Put Me In A Boat

Last week I swapped our usual Friday lunchtime swim for a trip to The Lowry museum and theatre, and a visit to their fortnightly arts and crafts session for children. Aimed at youngsters aged between two-and-a-half and four-and-a-half, it was led by a very enthusiastic woman who directed us to a table full of straws, coloured paper and paperclips, and challenged us to make something interesting.

I asked G what we should do. Given that we'd already been playing pirates at home that morning, she wanted a boat. The picture shows what we came up with. Neither art nor engineering rank anywhere in my skillset, but at least I managed to make something that stood up by itself.

G was quite excited, especially about the little gold bits of paper she cut out and added at the bottom to make treasure. So she wouldn't stand still for the photo, which is why it's a bit blurry. She had so much fun I'm sure we'll be back again soon.

North East Weekend

We were in the north-east of England over the weekend, visiting G's granny and then another friend of ours. My mum lives in Washington (the original one), so on Friday we went for a walk around the Old Hall, the ancestral home of George Washington's family.

They'd long gone by the time George was born, but no matter, the historical connection is maintained. Not just through the hall, available for weddings (such as one that was about to take place when we visited), but also in the American War of Independence-themed names given to various housing developments in the 'new town' bit of Washington. However, with all the roundabouts, I doubt old George would see much of the Concord he knew in Massachusetts in the north-east version.

I've been coming to the area to visit family for years. So long in fact, that on taking G to the Discovery Museum in Newcastle on Saturday, I realised that I'd actually been there as a child myself. These days there's a huge water table at toddler height, demonstrating the bridges and traditional industries of the Tyne. Here's G having a go at a bit of crane operating:

Later, we took her bowling. It had been a while since I've been, and Mrs J was alarmed to discover that technology has moved on in recent years, so you no longer have to use inflated bumpers in the lanes when children are bowling. Bumpers just pop up and down for certain players.

So, inevitably, G ended up beating her mum, although the balls were a little bit heavy for her to manage on her own:

National Railway Museum

Last week being half-term, there were more entertainment options than usual for my two days of the week at home with G. On Thursday, swayed by a leaflet Mrs J had picked up somewhere, I decided to take G across the Pennines to York, for her (and my) first-ever visit to the National Railway Museum.

I was a bit apprehensive about this. York is, after all, a good hour-and-a-half away by train, which makes it a three-hour round trip. That's nothing if you're in the car in the evening and G can snooze away in the back seat, but trying to keep her entertained for that length of time, without becoming That Guy With The Annoying Toddler, looked a more challenging prospect.

As it was, the journey over was fine. We had a table to ourselves, and when she wasn't staring wistfully out of the window (as shown in the picture above), she kept herself amused by pointing out all the things she could see. Despite having lived near the Standedge Tunnel for a couple of years, she was completely baffled by it when the train passed through ("We're in a tunnel daddy! Why?"). Eventually, she gave up trying to make sense of the outside world and started playing hide-and-seek, which was about as successful as it normally is.

We got there, and the museum being helpfully located right next to the station, we were soon here. I let G wander off to explore a bit.

Along with all the old trains, there were various child-friendly activities on offer, which helped explain the rather unusual museum clientele which seemed to consist entirely of retired folks who like to trainspot, and under 8s. One of these was a model Thomas The Tank Engine display. As G pushed her nose up against the glass, the woman said to the children assembled: "Look, there's a blue engine down there, that's Thomas". G replied, insistently: "No, that's Thomas over there, he's got the number one on him!" I think at G's age that still counts as cute rather than irritatingly brattish, but I accept it's a close call.

We looked at other trains, both model and real, and rode on a steam train (green, so inevitably, "Percy") in the goods yard. The BBC's Thomas rival, Chuggington, was also well represented. Once G saw the play area full of various Chuggington track and trains, I had to write off the next part of the afternoon.

With time before our return train ticking by, the only way to get G to leave was to promise to buy her something from the museum shop on the way out. "I want Annie and Clarabel!" she announced within about 1.7 seconds of browsing the toys (keen observers will know that they are Thomas's coaches).

And so her wooden train set at home is now busier than ever. But considering she had been beautifully behaved all day, and the museum only cost a £3 donation to get into, I'd say investing in a couple of little carriages was a small price to pay.

The Real Percy

They were running steam train rides at the Museum of Science and Industry over Christmas, and we decided to take G along for a go on one. The trains were only going a short way, along the track in the old goods yard that is now the museum, through the former Liverpool Road station platform, then backing down another bit of track, before retracing the route to the start. But that was more than enough to get G very excited.

Our engine was green, and G quickly assumed this was the real-life Percy. It's Percy who, according to the song now permanently seared into my brain, always brings the mail on time in Thomas The Tank Engine.

"Look! Percy's going!" she said as the engine moved off and the steam poured out all around us, with the sort of excitement little girls usually save for fairy princesses, or One Direction. I may have to give in to Mrs J's suggestion that we start taking her to dance classes, if only to balance things out a bit.

Science And Industry

At the moment, Thursday means a day at home for me and a day away from nursery for G, which also means it's down to me to come up with a reason for getting us both out of the house. Today I decided on a trip into Manchester to take G around the Museum of Science and Industry. Or at least the bits I thought she might be interested in.

First, that meant wandering along to the old Liverpool Road station, which dates from 1830 and was a terminus of the world's first proper passenger railway. Now it's part of the museum, but G didn't seem thrilled by my monologue about the remarkable engineering that allowed it to be built, and the tragi-comic death of William Huskisson MP on the railway's opening day. Instead, she pointed at a couple of sections of train standing idle on the track. "Blue one Thomas, red one James. Look daddy, Thomas and James!" Which made a lot more sense.

Inside, I took her around the area aimed at children, which has plenty of hands on things for even little ones to do. The picture shows G turning a wheel, which through a series of gears moves a full-size car up and down. She was extremely impressed at herself, although this time I spared her the physics lecture.

She had such a good time that she didn't want to leave, and I had to bribe her with the promise of ice cream so we could get back home in time for a very late lunch. Although I didn't mind too much. Taking such an interest in trains and gears seems like a good enough reason for a little girl to get a reward.

Swimming And Traffic Lights

I took G for a day trip today. We went over the Snake Pass and into Derbyshire to visit Hathersage, mainly because all the fine weather had put me in the mood to go for some outdoor swimming and I think the pool at Hathersage might be the nearest lido to where we live. The website also promised that it would be heated, which seemed like a particularly good idea when I started driving and the sun promptly disappeared behind some rain clouds.

We stopped off for lunch then got to the pool just as a group of schoolkids were arriving. A couple of the teachers offered to help me get G and the pram up the steps. While the female teacher held G and I carried our bags, I folded up the pram for the male teacher to carry, imagining that being a man he'd be good at lifting stuff. He strode off confidently, then missed a step and fell straight on his face. I think I did a reasonable job of sounding concerned, although I was laughing very hard indeed inside.

The water was heated, although the overcast weather meant it wasn't really all that much warmer in there than your standard council baths. The pool's in a beautiful setting though, and you can get a view of the Peak District hills all around as you swim up and down. G is too young to appreciate that sort of thing, but she enjoyed showing off to all of the other people in the pool, as she waved and smiled winningly at anyone who came by.

We had a bit of time spare before I wanted to drive home (that is, when G was next due for a nap) so I followed the signs to the edge of the village to see Hathersedge's other main attraction, the David Mellor cutlery workshop and museum. That's this David Mellor, not that one. Turns out that as well as doing all kinds of cutlery and homeware, David Mellor also designed the traffic lights that you see across the country. To illustrate the point, there was a giant working set of lights in the middle of the museum cafe, where I had a coffee while G got her little fingerprints all over the previously immaculate windows. I had plenty of opportunity to ponder this design classic on the way home, as I drove past dozens more sets of lights. In fact, I found it so interesting it almost got that image of the other David Mellor having sex in a Chelsea shirt out of my head. Almost.

I Never Love England More Than When Covered In Snow

Mrs J went back to work today. We agreed I'd take G down to the office to see her at lunchtime, which would give her something to look forward to if she found it a bit difficult leaving the wee one behind. But when we got up we found something a lot more exciting. It had snowed. A lot.

The picture above is the view from our flat window of the junction of Oldham Street and Dale Street, which is usually busy with plenty of buses. There wasn't much of that this morning though. A quick look at the terrace at the back of the flat demonstrated just how much snow had fallen overnight:

I'm from the north of Scotland so I'm used to a bit of snow, but I've never seen snow like this in the middle of a city like Manchester. Normally it's gone almost as soon as soon as it's fallen, but not today. Paying no attention whatsoever to those 'only go outside if it's really necessary' messages (snowy days are far too exciting to sit inside), I put G in her snowsuit and got her ready to go out:
Getting the pram through the snow was hard going. I thought I'd been sensible by putting a layer of thermals on, but a few minutes of trying to push G along the snowy pavements had me feeling pretty warm. Warm enough in fact to undo my coat, which got a few funny looks from what few passers-by there were.

Outside the Arndale Centre I saw some workers trying to clear the snow. Only they'd run out of grit, and it looked suspiciously like they were putting ordinary table salt on to the steps instead. I suppose it probably has the same effect, although if you discover the supermarkets have run out of Saxa then you'll know why. I pressed on and made it to Urbis for a coffee. Unsurprisingly, we were the only customers.

Afterwards we doubled back on ourselves, and I pushed G through the streets of the city centre. On a much-quieter-than-usual Market Street, people were waiting patiently for a tram, although there weren't many of those around either:

Eventually we made it to Mrs J's office, although G was fast asleep by this stage, and seemed far less excited about the reunion than her mum:

Perhaps when she realises that every day is now daddy-daughter day she might be less sanguine about the whole thing.

I decided to explore a bit more before taking G back home, and in Albert Square I happened upon a really big snowman that some people had built in front of the Town Hall. They'd even given him a penis, although I made sure I tastefully put the pram in front of it for this picture:

The Town Hall itself looked suitably wintry:

By now wishing someone would go on Dragon's Den with a snow plough attachment for prams, I pushed G back through the streets towards home. Being stuck in her snowsuit, G couldn't really move very much, so she just lay there and stared at me in silent contempt:

I thought I'd earned a treat for lunch so popped into Bread and Butter on Tib Street for a flatbread and (another) coffee. So ended our little adventure in the Manchester snow. It was surprisingly deep in places, although not bad enough to scupper our fun. However, I suspect the first time we get snowed in at our new home in Saddleworth it'll be a more serious business altogether.

(The title of this post comes from this song. I could have gone for this one, but I don't think it's aged terribly well.)

Whitworth Art Gallery

Continuing our patronage of the Manchester arts scene, I took G down to the Whitworth Art Gallery today. Shamefully, during the whole year I studied at the university (which is basically next door) I never actually got round to going to the gallery, so thought I'd better put that right. And besides, people kept telling me the café was brilliant, which is enough reason to visit anywhere.

It's been a cold day in Manchester so I wrapped both G and myself up in plenty of layers and set off for the walk down Oxford Road. I'd arranged to meet a friend for lunch and made sure I turned up in plenty of time so I could have a quick walk around the gallery with G. When it comes to museums I usually prefer looking at stuff rather than art, but I enjoyed an interesting exhibition on American prints of the 20th century. There was also an exhibition about art as it relates to trees, and I have to say that lost me a bit. True to form, G was fast asleep throughout.

We both perked up when it was time to go to the café to meet my friend for a coffee and some food (I had a tasty Indian parsnip soup, who knew the Indians liked their parsnips?). Well I say we both perked up, I certainly did, although as you can see, G remained oblivious to everything until I got her out of her pram so my friend could have a hold. Even then G stayed snoozy, and not even the occasional groups of bored-looking students disrupted her. I tried telling my friend that G isn't always so angelic, but I don't think she believed me.

In Praise Of Urbis

Mrs J has gone away to a hen party, which makes today my first full day home alone with G. So I decided to take her out to another of Manchester's museums. A friend is up from London and wanted to see the new exhibitions on UK hip hop and the history of TV in the north-west currently on at Urbis, so all three of us went along. Both of the exhibitions were particularly good, with lots of interesting archive stuff to see. I was particularly taken with all of the vintage Granada programmes being shown in the TV exhibition, although amidst all the eulogising about the wonder of Manchester's TV history there was sadly no mention of Granada Men and Motors and the short-lived show presented by Vanilla Ice and Jordan. Can't think why.

G wasn't quite so impressed, in fact she slept the whole time, which at least meant we could take in everything at our leisure. As you can see, the photo above shows G completely ignoring a collection of hip hop magazine covers. Don't let her verdict put you off though, both of the exhibitions are on until the spring and I'd recommend each of them if you get the chance to go. In fact there are plenty of good reasons to visit Urbis anytime, including the beautiful building itself, the family-friendly cafe, and the fact that it is free, which you don't have to be Scottish to approve of. After a controversial start to its existence back in 2002, Urbis has now become of the best things about Manchester.

However, it looks like things are going to change. The trustees of the National Football Museum in Preston want to move it to Urbis, and they will probably get their wish. Basically not enough people visit the museum at its current location, so it loses money. The people who run it reckon they could get four times as many folk through the doors if it were housed at Urbis. No doubt they're right, and if there's going to be a football museum anywhere it may as well be in Manchester. But if Urbis fills up with balls and caps and scarves, there won't be much space left for the sort of exhibitions I went to see today. More's the pity.

Greater Manchester Police Museum

You can live somewhere for years and never bother seeing things that are right beside you. I must have walked past the Greater Manchester Police Museum on Newton Street hundreds of times since we moved to the Northern Quarter, but I'd never been in, even though I do have a sneaky interest in old crimes and suchlike. One reason why I'd never been is that the museum's only open on Tuesdays, but with Mrs J meeting a friend for lunch and today being Tuesday, I decided I'd pop round and see what was in there.

As you can see, a lunchtime feed and a short ride in the pram was enough to send G off to sleep, so I was able to push her around the museum without any trouble. I remember hating being forced to go around museums when I was a young child, and constantly complaining about it whenever my mum wanted to visit one. No doubt G will be the same, so it's probably not a bad idea to take advantage of the fact she's not yet old enough to understand what's going on. My museum-hating lasted well into my teens, so there's likely to be a long period ahead when I don't get to see much interesting historical stuff without a soundtrack of whingeing and, if G gets a little brother or sister, bickering.

As it was G slept right through my hour or so inside the small museum, which is in an old police station that closed for the last time in 1978. Among the interesting things to see are a variety of uniforms, including an amazing one from the 1840s which featured a very fetching top hat. The old cells are all still there along with a collection of 19th century mugshots, in which lots of the suspects deliberately tried to pull a gurning face so they couldn't be recognised, something that I must remember to try next time I'm arrested. For fans of more recent history there's also a smashed in prison door and some homemade weapons used in the Strangeways Riot. All very interesting and also free, so well worth checking out if you're ever in the area.

I've realised that most of the pictures of G on this blog are of her sleeping because, well, that's when she looks at her angelic best and those are the only times I actually remember to find the camera and take a picture. But she's quickly developing a much wider range of expressions when she's awake, and is even threatening to give us the odd smile. Haven't managed to catch one of those in a photo yet, but here's one of her from last night, resolutely refusing to go to sleep.