Thirty days. One score and ten. Fingers, toes, and someone else's fingers (or toes).

Dunno what prompted me to remember my 30th birthday while cruising down the cycle path. Had a less than enjoyable day at work in a progress meeting due to lack thereof. Was maybe a factor in me resigning the following year. At least the evening was good, going out to a fancy restaurant just off the A140 where there was little or no choice on the menu - thankfully it was all good.

Big four-oh next year. Plans are already afoot and a booking has been made. Should be good.

A trip down memory lane (actually Marlow Road) this evening for an open evening at the local high school. Retraced my old daily 5 minute route, this time in the company of Eldest who, scarily enough, moves up here next year.

There in the foyer was the deputy head, both then & now. Saw/met a handful of familiar teachers, still there 21 years after I left, inc 2xPE chaps: do they never hang up their boots?

Perhaps even more disconcerting was bumping into various other parents, also dragging round their offspring, who I'd last seen in those same corridors when Thatcher was in power. Odd.

More ping-pong tonight, this time a short bike ride away down at the local conservative club, playing on a table set out on the polished wooden floor - "strictly no smoking on the dancefloor".

Andy got the first maximum of the season - three out of three singles - leaving me and Alec to get a brace each. We both lost to arguably their strongest player: early 70s, uses a bat dating from the 1950s, and did I mention that he had a heavy cold?

CNPS-wise, been becalmed for a fair few days. Then, while waiting ages to pull out of Anglesea Road (I know, should have taken a right down Graham Road), along came a van with a "15" plate, and all was right with the world. Sweet sixteen, here we come.

01:06am and here I am: so much for my early night. Been out at a friend's demonstrating various whizzy website type things. What a show-off. My skin will protest in its usual itchy fashion, no doubt.

I see that some feedback has arrived for the site that took most of my time last week. Will save this (hopefully good) news for the morning. Nighty-night.

Two words for you: Hot Wheels. The Boy has been having fun crashing a couple of metal cars into each other, and so wanted to take them to school, only for Big Sister to claim ownership and point out that all school-bound toys end up broken. A scrap ensued.

So his Mum took pity and bought him three - count 'em - shiny new Hot Wheels vehicles from Woolies at lunchtime. And very groovy they are. Which got me thinking about the HW track and equipment that me & Big Bro used to play with as kids. Had yellow & orange track galore, plus hairpin corners and U-bends weighed down with sand-filled bases. Not forgetting the Super Booster, a plastic contraption containing a large spinning foam wheel. Your car would roll gently in one side and whoosh out the other. Top fun. Hang on, I've got an idea what The Boy might like for Christmas.

I fixed Eldest's computer this morning. Go back and read that again: I fixed her computer. Later I fixed The Boy's remote control Brio bridge, which hasn't worked properly for around 18 months.

Who's the daddy?

There, on a white stretch limo heading into town along Norwich Road, was a "14" regn plate. So that's good. Now where did I see a "15" plate parked up?

To bed around 2:30am this morning. Pretty pleased with progress on website and still looks good in the cold light of day as far as I'm concerned. About to email client: fingers crossed they go for it.

Determined to get rid of the various kids' toys in boxes by my bed - makes for v. poor feng shui - so up they went into the loft. Very much not in the spirit of Discardia, but that's a problem for another day. Maybe tomorrow? Space by the bedside now look stacks better.

Hoorah for vanilla milkshakes in Caffe Nero. Boo for them shutting off the comfy sofas upstairs 90 minutes before the place closes.

An earlyish night awaits.

Been spending a lot of (my own) time on a new website lately, the one that was initially deemed overly arty & clever, ranging from a 2:30am finish last Friday night/morning to too many nearly-1am sessions over the past few nights. And waddya know, a couple of people at work today remarked on my weary appearance and, as a bonus, my eczema has resurfaced. That's the price of making the internet a better place, ha!

Read a piece this afternoon about Discardia, which is basically a nouveau term for chucking things out. I've been making my own attempts at this recently. My approach is to get a bunch of bin bags, a chunky felt tip and a roll of sticky labels, then up we go into the loft. Nearby items are placed into one of three bags:

1. dump --- most things
2. sell --- better stuff
3. charity --- not so good stuff

Some success with this approach, though it does require some discipline to then (1) make that cathartic trip to the tip and (3) cart the charity bags to the charity shop. Keep intending to deal with (2) by having a mass ebay session; haven't done so yet.

Just felt the bumps on my neck: gonna be another late one tonight.

First game of the new table tennis season this evening. Arrived to find the opposition warming up and exchanging shots that we could only dream of: that's what happens when you get promoted. Lost the first three games, and it looked like we'd be doing well to get nil. Situation slowly improved as time wore on and we finished as 7-3 losers.

One of their team was a lad in his teens who coached himself between points, either chastising or praising his own shots. He was very much up for it and hit the ball wham bam thump, at one point knocking it through a curtain and out of the open window. Ker-pow!

At the other extreme was a slightly older lad who had a repertoire of canny well-placed shots. He was hindered only by his multiple hip replacements, having started playing in the 1940s and now aged 77. Over the night he won two out of his three games. I kid you not.

Rounded a corner on the cycle path this a.m. to find myself facing around five schoolkids riding side by side. Do they not run public information films these days about going single file? Had to brake while a couple of them made way for me, then, when going through the posse, one of them shouted "Helmet!"

OK, I wear a silver cycle helmet, but that's a good thing, right? I believe it's even mandatory in certain countries, and I've long since got over any embarrassment. So I spent the five minute remainder of my journey trying to think of a witty riposte about the dangers of not using one: "Multiple Head Injuries!" was about the best, followed by "Coma!" Poor, I know.

Still scanning registration plates; now searching high and low for a number 14. In the next road along there's a plate ending with "ENO". Did you know that Brian Eno went to art school in Ipswich? Occurred to me that a specialist alternative to CNPS might be to spot cars sporting three character pop music-related registrations, such as OMD, ELO, AHA, ABC and even JEM. Or terrorist organisations: IRA, ETA, etc. I'll stop there.

Scored twice in today's lunchtime footy, a close game that ended 5-5 against the same team that beat us 10-5 a fortnight ago. First was a glancing touch, second an unorthodox knee poke in front of an open goal. Just a shame that both were own goals.

There's been a significant update re yesterday's car scraping incident. Only wish I was at liberty to tell you about it. Keep 'em guessing.

Three-thirty this morning found me pyjama-ed in the kitchen, copying hard to read alphabetic characters from the back of a crisp packet into my Nokia in the hope of winning a (now discontinued) iPod Mini. Figured that there'd be precious few others desperate enough to be doing likewise at that time. And who'd been up anyway putting their children back into their own perfectly good beds.

Entered twice then switched the phone off and went back to bed. Phone back on around 7:45am: "Sorry, you didn't win this time...", times two.

Forward fourteen hours and wifey returns from her local running club. She'd managed to do 25 laps of the 400m track - bloomin' impressive - then returned to the leisure centre car park only to find the side of our motor severely scratched. This gouge runs the length of both door panels, cutting down to the primer. Not a minor knock.

Happened that I went up to the same place 15 mins later to play bad-mint-on. Had a word with the manager and yes, they do have CC-TV in the car park. But I need to tell the police to get an incident number, and even then he can't show me the footage, tho' he can have a look himself. He was most helpful and concerned, which was nice. Said that his own car had been damaged in a town centre car park and that no note had been left, but someone had seen the incident and noted the regn number: driver is liable for up to 6 pts on their licence, apparently. We shall see what they say at Dock Green tomorrow.

Fun to watch the kids playing the likes of Pac-Man, Galaxians and Yar's Revenge on my mum's old Atari 2600 - a classic console with a timeless joystick. Even the 5 year old Boy enjoys himself dodging descending aliens and evading monsters in the maze. He hasn't yet sussed that his own controller isn't always plugged in...

Point the first: I think it's the case that my dad, now aged 70-and-a-day, has lousy peripheral vision.

Point the second: it's not unusual to find a form letter in The Boy's book bag saying "your child had a bump on the head today."

Ipso facto and cogito ergo sum, I too have my clumsy moments - wifey says it's in the gene pool. Which is perhaps why I now have a sore & sizeable surface scratch near my ribcage. See, I was helping to tidy up after a most pleasant outdoor engagement party at N. & N.'s when I failed to negotiate a metre-high wooden fence post. Ouch. No other adults around at that time to watch me flail to the floor, thankfully.

About to have a soothing dip in some bubbly bath water: I'll be brave.

Of note today:

• my dad's 70th birthday; hope he's having fun in Wroxham
• temperature had suddenly slid to suitable September levels
• watched & laughed at final Smoking Room; he's out at last
• staring at me from the car park near the bike sheds was a "12" reg.
• official word count for The Boy is now 55 words
• number of ice cream tubs in the freezer: zero
• Aero Bubbles - half choc, half mint - are more-ish
• can happily work on computer with Emiliana Torrini in background
• G. has removed fire guard from front room; been there for nearly ten years
• at 12:45am The Boy came downstairs to find me here; bit spooky

Serendipity now!

Stopped at a red light (naturally) down the Woodbridge Road and, seeing a newsagent there on the left, opted to dismount and head in for a Grauniad & bottle o' drink. Paid for the paper and pop and then spotted it there on the counter: a Texan bar!

Very fond memories of this particular confectionery from when I was a kid. It's one of those brands which often merits a mention when discussing choccy bars of yesteryear, that and the Amazin' Raisin bar. I'd seen on Snackspot that it had resurfaced and was anxious to track one down, but had no joy (and the odd strange look) when asking after them in local shops.

Here comes the predictable pronouncement: I'm sure they used to be bigger. Any road up, gave it a good chew along with my lunchtime coffee, and it went down a treat. Lovely.

Also, word reaches me that certain others (you know who you are) are also indulging in a bit of Number Plate Spotting, Consecutively. Remember, don't play when you're driving, kids. Darned if I can find a douze / XII / dodeca on the mean streets of Ipswich. I could stop tomorrow: I won't, but I could.

Had to bite my tongue tonight outside Sainsbury's. Well, it wasn't mandatory, it just kind of happened when I was chewing on a reduced-price piece of (what the kids call) Crunchy Bread. If I was 35 years younger, I would have burst into tears. Bloomin' hurt.

Cycling home from Jamie's Superstore, The Boy also biking and Middler scootering, we badgered our way past a couple on the pavement. Middler noticed that their two carrier bags contained at least three baguettes: "Must be French", she observed.

Just done my bit by purchasing the new Help: A Day In The Life album from iTunes for a measly £7.99. Would have thought that the most popular individual track (all available for 79p) was sure to be the new Radiohead or Coldplay song, but it's actually a version of I Heard It Through The Grapevine by - can you guess? - a band with a keyboard player called Peanut. Go find out.

Exciting times on Consecutive Number Plate Spotting. Finally free of the single digits - 1 to 5 are easy thanks to the 01...05 plates, 6 to 9 much less so. A few days back I "parked" number 10; in other words I'd seen it on a car on a driveway en route to work. Couldn't use it at the time, of course, since I was still sweating on 9. I then spotted the 9 and claimed the 10 when I next went past: sweet.

That same journey home I came past the "MK II" plate, which would probably be worth more than the car if that car wasn't a big silver shiny Merc. Didn't seem right to claim this as number 11, so discarded it. Good karma then dealt me a "proper" 11 a couple of miles from home. And that's how things still stand.

New "Berliner" size Guardian launched today: had to rely on a friend at work to sneakily hide the last copy at the bottom of the rack for me to find. Looks good to me: somehow friendlier, helped greatly by the colour on every page.

Then, once at home:

"Dad," said The Boy, "I know 22 words."
"That's good," I replied.
"Actually, it's 42," he carried on - "is that a lot?"
"Yep, that's a lot," I confirmed.
"Actually" - big pause for dramatic effect - "it's a million."
"Now that is a lot," I said.
"Not really. It's 42."

Up the top of the road to Broomhill Pool as part of Heritage Open Days. First time through the gates for many years. Took lots of photos and will put a selection on the web later this week.

Place is in a right state, as you'd expect from somewhere that's not had any maintenance for the past three years. Weeds everywhere and some very unwelcoming water in the actual pools.

Still, the Save Broomhill Pool campaigners were most welcoming and upbeat, giving balloons to the kids and leaflets to the grown-ups. Who knows whether it really is feasible to do it up: the costs given in the local paper vary wildly, and as they point out, nobody would build a swimming pool on the side of a hill these days.

Anti-social to write anything much now: friends round for dinner. More tomorrow.

Family meal this evening, a la Simpsons, was really tasty rigatoni. It's a firm favourite with 4/5 of us, the exception being The Boy. See, he wants the sauce to be on this side and the pasta on that side. Mixing the two up causes him grief; he's a lad of simple tastes.

Having been finally coaxed back to the dining room, he had the tiniest amount of sauce, coming down from his ragu rage. Oddly enough he cheered up when the Vienetta appeared.

Early night. Too many late ones this week. See ya.

A surreal time was had by all of us at The Living Room in Cambridge tonight. J + S + me were irresistibly drawn there by an acoustic appearance by MJ Hibbett, who comes from the fens. We'd initially thought he was top of the bill (of four acts), then found he was bottom and therefore on first at 8.30am sharp.

Alas, the good & generous folk who run The 'Room - actually the basement of a rather nice food plus drink plus internet establishment - had seen fit to allow an uninvited act to open the show. On to the sofa came a Bill Bailey lookalike to do an angst ridden set concluding with a six minute song about Chelmsford. Next!

The evening's compere, a chappy named Lord Bridge c/w smoking jacket and free sweets, gave a quick spiel for each act interspersed with some terrible jokes. As MJ said, it's like being introduced by a Christmas cracker. Mr Hibbett started well (Peterborough Wide Game) and got better, ending with a very well received Boom Shake The Room. Short, sweet and slick.

Missed one of the bands while we supped double lattes upstairs in a very civilised fashion. Like a different country, is Cambridge: dead continental. Books everywhere, chat, and food served late into the evening. All terribly exotic to us folk from Suffolk.

Back down below on to the cushions for Anton Barbeau c/w furry hat and sweaty hand. Talented chap whose final number had a compelling opening line: "I broke the company rules for you."

Final act, Hush The Many, were mighty good. Charismatic breathy lead singer and friends, inc. cellist, weren't afraid to play quietly and create a lovely atmosphere. Maybe they'll make it.

And now it's way past my bedtime, and on a school night too!

Another one found its way to my inbox today: the second in two days and the third in three weeks. Seems that the world and his or her significant other are pregnant, and are then scanning their own foetal scan images before firing up Outlook to prove it. Maybe I should email back grainy photos of my three, saying "but look what happens in a few years time!" Talk of all these new lives led wifey to say that she felt like the odd one out; I laughed nervously.

Next door to the baker's where I can sometimes be found buying a granary baguette and a Belgian bun (hold the nuts) used to be a hardware-cum-video-rental shop. This disappeared a month or so ago to be replaced by another business very much of its time: nope, not a tanning shop. New place appears to offer 3D scans of your unborn Oscar winner / world leader / BK employee of the month - delete as appropriate. Perhaps they bought up the old stock and invented a SupraScanomatic, like Wallace.

Lunchtime footy vs. a team comprised of the young whippershappers who work on the other side of the corridor for a different small company. Five-a-side, barely a break, well beaten 10-5. Oh well.

Showered but could not get dry. Got dressed anyway to avoid some strange looks in the office that afternoon, and sat at my desk with the droplets doing what they do best, i.e. dropping. Even considered changing back into my yellow Lance top. Cold, cold sweat, baby.

Home, and coming out of next door's upstairs window (home to a teenager) wasn't The Killers or Kaiser Chiefs but a tune that took me back over twenty years: How Soon Is Now by The (Mighty) Smiths. Don't think it was on the radio, so have to assume that moody nearly-adults still mooch over Morrissey. Memories of Andy Kershaw on an old Whistle Test saying that the only band to be remembered from the 80s would be The Smiths; maybe he was right. All together now: "I am human and I need to be loved..."

First Monday of the ninth month means it's time to get Back In The Jug Agane. Cue packed lunches, art aprons and the search for correctly sized plimsolls. Year 1 / day 1 for The Boy, who was in good spirits, ignorant of the interminable terms ahead of him. He even ate his breakfast, a continental selection of BBQed sausage & chicken, at the dining table. One small step.

Middler proudly premiered her studded ears: I'm guessing she joins the pierced majority. Must ask her to conduct a straw poll of her fellow pupils.

Meanwhile, eldest tells me that while performing some responsible lunchtime task with a friend of hers involving registers, they came across a little boy, crying. Was his very first day in the new school, and he'd been searching the playground & corridors for his older brother, unaware that big bro' had been taken sick and gone home. They grabbed the nearest teacher who promptly took charge, but what a sad story. Let's hope the lad isn't too traumatised in later life.

Current CNPS score: 7. Meaning that I'm now on the lookout for an eight. Which is similar to when I finish reading and insert the bookmark at the current page, typically an end of chapter. It's very wrong to advance the 'mark to the next page. Discuss.

A day of accomplishments, both virtual and physical. Managed to keep my word about preparing a new web page for a client and so sent them the email asking for comments. My first design was thought to be too "arty and clever", attributes to which I usually strive. They wanted a look suggesting calm, peace and tranquility: serenity now! Will see how the latest attempt is received.

With wife and her mate keeping fit by biking to Felixstowe, I decided to do my bit by tidying the back passage, ahem. Therein you would have found a large broken flowerpot, a carrier bag of rusted hubcaps, some old trellis, and the mother-in-law of all spiders hanging out near the drainpipe. Don't look for them anymore: they're gone, like William Tell, to the dump to the dump to the dump dump dump.

Much later, after a rare outing for the paddling pool (couple of minor punctures: I did my best with the repair kit but failed to remove the backing tape from the patch, curse the little black square), out came a disposable barbecue. Side of the box calls it a "barbacoa instantanea grigliapronta", which might earn me a future visit from the Spanish version of Dave Gorman.

Nifty VHS documentary tonight: Stuffing The World, doing for taxidermy what Spellbound did for US spelling bees. No bees or wasps in sight, but pretty much everything else you might come across in Colchester Zoo and beyond: coyote, polar bear, dozens of deer, and even an extinct Irish elk. Some gruesome scenes of skinning, and some sickening footage of a Texan shooting dead first a lion then a leopard in South Africa. Star of the show was the 2003 World Champ from Switzerland, a prize stuffer of fish back living with his parents after a divorce and undergoing a personal crisis.

Caught five minutes of Jaws, well worth it for the Chief Brody tracking shots and the entrance of Robert Shaw: I'll catch that fish for three, etc.

Sanctuary, [n]: (1) that place in Logan's Run (where Michael York gave battle in vain) which they tried to reach in search of Peter Ustinov (2) part of a song title by The Cult, in which an unspecified female is vending such a product or service (3) a new cafe/restaurant in the quaint borough of Ipswich.

Me and three kids, all of us on bikes, found Sanctuary around 4pm. One OJ, a plastic-bottled Sprite and a glass-bottled Fat Coke for those under 11, and something highly caffeinated for the responsible parent. Plus a generous slice of carrot cake. What's good? It's all good. Friendly staff, and they even offered the kids a free pastry each.

Also picked up a leaflet for next weekend's Heritage Open Days in the town. The usual suspects are opening their doors - Willis, Bethesda, etc - but there's also Freston Tower and, slightly closer to home, the usually closed Broomhill Pool. I'll be doing the short journey up the road to see what sort of state it's in: unlike the Sanctuary, not good, I guess.

Ken Bruce off R2: witty guy? Heard ten mins of his show while motoring to work and he seemed, well, funny. He played the current Oasis single (sounded like a Zutons album track to me), then called them "the Chas & Dave of their generation." Which struck me as humourous.

One or two tracks earlier was Beach Baby, I think by First Class. Couple of mins into the song is an instrumental break, poss. with French horns, which sounds v. much like Glassworks by Philip Glass. Spooky.

Not driven to work for a while and wouldn't have today but for some emergency repairs. Wife had reported some not-good noises from the underside, so muggins did the Kwik-Fit run. Arrived for opening time and was still 4th in the queue, sporting my Lance cycling top and shorts in anticipation of two less wheels. Like that 6 foot 10 inch tennis bloke, their service is second to none. Mechanic chappy diagnosed a sheared shock (or shomething shimilar) and said he'd have it done in around 25 minutes. Which gave me an excuse to wander into McDonald's next door for a latte, pancakes & syrup (guilty pleasure) and Sudoku in their copy of The Times. Dashed hard work, this car maintenance malarkey. All together now: refitting is the reversal of removal.

And I spotted a number 1 number plate on the way home. Up to 4 now.

Lost on VHS tonight while nibbling on homemade crumbly custard creams. Nearly got spoiler-ed by an article in the McNewspaper, never mind the odd mention in Andrew Collins' blog. Jungle Jack's back story got an airing: boy, it's tough being the hero. Various creepy "is he or isn't he hallucinating" moments made for an entertaining episode. And if you did turn over to E4 straight away for the successive installment, what would you watch next week? That way lies madness, to be sure.

It was the first of September, a day I'll struggle to recall. Never could rhyme.

In the States they have NaNoWriMo, where anyone game enough can attempt to write a 50,000 word novel. In just one month. Heck, I thought, if people can do that then I can at least write a few words every day for a month, that month being September 2005.

First few minutes of 'tember found me scanning the back of a used crisp packet and keying the dot matrix style alphabetic characters into a text message. Walkers are giving away a silver iPod every 300 seconds this month, you see, and you've got to be in it to stand a chance. Darn those rhymes. Didn't win in the 00:05 draw - they're good enough to send you back a little "Sorry..." message after the event - but am looking forward to seeing their stats online showing number of entries per five minute period, etc.

Best thing about work today was lunchtime: 20 minutes of ping-pong followed by bakery pasty plus latte over a game of speedy chess. Two games, actually: I fell to fool's mate in a couple of mins, so we had a rematch. Checkmate to me after half an hour, hurrah!

Biked home playing a half hearted game of Consecutive Number Plate Spotting - I believe Mr Herring has the rules. In the time it took to get home, I'd seen stacks of 02s, 03s, etc., but not a single dang 01, hence I failed to even get started. Did this new numbering scheme begin with 51 and not 01? Do all the 01 drivers like to stay late, impressing no-one with their presenteeism? Are they all lapping up the sun in Provence? Maybe there was an 01 rally at Duxford today?

Oh well, at least 66.6% of the kids enjoyed their Asda Extra Special Premium Pork Chipolatas.