Should fish tank flinging become an Olympic event?

A short time before I met W, I was of the opinion that I really didn't need a mobile phone of any sort and despite being a gadget freak, I really didn't see the point. I'm not sure whether I classed it as a gadget or not. Still, one Sunday, after playing five-a-side football with some friends, I headed to the nearest town centre to pick one up - still in my football kit. I'm still not really sure what possessed me to do it there and then. I'm pretty sure I didn't hear any sniggering at the time.

Five or six mobile phones later and I still don't really use my most recent one that much despite being on a silly contract with Vodafone. It doesn't tend to ring that much really and when it does, 95% of the time it is W. So when the display pops up and it's not her, I'm slightly worried. Especially when it's a strange time.

Like 7:27am on Tuesday morning. It was my mother.

Mum tends to get in a bit of a pickle quite easily and wears her heart on her sleeve (so that's where I got it from - never really thought of that before). Still, she sounded calm so that relaxed me. Nevertheless, something had happened. One of my brothers (S) had had a bit of an accident and was in hospital. Despite my mum not sounding like a frog being cornered by a vindictive cat - reaffirming the fact that everything was okay, my heart started racing. It transpires that he had gotten home early as a change to make some dinner for his family and do a few other chores - one of which that was cleaning the fish tank.

Do you know where this is heading yet?

He had dropped the fish tank on his foot. He had no socks or slippers on and, it transpires later, had severed the tendon which is connected to his big toe, meaning he could not move it at all (ouch). According to his wife, who, incidentally first asked how the fish were, you could see the insides of his foot. Unfortunately/fortunately (delete where applicable), there are no pictures. Mum said he had stayed in hospital overnight and they were going to operate that very morning. I got a few more details from her and said I would try to contact S or his wife later. I rung and told W who, being a lot closer, would be able to volunteer to help out if need be. Despite trying, I really could not help but think about nothing else for the rest of the journey. See my previous blog post about how I excel at being a worry guts.

Work was quiet, which didn't help, but I managed to get through to lunchtime and I spoke to mum who said he was out of surgery so I gave him a call. He sounded groggy but mostly because he had nothing to drink or eat up to that point. He had a cast on and his wife was there. He was hideously bored. S plays cricket in the summer - to the point that we see very little of him. With the season about to kick off, he had been told by the consultant/surgeon that he wouldn't be able to play for months, which pretty much rules him out of the whole season, poor bloke. I could easily pick out the disappointment in his voice. He'd need time off of work too - something he can't afford as he's so busy.

I told him by hook or by crook I would come to visit him later that day. Fortunately, my boss was really good about it and let me head off an hour early and W would be waiting at the station with B (the child minder couldn't keep her late as she had to go out). I thought I would lend him my Playstation Portable as even though he'd just picked up a Wii, I couldn't see him playing it much with his foot in plaster. I stopped in a videogame shop and picked him up a couple of games I thought he would like (Tiger Woods and FIFA). I tend to be quite a charitable kind of guy - even more so when things like this happen and, for a second, I even contemplated lending him my Xbox 360. Fortunately I saw the error of my ways and slapped some sense into myself ; - )

We arrived at the hospital and I put two bars of gold bullion into the car-parking machine (don't get me started) to cover us for a couple of hours. Made what turned out to be a silly decision to carry B instead of pushing her in her pushchair. Yes, of course we got lost. If my arms didn't feel similar to Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic 4 before then, they certainly did when we finally got to the ward he was on. I'm thinking that if they ever need to shut down Hampton Court maze, there is a suitable replacement in this particular hospital.

On the way from pillar to post the fact hadn't escaped me that almost a year to the day, we were back at the hospital where B was born. Fate? Well, if you believe in such things. It was a nice visit - he seemed in good spirits. I passed over my PSP and some games, with a pack of Maltesers to sweeten the deal (deal, what deal? Exactly what am I getting out of this!!!) B was as good as gold and as charming as ever. We couldn't stay for a huge amount of time though as her bedtime was looming and she needed a lot of sleep to prepare for her birthday.

The emotions that tend to take over me when things like this happen never cease to amaze me. I get very protective of those I care about the most. I would tackle sharks (in true Batman, the television movie style of course) if it meant people I loved would be able to get away. It's quite possible that those feelings have really come to the surface even more since I became a father. It reaffirms to me that I know I am a good person and that makes me happy. It's certainly something that I need to remind myself when I'm not so sure. One thing is for sure though and that's that I will be doing my best to be an ace brother in the coming weeks and months because he's an ace brother too and us ace brothers - well, we gotta stick together.

Illness and the people that refuse to accept it

Yes, it has been a while.

I'm beginning to wonder if I should keep a count of how many of my blog posts start off like that. If I was a betting man, which I'm not, I get the feeling I could make some money out of it (*plots plans of world domination*).

There has been a reason for my lack of posting. Firstly, B has been ill. She got conjunctivitis and followed it up by a cough and a cold, which, being the caring, sharing baby she is, she duly gave to anyone who came within a few feet of her, myself and W included. Rumours of a restriction order being issued to prevent her from passing it on to anyone else by luring people close enough with her cuteness and then pouncing are unsubstantiated at this point in time. It wouldn't surprise me one little bit though.

Here, I have to be completely honest, I am a complete worry guts. Some people are just like that. I didn't deal with the illness thing brilliantly. I'm not entirely sure why though. I knew that she was basically fine as she still laughed, babbled and shot around the floor at a million miles an hour - just with snot flying everywhere. I just wanted her to get better and if there was a way for me to take it all away and give it to myself, I surely would have done that. Well, partly wish granted I guess as I felt completely rough before, during and after the Easter weekend. This meant that not only did I have to take time off of work to look after her (understandably, the child minder wouldn't take her), but I had to take a day off work myself and work the post Easter week feeling less than functional.

Now this is what frustrates me no end. I am on a six-month probation at the moment (more about this later). Any time I take off that is not part of my annual leave, I do not get paid for. I firmly believe that if you are ill you should not come to work - especially if you are 'lucky' enough to receive sick pay. It's something that I used to practice when I was a manager myself at my last company - I would actively send people home if they were under the weather (cue my old HR department slamming a blood red 'NOT MANAGEMENT MATERIAL' stamp on my personal file. I'm not suggesting for a second that if you wake up in the morning with a bit of a splutter that you should lunge for the phone and put your best croaky voice, having licked the carpet for added effect. Yet, I lost count of the amount of people in this office who were clearly ill and proceeded to charitably pass their germs around the office as if it were some sort of fundraising event. Oh for the want of something like duvet days!

Before people start pointing and jabbing at me with sharp sticks, calling me 'hypocrite', I believe my case is different as I couldn't afford to not be at work and the days over this six months where I have been at my worst, I have not come in. For someone that is, I believe, a reasonably healthy individual, I have been ill a little too much since I started my new job. There is a big part of me that fears that the 'D' word is rearing it's ugly head again and that's why I feel so run down. Of course, I'm sure the long days contribute to this and I'm fighting it all off with all the strength I can round up.

Still, my job hunt continues, even if, to date, nothing has come of it. To top it all off, my probation period has been extended for a further three months, due to the extra time it took to get my 'working head' on after being off for so long. I'm not bitter about it at all - I just felt a little down for half a day following the meeting with my Manager. I felt that I was letting W and B down.

It was a positive meeting however and my Manager said that if my performance currently was like that consistently over the whole six months, then I would have passed with flying colours. Trying to get positives out of what could be perceived as negative experiences is a good example of the fight I referred to a couple of paragraphs up.