Next week I was supposed to be media training some people from a company that makes personal organiser devices but it's not happening now because, er, hmm, they can't manage to synchronise all their dates. In fact they've changed the time and date four times in the last two weeks. What kind of advertisement is that for their wares? Plonkers.

Anyhow, chapter two of Gone is up and ready. Here's the link http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

Yes, eventually I'm starting to serialise my book, GONE.
For a week I'll post a chapter every day, just to get into the swing of it but I'll give you a break over the weekend (I'm sure I'd be a very generous employer too, and would probably even allow half an hour off after the birth of an offspring...).

Finally, do feel free to abuse me with your comments at any stage.
I mean, after all, they're only words, aren't they?

On the way back from a party on Sunday, Four said to me, "Dad, was I good at that party?"
"Well," I said, "you did try to drown Matthew in the ornamental pond and stuffing Sophie under the bed in the playroom was not a good idea, oh and yes there was that episode, brief though it was, with the balloon pump and Mrs Clayton's dog Chuffy - I doubt he'll be sitting down again in a hurry - and what you thought you were doing with the still lit candles from the pink birthday cake and the curtains in the playroom I don't know but hopefully by now they've disabled the smoke alarm and the firemen are back at the station."
"But dad! You know, I am only a boy!"
"Yes," I said, "that's for sure."

...then I'll begin.
As regular readers will recall, I've finished a book which was to be published end of January/February. Well, time is marching on and I know you are all sitting there humming quietly to yourselves, sitting on your hands, waiting for the big launch.
Surprise, surprise, I've been having some problems getting the printed copies out, the minutiae of which I will not bore you with because I know you are all busy folks, but what I've decided to do in the great tradition of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (he's that bloke wot wrote the Sherlock Holmes stories) is serialise the book, but instead of having you buy the London Illustrated News every week (which, you know, is difficult on account of the fact it went out of business about 1892) I've set up a website where I'll soon be posting chapters (oh I am a modern man, madam!) I'm thinking of posting a chapter a week but if you need it more regularly, as it were, I can do it twice a week - let's see how it goes...

Okay, I'll let you have the link to the Gone website in the next week, and hope you enjoy it.

...and the mystery of the missing cowboy is a story I've just written for Four because he's been pestering me to write something about, you know, stuff kids like - cowboys, pirates, lasers, space travel, time travel, guns, knives, magic and monsters (I've just given you a shortened list, I do have other things to do you know...).
Anyway, the good captain has one diamond eye which glints in the moonlight, and which can see for miles and miles, and a robot left arm which can turn you into yucky stuff before you can say 'unbelievable!' and he commands the pirate ship Eagle which is a 12-masted fusion powered Captain Cook-looking battleship cruising the universe, but equally at home on the water too when its crisp white sails unfurl and snap in the wind which powers it across the lake where a monster lives in the deep dark depths.
So, tonight was the first outing of the story which if it got the seal of approval would then grow into an epic of, well, epic proportions.
I had four pages of type and Two and Four both lay there quietly in the big bed as I read it to them.
At the end Four said, "Dad, you know that's cool." Then he looked at me and said, "but where are the pictures?"

I had to go and buy a paper shredder.
The thing is, in the shop I said to the girl (who, well, let's put it this way, had not paid attention in class - even in needlework, I suspect), "Have you a model which cuts out when people's fingers get in it?"
She looked at me and said slowly, "Er, you're meant to put, like, paper in it, yeah?"
"I know," I said, "but let's just suppose someone got too near to it and their fingers got in it."
"Yeah, but, like, that wouldn't happen, would it?"
"It might," I said calmly, thinking of course of Two and Four who will stick their fingers in anything that will accommodate their smallish digits.
"You wouldn't be, like, some kind of person who uses the shredder for, like, something unlike shredding of paper, would you, no?"
"Let me put it this way, " I said, warming to my new found vocation as some kind of fiend, "if someone got their fingers in one of these you'd know about it."
She looked at me, her eyes terrified and said nervously, "Jeez, you mean you'd come back here and tell me!"
I laughed then and said, "Have you got one or not."
"No," she said.
"Okay," I said, "give me one of the ones chops your fingers off when you put them in it."
She said, "Do you want it in chrome or black?"

Four was invited to two birthday parties on Saturday. I tell you, I've never seen so much quivering jelly.
The first was at the house of a French family. They are fine people (and you'll be pleased to hear I never mentioned Crecy, Agincourt, Trafalgar, Waterloo, etc) who by and large like to do without the electronic bits and pieces that our society so seems to crave. It was a relief to play games in the garden which mainly consisted of treasure hunts and water pistol fights, egg and spoon races and the piece de la resistance, Beat The Donkey (an English one, of course...).

So, the fridge was delivered. They had to take the four doors off before they could get it in the house and now it sits there, gleaming and large as a space rocket. I never thought I could get so excited about a piece of machinery, but really it is a beautiful piece of, well, metal.

Yesterday I took Two to Playgroup. One of the mothers there is about to have another one. She's a newsreader at one of the national TV channels here. She came and sat next to me and we got onto the subject of the new fridge (I know how to chat to women) and I told her I'd warned Four not to play with it.
"Yes, I told him there is a minute laser beam and when the fridge is touched by anyone under the height of five foot four it shoots out a beam of concentrated power (kids love phrases like that) and it seeks you out and gives you a jolt of electricity. Ever since I've told him that he's been weaving out of the way everytime he has to go past it. Amazing."
"Wow," said the newsreader, "what make is that? I have to get one of those. My kids are always getting in the fridge."
No, I didn't know what to say.

...yes, to the zoo.
Actually, I think I've used that headline and intro before but, you know, I do have two kids to look after and it's playing havoc with my creativity.
Talking of them, yes indeed it was zoo time today. Now, Two won't go on the cable car and Four isn't much interested in the animals, he'd rather just hare around and scream, which I'm sure doesn't do the iguanas and water buffalo much good, so all in all we just had a day out in a place with lots of cages and enclosures.

Australian journalism goes from strength to strength.
Here's the story in today's Sydney Morning Herald:
"Police treating as murder the death of a woman whose body was found buried in a backyard."

Well, I never. Surely it might have been an accident. While outside one evening sipping a chardonnay perhaps she tripped and banged her head and fell in the grave that had handily been dug earlier, in her back yard. Or maybe she decided to be buried at home and dug her own grave then lay down and covered herself in soil, just before she had that fateful heart attack.

I'm sure we will find out the whole story in due course and the intrepid reporters of Australia's premier news organisation will bring it to us first. I suspect the next headline will be: Woman who died was dead.

The other day Four said to me, "Dad, I don't want you to die."
I asked him why he was thinking that and he said, "You are very, very old."
I laughed and said, "Your Granddad is in his seventies and he's still going strong."
"Yes, but you are almost 70 too."
"Well, not for a while, actually quite a long while, besides, by the time I'm really old they'll probably have worked out how to let people live forever."
So Four said, "Oh."
The next day he came up to me and said, "Dad, have they found how to stop you dying yet?"
I said, "Er, no."
"They are taking rather a long time!"
"But these things take time, Four."
"Hmm, I hope they don't take too much longer. If they do they might have to make you rise from the dead, like Jesus did. Can they do that for you?"
"That," I said, "is another story."
"Oh," said Four. "Can you tell me all about God and Jesus and rising from the dead? You know, before you die, dad."

I don't often get days from hell, in fairness, but today was definitely a fire and brimstone special.
Of course it doesn't help that I volunteered to be Day Leader at the Playgroup on Fridays. This is a grand title for The One Who Holds The Key (which actually sounds a far grander title - I may insist they change it) and what it means is you have to be there to open up and let the mummies and kiddies in.
So, in turn this means I have to make Four's lunch and morning tea and get it packed (he goes to pre-school on Fridays) and also make Two's lunch so we can take it to playgroup so when he comes back I can just shovel him straight into bed for his afternoon nap. Nothing too dramatic in that, you might think, but I tell you it needs to run like an army operation (I don't mean like in Iraq, I mean one that works) because the kids have to be prised away from the TV and dressed and teeth brushed, and all that. Then I have to drop Four off which involves praying a parking spot is available and then get Two in the pushchair so he doesn't run away to more interesting climes, and sign Four in and chat with mothers.
Today, here was the thing...

• I'd forgotten to take the bread out of the freezer last night. I did remember when I half woke at 3.15am but couldn't rouse myself to go and reach into the freezer - it's like Canada in there.
• The 35C weather had gone overnight to be replaced by 22C, which is fine, but it was pouring with rain.
• Two would not get dressed.
• Four would not get dressed.
• We all fought over a toothbrush and whose mouth it would go into.
• Four whined, "why aren't I going to big school?"
• We couldn't find a parking space.
• We had to walk 14 miles  (or so it seemed) in the rain.
• We were late.
• I had to walk back to the car with Two in the rain - Two had an umbrella, mine was left in the house.
• I looked like I was in The Wet T-Shirt Competition.
• When I got to Playgroup mums were waiting.
• I couldn't work out where the light switches were.
• Two slipped over in a puddle outside.
• It was my turn to bring cakes - which I hadn't.
• I volunteered to take the rubbish home.
• The bag split in the Bentley.
• I was thinking, at least I've got Coopers beer in the fridge.
• I looked.
• I hadn't.