Prince consorting with commies shocker!

So Prince Harry's being withdrawn from Afghanistan, after last night's leak that he was there on the front line. Top brass in the army, I heard on the Radio 4 News, took this decision after considering "the implications for the prince and his comrades."

The prince and his comrades? Excuse me? Princes don't have "comrades", surely. Not after what Comrade Lenin's comrades did to Harry's late relative and last Tsar of the Russias, Nicholas II.

Harry's apparently referred to his active service as "mucking in with the lads". This use of language I think we can consider just about acceptable. Embarrassingly hearty, yes, redolent of condescension, certainly. But the prince is young. Moreover, royalty-hating communists don't call each other "lads". At least not when they're on duty, as it were.

And while Harry, being royal, is certainly some sort of national institution, he's not the same sort as the BBC. Paradoxically, the BBC is more of a guardian of the Queen's English than her own grandson; he doesn't write the news for a living, though he may occasionally be quoted in it. So get it together, Auntie Beeb.

Though, to be fair, I can't see anyone referring to soldiers as "colleagues"...

Wisdom of the Shagwells

One thing that's always nice to have is another way to justify watching Austin Powers films. Here's one to add to the list. It's a quotation from the second one, The Spy Who Shagged Me, which is possibly my favourite of the three. After much capering around and travelling through time chasing Dr Evil so Austin can get his mojo back, Felicity Shagwell says

"You can look for your mojo, but maybe what you were looking for was always there inside."

Wise words indeed.

Feet of Carbon - begone!

Here's a cool thingy - go here and discover what your own personal carbon footprint is. It's brought to you courtesy of global trees.

The great thing about this site is that it gives you a way actually to do something about it. Find out your carbon footprint, and donate accordingly to have them plant the trees you need. It's cheap, because they're doing the decent thing and working as a charity instead of turning a fat profit from global warming. 95% of your donation goes directly into offsetting your carbon.

I generate 39 trees worth (and I don't have a car or do that much flying around). How about you?

Local offices for local MPs!

How MPs deal with their financial matters and running their offices was in the news today, and something grabbed me. Some member of the government was explaining that currently MPs run their own offices, employ their own staff etc. As he put it, it's rather like they run them like individual small businesses. He felt that if the running of MPs' offices were instead centralised, this would achieve the professionalism and efficiency that people expect from modern Human Resources practices.

It seems to me that he completely misunderstands small businesses. (Or perhaps he misunderstands big businesses.) Small businesses are fantastic. They're run on passion and commitment and individuality and personality. People like to interact with them. They feel intimate, in contrast to the perceived soullessness of monolithic big businesses. They're in touch with their locality - they're a part of it.

Isn't that what the constituency office of a politician - someone who's been elected by the community to represent and serve it - should be like?

Whose turn is it anyway?

Just been watching Postcards From The Edge, and a line jumped out at me. Meryl Streep plays an actress struggling with her career, drugs, and her mother (played by Shirley McLaine), who has a very successful showbiz career of her own behind her. No pressure, right? It's from the semi-autobiographical book by Carrie Fisher, whose mother of course was actress Debbie Reynolds.

The line that got me was when McLaine's character says, "I guess I'm jealous that it's your turn now." I'm no movie star, and neither is Fred yet, but nevertheless that sounded pretty close to home. As parents we have to hand on the baton to our kids - maybe you could say there's a whole host of batons. The agony and the ecstasy of parenting. I find the difficult bits of being a dad are so often about that passing on of some crumb of responsibility. I really want him to have it, but what if he's not ready? Will he drop it? Will he hurt himself? What will everyone think of me if it all goes wrong? What will I think of me?

Oh, and let's not forget all my stuff about what he ought to do with his opportunities. That's where the jealousy kicks in. I mean, if he's getting all these chances to open things up in his life, isn't there a parallel process of possibilities shutting down for me, one generation ahead?

Well, no. There's also a wonderful scene in Postcards From The Edge where the mother throws a party for the daughter. During it, she sings a song to piano accompaniment, and really makes a fabulous number out of it. She belts out the song, she flirts with her audience, she flashes her legs. All eyes are on her even though it's the daughter's party, and given the tense mother-daughter relationship, a fight could well ensue. But instead, Ms Streep's character's face is full of nothing but love and admiration. Her mother's sharing, and she's loving it.

Which all raises the question - what if it were always everyone's turn?

Why am I here (2)?

The funny thing about my checking out of the monologue is that actually, I really did make a big step with my Dad. For quite some time there was one specific thing I was stuck with, a question I wanted to ask him. In his excellent book "Manhood", child psychologist Steve Biddulph recommends every man to get his father alone and ask him what it was like for him growing up.

A simple question, but I was having a lot of difficulty asking it. (Hence the embarrassment, I guess.) I came up with some great excuses - getting him to talk about his past would be like pulling teeth, he just wouldn't get it, he wouldn't have anything to say for himself anyway, and I'd never be able to get him away from my stepmother in the first place. So I never even raised the question of raising the question.

Until I did, one weekend last November. I just asked him if he wanted to have lunch, just the two of us. And hey, he said yes. We lunched, we talked. He told me about his childhood, growing up having adventures in the Lake District during the war. He told me about the places the family went for Sunday lunches, and how his dad took him to work with him in the school holidays. We talked of other things too. Dad had been doing some digging around into the family tree. We've known for some time that his grandfather was from Barden Towers - now it turns out the Listers have been there for at least a thousand years. He's also discovered that the Listers of Barden Towers are mentioned in an account of the Battle of Flodden in 1513. Looks like I'm not the only history geek in the family after all.

What I discovered, in a scales-falling-from-eyes sort of a way, was that there's so much of me in him. We've got so much in common. I always knew he's an outdoorsy sort, like me. But what I saw that day was that what we share is not just an appreciation of the outdoors. It's something deeper, more innocent and joyful; a relish for the spirit of discovery and adventure it represents.

All from one simple question. Guys out there, I urge you to do the same.

What the Lister saw...

I've discovered I'm really good at sawing!

There's been some DIY going on chez Mark. Shelves, yes, flatpack assembly items, of course. Naturally, the proper jobs requiring real expertise, like plumbing and hanging wallpaper, have been taken care of by people who know what they're doing. GSI, as my friend Ian calls it, or Get Someone In. Today the final step - the carpet was laid, by a couple of very nice chaps from John Lewis.

Trouble was, they had to take the door off to make room for the thickness of the carpet. It would have to be planed down before rehanging, which would require a new appointment. "Needs half an inch taking off the bottom. Cost a hundred quid just to come out. You'd be better off buying one of those mechanical planing machines," said the carpet guy. "Unless you're really good at sawing."

So I got my saw out. And did a flawless and most enjoyable job. I've only just found out, but I'm very good at it. I found out by listening to the various tradesmen who've been hanging out here lately. All very good at what they've been doing, but to a man they admit defeat when it comes to clean, accurate sawing. The trick is to let the saw do the work - don't try to force it. That makes it a lot easier, and it goes really straight. I had thought that everyone knew that, and I was an average sawer - but no. I have the knowledge, the patience and the lightness of touch to take a dead straight sliver off the bottom of the door and rehang it even better than it was before. Yay!

Just goes to show - sometimes you don't know how great you are.

Why am I here (1)?

One thing that kept me away from Father of the Man recently was a bit of an existential credit crunch. Thing is, I got to thinking "This is supposed to be about being a bloke, and particularly about my efforts to have a stronger relationship with my Dad. It's not really going that way though. I'll pack it in."

(Subtext: I'm not really doing anything about my relationship with my father. By now, people might be noticing. Perhaps I'd better just shut up before it gets really embarrassing.)

But I guess there are plenty of things we could talk about besides me and my Dad. Oddly interesting things on Radio 4, things that occur and strike me as being worthy of note. Cool stuff. In fact, we've been doing that anyway - maybe I could just accept it and enjoy it! And perhaps Dad and / or Certain Guy Issues might crop up along the way. Or not.

So today I'd like to trumpet Katherine's extraordinary homemade muesli, which includes brazils, pumpkin seeds, almonds and sunflower seeds. Nutrition a-gogo, and definitely cool stuff. Except we're currently enjoying it with a wintery, Scottish twist, and making it an ingredient of porridge. No salt, no sugar, just oats and muesli, garnished with honey or raspberry jam. Delicious-nutritious.

It's not stopping me shovelling in the biscuits, but at least now I feel I'm not leaving out essential minerals and vitamins.

Back again!

I've been off the radar, and people have been saying so. That makes me feel appreciated! So I'm back.

The business of re-blogging after an absence feels like it demands something. Should I explain and / or apologise for my absence? Should I make a virtual song and dance, make a speech? Should I make some sort of attempt to recap on what's happened since I last posted?

Well, explanations and recapping somehow don't seem that relevant really. I'm noticing that one of the great things about blogging for me is what an in-the-present process it is. Old news doesn't belong here, just current thoughts.

So, what am I thinking right now, as I get back on the field? Father Of The Man is interesting. It's interesting to do, and for some, interesting to read. What else does one need?

On reflection, that did feel like making a speech. But that's what I'm here for.