Well, I'm back at work, after a welcome (?) period of nappy-changing; the British parenting regulations have finally decided to catch up with the rest of the 21st century, so I've had two weeks' paternity leave, as opposed to the big fat zilch to which I'd have been entitled had Sarah been born in March. Go figure.

Having said the aforesaid, nappy-changing has recently become somewhat less charming an activity. This is because of what has become known as the Ballistic Poo Incident. I will not go into unnecessary detail, in order to spare you a quick trip to the porcelain; suffice to say that the end products included a large heap of bedclothes being run through the washing machine on "Heavy Soil", no less than four used nappy sacks, two thoroughly harrassed and noticeably-less-than-aromatic parents, one small and infuriatingly smug baby, and a forlorn wad of cotton wool adorning the opposite wall. A picture does not, I feel, need to be drawn.

Delighted to see that the transfer of this blog to the new version of Blogger has fixed the almighty cockup that was my archives. I'm suffering a crisis of confidence about the pluralisation in that last sentence, but I shall be brazen and unapologetic about it, as is my wont.

The wee one is making much noise. Much noise. I'm wearing industrial-strength earplugs, and have barricaded the door of the study with bubble wrap and cotton wool. There are as-yet-undiscovered tribes in the foggy highlands of Papua New Guinea, who at this very moment are cocking a surprised ear toward the heavens and exclaiming, Wah! A great noise in the West, as of the thunder god Hichapu being scolded by his wife. I shall have to inform them (by carrier pigeon, or possibly turtle) that all is well.

On the plus side, the frequency of the fluorescent orange by-products is decreasing...

Little Sarah has been, in proper baby fashion, feeding at 30-minute intervals and either snoring, crying or producing voluminous quantities of bright orange goo from her nether regions in the interim. I am told that this is normal, and as a first-time father, who am I to dispute the wisdom of the experts? All I know is that she gets this little smug expression on her face every time she delivers one of her smelly presents, as if to say, it's not me who's gonna have to clean this one up, is it? And you just know that the minute you get the new nappy on, it'll be time for the Second Coming, as we like to call it, so you have to start all over again.

I'm having the time of my life.

This is Sarah. Say hello, Sarah.

Not gone... just in limbo. Exciting times imminent. Forecast is for rain, with possible thunderstorms, but followed by plenty of sunshine afterwards. Tune in next week for your local weather update.

I will be posting only sporadically, if at all, for the next week or two, as there is some personal stuff occurring which needs more or less all of my attention. Fear not, gentle readers, it is good stuff rather than bad. More news upon my return. Sleep tight, folks.