Yes, okay, I admit it... I am a slacker. Slaco, slacas, slacat, as the Romans would undoubtedly have said if they'd neglected their blogs for a couple of weeks. Well, stuff it. I've been researching dead people (said in a terrified-Haley-Joel-Osment voice) and it is verily time-consuming, and plus also I've been sick with the rattly bronchial nastiness, so you see I have good excuses! Expression of wounded innocence!

As this weekend saw The Missus' parents' birthdays (yes, both of them), the entire family descended upon them on Saturday and proceeded to empty their larder of comestible goods. Sarah (of course) had first claim on the Marmite jar, and then hogged it jealously for the rest of the weekend, insisting doggedly "all mine" despite my pathetic attempts to distract her for toast-spreading purposes ("Look, Sarah, a big elephant! Over there!" "No elfunt. All mine." Vexatious child). And then there was The Dinner, which was only a touch less posh than black-tie and needed a small army of waiters to cater for the hungry horde invading their genteel little bistro. We gorged ourselves on rather a lot of fine and extortionately expensive food. Glasses were raised in toasty cheerfulness. A lot of wine flowed, much of it into people's mouths. A good time was had by all, apart from me, as I tripped over a small ceramic lion in the car park and got my face closely acquainted with the gravel, which didn't help the subsequent hangover much.

Still, a noseful of small pebbles does wonders for the sinuses. Always look on the bright side.

Is the attraction of the shiny new genealogy project detracting from more regular, established hobbies? Such as, e.g., blogging?

You bet your sweet arse it is. I've done very little else with my spare time since starting the family tree.

I wonder if that will, in turn, become "regular" and be supplanted by something else bright and shiny? Probably. I'm such a project magpie.

The family tree/genealogical database project has proven compelling to an unexpected degree, now that I've actually started work on it. Much of my mental energy (and a fair portion of my lunchtimes) has gone into a design for the database, and since I am a picky bastard, I'm building it from the ground up rather than using existing genealogical software. Obviously this means it won't be as flashy as some of the stuff you see out there on the web (because my coding skills are still firmly on the nursery slopes), but it will be mine, all mine, and that's really pretty satisfying. At the moment I'm trying to get to grips with HTTP authentication and security, which quite frankly is a pain in the back end. But then again, it all serves to gain knowledge, which is my second reason for existence and makes me useful at pub quizzes. (The first being, of course, "to eat or drink at least one of everything", but then you knew that already, right?)

Today I've finally started a new pet project, which I've been meaning to do for some time now: I'm going to set up a website for my family tree. Someone at the bris on Sunday mentioned that their sister had done something similar, and that the whole family had then become very involved with it, that it had brought them closer together, that they now stayed in contact more frequently, and so on. I've had the idea for a while now, but that anecdote has really spurred me on; I have a very large family, dispersed over most of the world, so it sounds like a great way of keeping in touch with everybody.

Much of the research legwork has already been done - my late second cousin was our unofficial family chronicler, and he produced a pretty detailed family tree a few years ago, which goes back as far as the late 18th century for some family branches, so that would obviously be a great jumping-off point. Unfortunately, he passed away last year, and no-one else seems to want to volunteer for the job, so I thought, what the hell, it's better than this 'work' stuff the Pointy-Haired Ones keep suggesting I should do. The idea of the website is that once the existing data is there, it could then become an evolving document, as people get married, have kids, move house, etc. That's the plan, anyway; has anyone else done something like this, or have a family member who has? If so, I'd love to hear your opinions on how effective and/or useful it is...

I attended a bris yesterday morning. A family friend and his wife have just had a baby boy, and I (lucky fellow that I am) was invited along to witness the happy(?) event. For the uninitiated, a bris is the Jewish ceremony where newborn baby boys are ritually circumcised. Typically it takes place eight days after the birth, although officially it can be done at any age after that. Don't worry about the baby; the chap who actually does the snippage has proper medical qualifications, of course, so it's a sterile operation and the wee chap is in no danger. It's the guests you have to worry about.

Two things to remember when attending a bris: (a) don't eat anything immediately beforehand, especially if you're squeamish or of a nervous disposition; and (b) don't make jokes to the baby's mum about being at a loose end, or how the ceremonial wine was a snip at the price, or about selling the leftovers to Burger King to make onion rings. No, really, don't.

There is a lot of blood. They don't tell you this in advance.

There were no actual faintings, fortunately, although the little fella's grandfather had to pop out for a few minutes. The snippee himself was a model of infantile decorum, of course, letting out a few short wails at the time, but subsequently embarrassing all the fainthearted adults by immediately releasing an enormous and malodorous fart and then being completely relaxed (or asleep) for the rest of the day. Showoff.

This morning I have been mostly looking after a bouncy and full-of-beans child, who decided at 5:30am that bed was not the place to be, and indicated that I should follow her extremely clever example by screaming "DADDYDADDYDADDYDADDY" until I got up. 18 months is clearly the age of persistence, as this little exercise took twenty minutes. Having realised the extent of my knackeredness she then went all solicitous (too little too late). The following conversation went like this:

Sarah: Daddy tired?
Me: Yes.
Sarah: Aww, poor daddy.
Me: Aargh.
Sarah: Mummy sleeping.
Me: Yes, rub it in, why don't you?
Sarah: Toys! Playing! Pleeeease?
Me: Yeah, okay, okay.
Sarah (pointing to new toy cup-and-saucer set): Sarah's coffee!
Me: Ooh, good idea, Sarah.
Sarah (putting head on one side): Daddy like some?
Me: Yes, please.
Sarah: (fetches purple plastic teacup and proceeds to pour imaginary coffee into it) There!
Me: Thankyou.
Sarah (suddenly snatching cup from my twitching fingers): No! Sarah's coffee! Hahahahaha!! (runs away)

So I'm sitting like a heap of wet cabbage on the sofa, unable even to get a cup of invisible decaf, and then of course she starts on her other favourite new toy. This is a small dustpan-and-brush set, which is designed so that the wee'uns can have fun "helping" their parents to tidy up, but which Sarah, being the energetic and enthusiastic child she is, wields like a demented and gleeful Valkyrie harvesting the souls of the fallen. It's like watching a very small, unusually vicious game of ice hockey, where the particles of dust (and items of furniture, and my shins) are all fighting to get out the way of the Swinging Cleaning Implements of Doom. It's tremendous fun, apparently, although I assure you that cleaning up the destruction afterwards isn't. Somehow Sarah always manages to avoid that part.

Well, we've had an eventful couple of weeks at the Casa de Pasta. Many relatives have passed through its hallowed portals, and copious amounts of food and drink have done the same, often in both directions.

Young Sarah, having experienced (with some initial bewilderment but rapidly increasing glee) an average adult-to-child ratio of 15:1 for most of the last two weeks, has turned into a little tyrant, since she's got used to having her every whim pandered to by hordes of admiring grown-ups. She now issues commands in peremptory tones, from her throne atop the sofa, with an expression of ethereal benevolence which we nevertheless know can turn to scowling menace in mere seconds, followed swiftly by red-faced screaming at a truly eardrum-buggering volume. We can't carry out her demands anyway, or at least carry them out as quickly as she would like, as it's now impossible to navigate our house without special equipment, due to the Herculean piles of toys left scattered around the floor by the Little Generalissima herself. We think this might be deliberate.

I was fairly well-behaved in the self-stuffing department until New Year's Eve, during which few hours I ate enough mince pies to explode twenty people, and drank luscious single-malt whisky until I was unable to pronounce the word "luscious" without falling over. Neither big nor clever, but certainly enjoyable (until the following morning, of course).

I'm sure a few photos might surface at some point, although they will most definitely not include the sight of yours truly staggering about in an Indiana Jones costume, with cocktail umbrellas protruding from my ears, and attempting to dance to "Tainted Love". Not pretty.