what we went out and bought her today for her upcoming birthday:

Yep, it’s an iPhone. And whilst I’m still in my official mourning period for my iTouch too. I’m not going to punish her too though. She lives with me and so is forced to smell my farts almost hourly by default. The poor woman’s suffered enough already.

Kerry, Amy, Evan and I went to the Royal Armories Museum on Monday. I’ve said it before, but I place the Royal Armories firmly in the number one spot of my Top Ten Museums of All Time list.

This in comparison to our regions other famous museum, the Bronte Parsonage in Howarth, which has been winner of my Most Boring Museum in the World Award for seven years in a row. Six pounds admission for the privilege of looking round a load of dusty old furniture? Six pounds?! I don’t care if the author of Withering Shites did sit in it, a wooden chair is just a wooden chair in my book. Bah, humbug.

But I digress. The reason we went to the Royal Armories on Monday was to see the Weta Workshop exhibition. As any geek worth their salt will tell you, Weta are the people who are responsible for creating all the weapons, armour, and models for the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy. Not only that but they did the props for the Chronicles of Narnia, Hellboy, and King Kong movies too.

It’s a little known fact, but Kerry is probably a bigger geek than me. And that’s really saying something, I even have a certificate of geekery from the Association of Geeks, Nerds, and Dweebs and everything. She was as excited about seeing Anduril, Glamdring, and Sting as I was, and we’ve been trying to find time to go along for about a month now. Plus I’ve been looking forward to taunting Lee with the knowledge that I’ve seen Hellboy’s gun, The Samaritan, and he hasn’t. I’m an evil man at heart.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we didn’t get to see the Weta Exhibition after all. We did get to see the queue for it however, and we decided that standing in it for half an hour with two kids was probably not a good idea. And anyway, there was a very real chance that they would find the more monstrous mannequins pretty terrifying, and we’d have go through the exhibition at a sprint. We’ve not admitted defeat though, and have decided to go back next Friday as we both have a day off and the kids will be elsewhere.

If you told me seven years ago that I’d postpone seeing real live props from the Lord of the Rings films due to vague concerns that my kids wouldn’t enjoy it I’d have laughed in your face. It’s staggering how much parenthood changes you. I’ve even stopped flicking my bogies at people

The day wasn’t wasted however. We did get to see a few props from the film which were scattered about the museum. For example, here is a Uruk-hai warrior keeping a fearsome eye on the kids craft table:

“Spill the glitter and I’ll eat you”

Also going on was a rather elaborate jousting tournament. Unlike previous performances at the Armories that we’ve attended this involved people really hitting each other. The lances were designed to splinter on impact, but still there was a slight risk of an impaling, which always makes things a little more interesting.

A guy in black armor won in the end, which went against everything that I’ve learnt in Saturday morning cartoons. It was only the semi final though, so I’m sure the guy on the white horse won in the end.

All in all it was a pretty busy day. And it didn’t end there as it was straight back to Huddersfield to welcome my brother Sam back into the country from his recent adventures in Australia. Talking to him about his experiences living over there made me hanker for the antipodean life myself. But that’s probably a subject for another blog.

Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t get a chance to see Hellboy’s gun if I lived in Australia would I Lee?