Groove a minute with Mr Binks

Who’s the daddy?

Did I tell you I was pregnant? Well, not me. That would make me Arnie. Mrs Binks is though. Which is nice. Anyway, you probably know from subtle and not so subtle references on Facefook and Titter.

So basically I’m going to be a dad(dy) and in equal measures this is both ever so exciting and brick shittingly terrifying. Whilst having 3 younger siblings has given me a BIT of experience, I was a kid myself so I’m not sure how much of that counts. I’m very good at slyly stealing food from them and blaming the ripped wallpaper on the youngest one, for instance.

Let’s assume I know nothing then, and start from scratch.

Having now had a successful 20 week scan and watched the little guy/gal (here on in, “Squirt”) move and groove around, yawn and generally look like a real life (yet smaller and scannier) version of a little person, we are now working out what we’re going to need. We decided that stage 1 should be a pram/buggy/carseat thingy.

I’m honestly not lying when I say, choosing a new car isn’t this difficult. Everyone has their own advice, some anecdotal, some just from what they’ve heard. There are people that tell you to get the best and most expensive thing you can afford, whilst others say “it’s not a car, it’s only going to last 3 years and get covered, literally, in shit. So don’t spend more than you need to.”

3 nights last week and a weekend of searching for the ideal buggy and I think we’re sorted but damn, who knew a Ford Focus (The UK’s number 1 family car) would be so fudging awkward to get a car seat for. Nice one, Henry.
So whilst we’ve decided on what we’re getting we’ve still not actually got one. I can see this running and running, if only for the shits and giggles of watching wifey dearest try to navigate buggys around Mothercare and Babies R Us with all the poise and grace of Crouchy on Ice. All good practice though, eh.

This blog post is therefor an announcement of joy, and also a resignation of all my gaming habits.

RIP [GF5]Binky

Battlefield moments?

So those “battlefield moments” that the marketing team would have us believe in. They’re actually real aren’t they.

I’ve been thinking about the differences between the new demo for BFBC2 and the other giant of the shooter world. Both are great and do their thing extremely well but crikey o trousers those battlefield moments, it’s them that make you remember your last hour of gaming. With the other one every (very good) game kinda rolls into one. With battlefield you can be halfway through your admin on a Tuesday and a wry smile will appear at the corners of your mouth as you recall that “moment” from the night before.

The moment the tank exploded before your eyes, inches from the place you were hiding. Or the moment you parachuted through the skylight stabbing one enemy and headshotting the other before arming the bomb. What about that time you and a squad member survived 12 minutes without dying in the apahe chopper causing utter mayhem for the ants beneath you. Not to forget the other night when a well placed airstrike swung the tide of battle your buddy got the final kill on a baddie fleeing to a nearby tank.

These are battlefield moments. These are the reason to play.

PMA from PNA

So with tumblr I can actually blog from a moving train. This is good as it gives me something to do, but also good for anyone that follows me on Twitter as it means they won’t get spamified by my bored brain.

3 trains cancelled last night, but you know what, it didn’t make me quite as angry as sitting in a traffic jam on the m25. This is a good thing. The walk to & from the station is also a bit annoyingly long at 20 mins but you know what, the positive spin is that it’s a bit of a health benefit. So let’s keep smiling and carry on.

I think it helps that I’m doing public transport by my own will and haven’t been forced into it this time. Normally there is a certain resentment about the whole thing. It becomes an ordeal. Not this time though. I’m seeing it as a holiday from the motorways. I’m sure my car understands. I’m not ignoring her. She knows that.

PMA.