An epiphany of sorts

I have posted a couple of times in recent months (here and here) about being increasingly conscious of the fact I am getting older and increasingly susceptible to health issues (not least the small matter of, you know, dying).

I have also written - most recently here - about my most latest attempt to lose weight and the surprising ease with which I have been succeeding (14 lbs in less than seven weeks as of this morning).

This morning, I've been to the doctor and discovered that the two are not unrelated.

I have diabetes.

With hindsight, I cannot believe I hadn't put two and two together already. I have a family history of diabetes - my mother developed type 2 diabetes in her fifties - and, having just done a quick bit of research on the subject, it is clear that I have developed pretty much every symptom of the condition - the vast majority of which I was already aware of. (Although, in my defence, you can also put many of them down to having recently had a baby.)

An on-the-spot urine test supported my doctor's initial diagnosis. (I will have blood tests done later this week to provide a definitive answer, but given my existing symptoms there can surely be little doubt.) I don't yet know whether it's type 1 or type 2 - apparently, around 85% of diabetics have the more easily-treatable type 2 - so a quick return visit to the doctor to find out more is in order.

It's not the end of the world. According to Diabetes UK, 2.6m people in the UK - that's about 4% of the population - have been diagnosed with diabetes, with a further half a million undiagnosed. The course of treatment - insulin and a healthy lifestyle - is long established. And as long as I am sensible about things (historically not always one of my strongest suits, admittedly), there is no reason why I should worry unduly. After all, my mother's still going strong nearly 20 years after her initial diagnosis. Sir Steve Redgrave isn't doing so badly either.

There are many, many worse things I could have been diagnosed with which would have had a far more limiting impact on my lifestyle and life expectancy, so you won't catch me complaining about the hand I've been dealt. Maybe I could have prevented or delayed the onset of the condition by being a bit healthier over the last few years, but there's no way of knowing and no point second-guessing myself. After all, with a family history of diabetes, I have known for a long time that I was at high risk of developing it. Now I do have the condition, all I can do is deal with it.

In the meantime, I'm going to process the news internally and handle it the way I normally handle this sort of thing. For one day I'm going to abandon the diet and I'm going to eat comfort food. Lots of it. Bring on the ice cream.

Wordle

I've always been a sucker for things new and shiny, and I've just been introduced to Wordle - www.wordle.net - a web-based tool which you can use to generate your own word clouds from random text or any blog/RSS feed.

It's a great way of pictorially giving a sense of what a blog, document or other piece of text is about. For instance, here's one for this blog which gives you an immediate impression of what's been on my mind recently:

Is it me being a geek, or is this not extremely cool? I'm just saying ...

Four seats or two?

And so it begins again.

Now that we have Heather's new car - a sensible family estate - my thoughts start to turn towards replacing my own car.

When I bought my current car (a BMW 3-series saloon) nearly two-and-a-half years ago, it was always with a view to it being our main family car until such time as we had a second child or it reached 50,000 miles (the milestone beyond which dealers start to get sniffy about part-exchanges). Having ticked the first box with the arrival of Toby, I am on course to hit the magic 50k mark shortly after Christmas, which gives me five to six months to make a decision and place an order.

Broadly speaking, the decision facing me is whether I want a car with four seats, or one with two.

Two seats equates to something small and sporty for me. (I've got the recently-updated BMW Z4 or possibly the new TT squarely in my sights.) There are obvious disadvantages to this, in particular the fact that we would have no back-up to carry the boys if Heather's car has any problems. But in the past I have always alternated sensible cars with fun ones - Citroen Saxo, Peugeot 306 GTI-6, Lexus IS200, Audi TT and my current 3-series - and the (admittedly selfish) desire to have something fast and impractical is a strong one.

Four seats means buying something large and family-friendly, that will carry everything we need for two adults and two children to go away for a week. We can probably just about manage it in Heather's car (a Focus estate), although it might be a tight squeeze on long journeys - we're away for a week next month, which will be a good test of how practical and comfortable that is.

Going for another family car would mean either a large saloon (a 5-series or Audi A6, say), a large-ish estate (just no, okay) or - whisper it quietly - a 4x4 or SUV (probably something like a BMW X5). I've never been a fan of big cars - my 3-series is about as big as I would ever really want, and more than roomy enough on the inside - so I would take some convincing before heading for the next size up. But the arguments in favour of having two cars suitable for the family are also quite strong: Heather's car would then be the day-to-day family car, with mine being used for longer trips when the extra space and comfort are at a premium.

That's the dilemma, really. Buy a car for the family that will be a compromise solution for me 50 weeks of the year, or get one I love which is utterly impractical. Four seats versus two; head versus heart. Decisions, decisions. I can see a long summer with much hand-wringing ahead of me ...

Shopaholic?

There is definitely something of a role reversal in our household insofar that it is only me (as opposed to Heather) who truly believes in the restorative powers of retail therapy.

Many has been the time that Heather has thrown open her wardrobe and declared despairingly that she has nothing to wear. (When she does it, she's not being melodramatic - she really means it.) I have toddled dutifully off with her to Oxford or London or some other high-density retail location for the day, during which time she will only find one item of clothing she wants - and I will buy ten on a whim. Such expeditions typically end up with one of us grumpy and the other feeling not a shred of guilt. (I'll leave you to work out who's who.)

We have fundamentally very different approaches to shopping, she and I. Heather tends to only buy things she needs. It's not that she pursues a spartan lifestyle by any means - and it isn't as if I'm not forever encouraging her to treat herself to some new clothes or a book or some other trinket - but she lacks the basic impulse to go out and splurge.

Me? I'm actually reasonably conservative in the sense that I don't spend beyond my means. However, I do earn more than enough for me to enjoy a sizeable disposable income - and my philosophy has always been that I work hard enough for what I earn, so I might as well spend some of it on stuff that makes me happy.

I freely admit that my expenditure has probably increased at a near-exponential rate over the past ten years or so as my spending power has increased. We average at least two Amazon deliveries every month. I have more clothes than I need, but at least I have something to wear for every occasion. And our house contains more than its fair share of gadgets and other consumer technology: some of it 'essentials' (my definition) such as TVs, Sky+ and computers; others more discretionary, such as my iPhone, iPod, PS3, SLR, video camera and other assorted gadgets.

This has been a particularly good week in terms of acquisitions, with a new lens for my camera, a new Playstation game and Heather's new car being delivered. (It's not mine, but surely it's reasonable to get excited over the arrival of any purchase of this magnitude, no matter whose it is?)

Being able to order pretty much anything you want 24/7 online is manna from heaven for someone who buys as often and as impulsively as I do. Amazon is probably the most regular beneficiary of my attempts to help the UK spend its way out of recession - particularly now I can place orders on the go with a couple of prods of my iPhone touchscreen - but I have also used the internet to buy everything from fridges and TVs to ISAs and car insurance, and even cars. (We have bought our last three new cars via an online broker, saving ourselves a very tidy sum in the process. See, it's not just about spending.)

Is my spending out of control? No. I know Heather would prefer it if I spent a bit less, but our credit cards are paid off in full every month, we go on our family holidays and there is still enough left to put some aside in savings. I'm sure as Zac and Toby grow older we will need to spend more on them and less on us (okay, okay, me), but for the meantime I'm enjoying myself while I still can.

I know I can dial the spending back when I need to. I can give up the spending splurges any time. Honest. Now if you'll just excuse me, I'm off to see what I need to do to pre-order an iPad ...

An embarrassment of genre riches

TV trends often go in cycles, and 'genre' shows seem to be very much on the up at the moment. Although the failure rate is high - the cancellation of the new Knight Rider and the oh-so-disappointing US version of Life On Mars were not great losses; Dollhouse, however, was killed well before its time - there is still a wealth of quality genre programming (both American and British) available on UK screens, either currently or due for broadcast within the next few weeks. Here's what I'll be setting my Sky+ box for:

1. Caprica (season 1), Sky1: A rarity in that the UK is seeing first-run episodes of the Battlestar Galactica prequel 3 days ahead of US audiences. I'm generally wary of prequels - Enterprise, for instance, was poor, and I have never understood the longevity of Smallville - but Caprica is a stunning piece of small screen drama. Taking both visual and narrative cues from the likes of Goodfellas and Grand Theft Auto, the show is packed with weighty philosophical themes (can a computer-generated avatar really be alive?) and contemporary allegories, from religious fundamentalists carrying out acts of urban terrorism to a generation of youth becoming lost in their own virtual worlds. At its best, science fiction poses difficult questions about the world we live in; Caprica is a challenging inquisitor. There are only 2 more episodes to air before a mid-season hiatus - if you do nothing else, catch it before it disappears.

2. Doctor Who (s5), BBC1 (from April 3): The baton - well, three batons, really - has been handed over. Russell T Davies to Steven Moffat. David Tennant to Matt Smith. Catherine Tate to Karen Gillan. Moffat pens taut, simple drama/horror perhaps better than any Who writer past or present, having produced some of the new series' most memorable moments: the Hugo Award-winning stories The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, The Girl In The Fireplace and Blink (an episode which prominently featured Carey Mulligan, since Oscar-nominated for An Education), and Silence In The Library/Forest Of The Dead. How will Smith and Gillan fare versus their illustrious predecessors? Can Moffat transfer his episodic magic to a full season? We will soon find out, but my money is firmly on the regenerated 11th Doctor being a runaway success.

3. Lost (s6), Sky1: Airing in the UK just three days after US transmission, Lost's final season remains just as demanding on its viewers' concentration as ever, with the new story-telling mechanic of the 'flash-sideways' posing as many questions as are being answered. With only a couple of minor missteps along the way, Lost has consistently baffled, challenged and at times frustrated viewers with a complex narrative which even now, as it hurtles at breakneck speed towards its closing hours, feels as fresh as it did in those opening moments when we first witnessed the aftermath of Oceanic 815's crash on the mysterious island. We demand answers - and, slowly but surely, we are starting to get them.

4. True Blood (s2), FX: The series based on Charlaine Harris's Southern Vampire Mysteries remains a glorious mish-mash of blood, sex and mystery in America's deep south, all beautifully observed and rolled together with a style and confidence that makes the vast majority of mainstream hour-long dramas look plain dull. And, in an advertising-heavy world which has all but seen the death of the great title sequences of yesteryear, True Blood's opening credits rank right up alongside HBO stablemate The Sopranos. There is no higher compliment.

5. Ashes To Ashes (s3), BBC1 (from late March, TBC): Yes, yes, yes: it isn't as good as the original Life On Mars. But it's still bloody brilliant. Politically incorrect and an unashamed throwback to its audience's youth, ATA has always been more about rollocking good fun than the science-fiction conceit which threw Alex Drake back to the 80s. The might of the Hollywood machine - Harvey Keitel and all - made a terrible, soulless hash of LOM, underlining just how difficult it is to do this kind of thing well. Gene Hunt will shortly be firing up the Quattro for the last time - we won't realise quite how much we miss him, Alex, Ray, Chris and Shaz until they are gone.

6. V, Sci Fi (from April 13): Despite an alarming ratings slide during the initial four-episode run- something which seems to afflict all new genre shows these days - I am really looking forward to seeing this remake of the classic Kenneth Johnson-penned mini-series, due to land in the UK next month. The original was a whip-smart Nazis-as-aliens allegory focussing on how ordinary people band together to resist a seemingly all-powerful oppressor, which sadly descended into a by-the-numbers mission-of-the-week episodic series. I'm hoping for the former rather than the latter, obviously.

7. FlashForward (s1), Five (from March 22): Returning in a fortnight's time, this series (based very loosely on the Robert J Sawyer book of the same name) started spectacularly but had started to lose a bit of pace by the time it went on hiatus. The basic premise remains strong - what would happen if everyone in the world blacked out for a couple of minutes and saw a glimpse of their future lives? - but the plot needed an injection of 24-style pacing to move things along with greater alacrity. Hopefully that is what we will see, although the murmurings coming out of the US suggest that a second season is far from certain. Enjoy it while you can.

8. Heroes (s4), BBC2: Another series very much on the bubble, Tim Kring's vision of ordinary people suddenly blessed with extraordinary abilities has struggled to recapture its initial magic and yet still has much to offer, not least an array of specially commissioned additional online content which includes comic books, webisodes and RPGs (role-playing games). Heroes has mapped out an impressive canvas for telling complex, multi-faceted stories which can be enjoyed either as a standalone TV series or as a more immersive online experience, which may well provide a template for future series to adopt and build upon.

Beyond this list, I haven't mentioned Being Human and Vampire Diaries (among others too numerous to list here), both of which come highly recommended by many genre fans but which I have never got round to watching. There just aren't enough hours in the day - still, it's a nice problem to have when you have programming of this quality to select from. It's a good time to be a genre fan right now.

Mission (almost) accomplished. Next!

I'm pretty much exactly halfway in my latest attempt at dieting, with the aim of shedding eight pounds by Easter (target weight: 17st 5lbs).

It must be said, things are going pretty well. I have just weighed myself and the scales - with whom I am now back on first name terms after a major falling-out over Christmas - declared my current weight as 17st 6lbs, which means I am just one pound short of my target with four weeks still to go.

I've given myself an encouraging pat on the back and am now optimistically reassessing my target; I'm thinking 17st 2lbs, which represents a further pound a week to Easter.

By the time Heather's dad and family arrive from Perth on their holiday in late May, I want to be lighter than I was when we last saw them two years ago: pretty much bang on 17st, from memory. That would essentially mean losing a stone in total in just over three months, which I would be very happy with.

I don't see why I can't achieve that, as I don't actually feel I've got out of second gear so far. I've certainly been concentrating on eating more sensibly at work and cutting out the snacks, while allowing myself one day a week where I treat myself to whatever I fancy (a denial-and-reward routine which has worked well for me in the past). But I still haven't actually managed to squeeze any exercise into my evenings, which I know is something I need to do regardless of the weight loss because I have never felt as unfit as I currently do.

So, really I've done pretty well in spite of my continuing laziness by just applying a modicum of self-discipline. Can't complain. Anyhow, no point dwelling on the negatives; I prefer to think of it as having an extra gear in hand for when I need it down the final stretch.

Now it's time for my breakfast of gruel and water. Honest.

Rules for dads

In my previous post last week, I outlined five basic rules of parenthood. In general, though, it's not so much parents as fathers who need the most help when it comes to this parenting lark. So here are ten additional rules that all dads should take heed of.

(A health warning: tongue is inserted firmly in cheek here, but many fellow fathers will recognise a grain of truth in most of the following situations.)

Rule #1: If you're not doing something, you should be. You may not know what it is, but there is definitely something. (It will be written on a list somewhere, even if it's one that only exists in your wife's/partner's head.)

Rule #2: Watching The Gadget Show or playing Call Of Duty while occasionally talking to your child does not qualify as 'quality father/son (or daughter) time', no matter how interested they are in what you're doing.

Rule #3: Even if you are the sole bread-winner, change every nappy and are the CEO of a multinational industrial conglomerate, as a father you are the least important person in the household (and that includes any and all pets). Deal with it.

Rule #4: You will lose every argument with your children. If you're already in a long-term relationship, you should be used to that by now, though. (Zac's current ace-in-the-hole is to fire up the death stare and ask "Why not?" with utter conviction when told he can't do something. It's really quite disarming.)

Rule #5: The slightest whiff of criticism of your partner's abilities as a mother is a straight red card offence. However, expect to be told on a daily basis about all the things that you do, don't do, should do more/less of or just plain do wrong. It's a mother's God-given right. Grin and bear it.

Rule #6: Under no circumstances - irrespective of how many times your sleep was interrupted during the night or what time your children dragged you out of bed in the morning - ever mention to your wife how tired you are. Unless your ears need clearing out, that is.

Rule #7: When your other half gets all teary-eyed and emotional because they've had only three hours' sleep for the fourth night in a row and have just had to deal with a poo-up-the-back incident, the only correct response is to be understanding and supportive. However, if you go all emo, you are being a drama queen. Man up and crack open a beer like any self-respecting, emotionally-stunted male should.

Rule #8: Whatever you most want your child to be is the thing they will be least inclined to do. (For instance, I want Zac to be as interested in sports as his parents are, but the moment I put the football on he runs over to the TV, switches it off and goes back to his macramé. Okay, I'm exaggerating. But only slightly.)

Rule #9: If, like me, you delivered your own baby BBA (Born Before Arrival of midwife/ambulance/other person who has some vague idea what they should be doing), this automatically confers a degree of coolness upon you as a father, no matter how uncool you really are. Dine out on it while you can. The effect wears off as quickly as your holiday tan.

Rule #10: The 'illusion of free will' is a reality. There is no such thing as a free lunch. Or a free evening out with the lads. Or a free round of golf. Everything comes with a price tag. It's just that you can't always see it.

The formula to calculate 'free' time (where 'free' means time for which there is not some quid pro quo child/mother-related action required in return) is as follows:

Free time (in hours) = 0

Think about it. For every boys' night out there is an agreement (either explicit or implicit) to babysit for a girly shopping trip. Your Sunday round of golf is worth its weight in chocolate. Even that new Wii controller will be offset by an afternoon pushing the pram around Mothercare. It may not always be obvious, but like taxes you will end up paying somehow some day.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go. I'm pretty sure I'm contravening rules 1, 2 and 10, and I'm heading for another slap-down from rule 4.