Oh, kids!

And meanwhile, you’re like this.

I am unamused by your child’s antics.

I just thought I’d make this observation.

–

I think if you had a baby and named it Spartacus there’d be a lot of pressure on that child to excel in life, like he wouldn’t feel he could degrade himself by getting some kind of sad office monkey job or perhaps a job on a switchboard or something, because people would ring up and he’d say ‘Hello, Spartacus speaking’ and they’d be all like ‘Cool name bro, but shouldn’t you be out rebelling against society or something?’. He could end up with serious self-esteem issues if you gave him such a weighty name and he essentially does nothing with his life. Same goes for a name like Superman, although a name with such gravitas could propel the child to make more of himself, like become a lawyer or a doctor or something. Imagine lying in a hospital bed feeling rotten when all of a sudden a guy comes in with a white coat and says ‘Hi, I’m Doctor Superman’ – you’d instantly feel more comfortable. And plus, if you were called Superman, you’d definitely always wear the outfit under your shirt, so just in case you needed to you could pull your shirt open and reveal the big ‘S’.

Finding a photo of my eldest son, Isaac, wouldn’t be a problem at all. In fact there’s a whole box in the loft full of memorabilia from his past: his hospital wristband from when he was born, the first drawing he created – and, of course, a good two or three albums crammed full of photographs.

Of course, we don’t love Noah any less; it’s just that with your firstborn you religiously hoard everything about them, some people even going so far as to keep their child’s first tooth (when it falls out naturally, of course. Punching your child in the mouth to gain a memento is, at best, illegal).

With subsequent children, though, things are different. If your first child drops his dummy on the floor, you pick it up, sterilise it, replace it, and watch your child very carefully for the next 24-48 hours. With your second, you pick it up, dust it off, and plop it back in their mouth. With your first child, you keep everything they do. With your second, you ooh and aah, stick it on the fridge door, and then throw it away when you next spring clean, saving only the really good ones for the memento box.

It’s not just physical mementos: with Isaac we sat and taught him his colours, his numbers, and so on. With Noah, we just don’t have as much time. He’s not falling behind, but he certainly isn’t at the level Isaac was at at his age. Mind you, as I’ve written before, they’re completely different, and so its unfair to compare. Noah can throw a ball with incredibly accuracy; Isaac shrieks whenever I throw a ball to him, but he can write a darn good story and he’s far ahead of his age bracket at spelling and maths. But if you were to base our parenting purely on the number of photographs we have, you’d be forgiven for thinking Noah was sloppy seconds.

Fuelled by horrific news stories like this and this, I sometimes find my anxiety rising to epic proportions. In fact, if I were to sit and think about just how many horrible things could happen to my children every day – illness, disease, cancer, abduction, injury – I’d never let them leave the house. In fact, I wouldn’t let them leave their bed, and if I did I’d insist that they were wrapped in their duvets to prevent any nasty bruises if they fall over (which they invariably will, because the duvet will be around their legs).

But I can’t, of course. It’s probably against the law, for one thing, and a bit weird, for another. I have to let them live, knowing that they run the risk of bumps and scrapes, and trusting that when they’re ill they’ll recover, and hoping that they never become the victim of something awful. And all the while my anxiety will mean I quiver inside like a child molester in a playground – which, ironically, is one of my biggest fears.

For the past five days ‘Goodbye, Pert Breasts’ and ‘Teething Pains’ have been available to download for free. You are probably already aware of this, as I’ve been tweeting about it incessantly to the point where I’m losing most of my real-life friends, as they’re sick of me.

I guessed I’d sell a few hundred, at most, and I’d have been more than happy with that. Hey, at least it gets the word out there, right? But then I read the sales reports, and nearly threw up over my keyboard.

Goodbye, Pert Breasts: 5,242

Teething Pains: 1,545

Total: 6,787

Whoa. 6,787 books downloaded. 6,787 people have my book(s). Both were number 1 and number 2 in the Top 100 Amazon Bestsellers in Parenting (and, bizarrely, ‘Self Help Guides’). ‘Goodbye, Pert Breasts’ even lingered around in the Top 10 Free Downloads across the whole of Amazon, like a suspicious youth loitering by the bus stop.

Yes, I know that anyone will download something if it’s free, but for me this is still the best thing that’s happened since I wrote these books – and it’ll certainly look good on my CV. 6,787 people can’t be wrong, right?

A huge thank you to everyone who has downloaded a copy. Thanks to you, I’ve been sporting Happy Face for most of the week, even when I’m on the loo.

It’s a trap I should have seen coming – just a simple Google search would have revealed that Cash4Phones are nothing but a bunch of crooks, but I was in a hurry and didn’t do any research.

This is everyone at Cash4phones.

Cash4Phones have a very simple strategy: they quote higher than their competitors (Envirofone, Mazuma, etc.) for your phone, then email you to say that they’ve received your handset but due to ‘excessive wear and tear’ it has failed its inspection and they are therefore giving you a revised offer. To quote my own experience: they offered me £75 for my BlackBerry Bold 9700, then reduced it to £44. I know for a fact there wasn’t a scratch on the phone.

What they then do is give you five days to respond – if you don’t respond within five days they assume you’ve accepted their revised offer. They’re playing on the fact that most people can’t be bothered to complain, and therefore Cash4Phones get to keep your phone for a fraction of what it’s worth. And, if someone does complain, they either revise their offer up slightly or return your phone to you – at a cost of £4.95 to you.

After speaking to Zoe Robinson, someone I’ve known through social media for a while and who has a strong law background, it became apparent that what Cash4Phones does is inherently illegal.

A basic contract is all about offer and acceptance. Envirofone offers you a price for your phone, and – in sending your phone to them – you are accepting that offer. Cash4Phones’ terms and conditions are significantly different. They say that their quotation is a non-contractual quote, nothing more, and that in sending your phone to them you are making them an offer.

This is an unfair legal term, and under the Unfair Terms in Consumer Contract Regulations 1999 they have to explicitly inform you of this at the point you accept their quotation in order for it to be legally and contractually binding. Just clicking ‘Confirm’ to state that you accept their terms and conditions is not enough – they have to negotiate this with you beforehand.

So, if you find yourself on the receiving end of Cash4Phones’ scam, here’s what you do:

1. Ring them on 0845 4601064 and quote your order number.
2. State that you reject their offer. They might, at this point, state that they’ll have another look at your phone as ‘sometimes their technicians make mistakes’. If you want them to do this, that’s fine, but state that you’ll accept nothing less than the asking price.
3. There’s no need to spout legal jargon at them just yet, but just mention that their T&Cs are invalid under the Unfair Terms in Consumer Contract Regulations.
4. They will say they’ll call you back the same day, but they invariably won’t. Wait until the next day before you call them back – by stating that you waited for their call which never came you can put more pressure on them.
5. They’ll come back to you with a revised offer. If you like it, accept it. If not, ask to speak to a manager and start quoting the Regulations. Say you’ve got a background in law, and they have three choices: Continue to offer a low quote and face the risk of court action; return your phone to you free of charge; or honour the original quotation. Chances are they’ll avoid the former, as they know that legally they’re at a huge disadvantage.
6. As and when they make you an offer which you accept, categorically state that if you do not receive the money within 48 hours you’ll be starting legal action. Many people on forums across the Internet have said that they’ve waited weeks for payment.

And that’s about it. Hope this helps!

Don’t let the photo fool you, she’s a cow.

She’s here to tell you that from now until Saturday you can download ‘Goodbye, Pert Breasts’ and ‘Teething Pains’ from Amazon to your Kindle for free. It’s not even like it’s buy one, get one free, or buy two, get the third free, or buy one, get the other one for a penny (nice try, Holland & Barrett).

It’s simply the best deal you will ever get on these two books: download them for absolutely nothing. You’d be a fool not to.

Click on the images below to get downloading…

Edit:

This is what I’m talkin’ bout. Thank you.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids. I wouldn’t change them for the world. But…’

As the arrival of our third child draws ever closer, the number of conversations between me and my wife which begin with this disclaimer seems to be on the rise. There are a plethora of endings that can be stuck onto the backside of this opening sentence, like…sticking a Lego brick onto another Lego brick. Or perhaps sticking something onto something else using Superglue, or another form of adhesive (it really depends on the material you’re sticking).

If we didn’t have kids we’d have loads of money.
If we didn’t have kids we’d have spare time.
If we didn’t have kids we could go to the pub right now, or perhaps for a nice walk. (To the pub.)
If we didn’t have kids we could go on holiday to the Bahamas, but that’d be too hot for my pasty white skin, so perhaps somewhere like Bangor would be more appropriate. But at least the Bahamas would be an option.

Sadly, these are luxuries we forfeited when we very first laid eyes on a pee-soaked stick and a little blue cross. And, in exchange for giving up most of our spare time and all of our money, we received two little terrors who eat us out of house and home but give us better memories than any trip to the Bahamas. And, in my softest moments, I look at them and think: who needs money anyway?

Which is why it came as such a surprise to many of my friends and family when, in a rush of blood to the head, I signed up to do the Big Fun Run in Coventry on 18th August.

OK, so it’s 5k – which, in my language, is a tad over 3 miles. It’s certainly no marathon, and many people can jog that in their sleep, but it’s a fairly big deal to someone as unfit and lazy as I am. I’m running it for Sands, a charity close to my heart, as those who have been following my blog for a while will know. If you’ve not heard of them, please click on that link just there or this one to find out more about the amazing work they do. (Just as an aside, the book I have written for them is making its way through the publication process, and is worthy of a blog post in itself.)

‘So, what’s the point of you telling me this?’ I hear you cry. ‘I suppose you want my money.’

Yes please. My aim is to raise £200, which isn’t a lot, but is – I think – achievable with your help. So please, if you have a spare couple of minutes and a bit of loose change, head to my JustGiving page and donate a pound or two. And, to keep my end of the bargain, I promise to break into a sweat. My personal best for three miles is, I assume, around four hours. I reckon I can beat it. Just.

If you fancy donating quickly and easily, simply text MVWT48 and the amount you’d like to donate to 70070, eg. MVWT48 £1