Sunday, April 30, 2006


Five sample questions from the new Australian Citizenship test have just been leaked to me:

  1. What is the capital of Australia?
  2. How many states are there in Australia?
  3. Have you eaten any of the animals on the Australian Coat of Arms?
  4. Who holds the second highest office in Australia?
  5. What is Don Bradman's average batting score in Tests?
Answer in the comments.

Friday, April 28, 2006

Revocation of American State of Independence

A message to the citizens of the United States of America:

In light of your repetitive failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (excepting Kansas, which she does not fancy). Your new prime minister, Tony Blair, will appoint a governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you actually noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up "aluminium", and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it all along. The letter "U" will be reinstated in words such as "favour", "colour" and "neighbour." Likewise, you will learn to spell "doughnut" without skipping half the letters, and the suffix "ize" will be replaced by the suffix "ise".

Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up "vocabulary", if necessary.

Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.

There is no such thing as US English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter "u" and the elimination of "ize".

You will re-learn your original national anthem, God Save The Queen.

July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not mature enough to handle firearms. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and this is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you'll understand what we mean.

All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (the previously-used term "gasoline" will henceforth be taboo) - at roughly $6/US gallon. Get used to it.

You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick-cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.

The cold, tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. The substances formerly known as "American Beer" will henceforth be referred to as "Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine", with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as "Weak Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine". This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen, Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

Hollywood will be required to occasionally cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English roles. Watching Andie MacDowell attempt English dialogue in "Four Weddings and a Funeral" was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.

You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies).

Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the "World Series" for a game which is not played outside of America. However, since only 2.1% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable.

You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.

An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).

Thank you for your co-operation.

Found here.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006


Gallipoli was a monumental clusterfuck and so is this.

Kudos to The Pencil Guy.

Violence against who?

There was a march in the city today protesting violence against women. Now it's a very worthwhile cause and certainly worth more than the hundred or so protesters. However there were two problems that caught my eye:

  1. There was a large number of pregnant women or new mothers and most of them were smoking. So, it's say no to violence against women but yes to killing your kids with cigarettes;
  2. they were escorted by the police (in cars and on bikes) and when the march got to Hay St Mall the protesters headed down London Court. This thoroughly pissed off the police. I'm guessing that that wasn't the plan they submitted to get the permit.
Not terribly well thought out.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Which bank?

Do you remember the name of the bank that used to 'live here'? Yes, we all know that it was privatised and sold off to the Scots years ago, but there's still a part of me that feels that if they're going to keep the 'West' in their name then they should at least show some sense of loyalty: like filming their commercials here. Just when did we get the light-blue buses that you can see in the 'we're not gonna take it' commercial?

Sunday, April 23, 2006

So Spaketh The Zombie Milk Cow

Hard to believe it, but the Joob-beastie is now 2 weeks old.

Is that all? Feels like it's been forever. Some days have been better than others. People tell you about the sleepless nights, but they don't mention that a good day is one where you get to shower and change before noon. Not that it matters much, since you invariably change out of one set of jammies and into another.

By those standards, today was so-so, since I didn't get to shower until half past three in the afternoon. On the bad days, you get to shower just before bedtime.

At least the sleeping thing is beginning to sort itself out. The Joob-beastie generally has a feed around 11pm-ish, another around 2am-ish, and another around 5am-ish. A good feed - plus time spent wrestling him in and out of nappies, and persuading him to go back to sleep - generally takes at least an hour. In between feeds, sleep happens.

Something else they don't tell you: breastfeeding is hard work. Really really hard work.

Something absolutely no one could have told us: the Joob-beastie suckles at a teat like a dog worrying a bone. Gnash gnash pull bite grunt twist gnaw yank snort dribble and repeat. This is particularly endearing at 3 in the morning. I'm thinking about getting him a muzzle.

Hard to believe, but only a matter of weeks ago, I had a job and hobbies and time to net and a life outside of this flat. Now, nothing exists beyond the Joob-beastie. Zero. I have no energy to expand on anything that doesn't relate to feeding and nursing him. I live in my pajamas, and doing anything outdoors beyond hanging out the laundry or taking out the rubbish is physically exhausting. And time has become a luxury I can't seem to afford anymore. Babies are a time-sink.

And we're lucky. Because the Joob-beastie is healthy and whole, and gaining an estimated 60gms a day, and he can almost hold up his head entirely on his own, and if you give him something to push against he can even crawl... and he's only two weeks old.

Two weeks. Feels like it's been forever.

Thursday, April 20, 2006


I have a confession to make. I like torturing my son. I don't mean physcially hurting him, but I do like to tickle him mercilessly. I mean laughing at him when he has has one of his 'I wanna be fed now! Now! NOW!' cries. I freely admit to having a sadistic edge, but it's so funny watching him as he builds up to a wail. It's like listening to an old car on a cold morning. It rolls over and over, the engine not quite catching and then suddenly it fires, stops again, starts and then suddenly roars into life. When your kid sounds like an old jalopy it's funny. Even TP thinks so. Our son is gonna be so screwed up.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Saturday, April 15, 2006

One percenters

One of the many things we've learnt in the last eight days is that breastfeeding is hard. The basic principle is easy but getting JOOB latched exactly right has proven troublesome. Even holding him one centimetre too far to the left or right makes a big difference.

I was surprised at all the breastfeeding support available before JOOB was born. There's associations and child health nurses and 24hour call lines. Now I know why. Small problems and even minor inefficiencies make a big difference to the health of the child. Like they say in footy: it's the one percenters that make all the difference between winning and losing.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Truth or Lie

What they tell you: All the Big Brother housemates will be nude.
What they don't: They're all rejects from the Biggest Loser.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

JOOB - the story so far (Part Two)

My son lay upon his mother dead and lifeless. I have to say that the quiet academic part of me that had dominated throughout the labour and birth was looking down at him with interest and fascination. The sort of cold detachment that you get when every emotion has switched off leaving only scientific interest behind. The lover, father and artist had been replaced by the hacker/scientist.

Within moments the umbilical was cut and Glenn, who had returned just as everything got interesting, picked him up and carried him across the room to the waiting pediatrician, Yure. They placed him in a special cradle that is heated and has all the necessary equipment all in one unit. We'd been told during our tour of the hospital that there is always a pediatrician at the birth and that the array of machines that they use will ALWAYS be turned on and readied no matter how uncomplicated the birth or how healthy the newborn. I watched as Yure and Glenn did their thing and rescusitated my son. What surprised me was that they did it with a vacuum cleaner and a long thin tube that they inserted up his nose and into his lungs.

As I mentioned previously, JOOB had pooed (called meconium or mec) in the womb and subsequently that had gotten into his lungs and stomach. It sounds awful, but apparently the meconium is sterile and only becomes a problem if it is there for a long time because it causes an irritation and the possibility of infection. We're talking days here, so JOOB was okay if they could get him unstunned.

TP at this stage was delivering the placenta. I was surprised at how quickly the afterbirth was 'born'. That was quick. I didn't expect it to happen that soon, I said to the doctor assisting. I'm glad you think so, TP snapped back thinking I meant the whole birth. That was the harshest response she made during the entire process and that was quickly settled once I explained myself. Essentially, however, TP was still in la-la land and still wasn't taking any notice of what was happening across the room.

I saw Yure draw the tube out of JOOB and then give him a quick snort of oxygen. Up until now JOOB was mostly lifeless although I could have sworn that I had seen him move a little. Just not enough. The O2 however did the job. A short grizzle followed by twitching. My boy was alive.

The grizzle generated a reponse of its own in TP. She looked across and really saw her baby for the first time.

I was then called across to be with him. JOOB was squirming and trying to wake. I placed my index finger in his left hand and he immediately gripped it. Strongly. I knew then he would make it. Yure interrupted my moment of bonding by getting me to cut the cord again.

I'd been fairly ambivalent when it had been explained to us during the antenatal classes that the father cuts the cord. I suppose to some that it has meaning but to me it doesn't. That doesn't mean that I would have avoided doing it, but it just seemed unnecessary and too ritualistic. Now that JOOB's cord had already been cut it seemed even more so. In the end I did it for Yure, because he seemed to 'need' me to cut it. Just for the record, they're tough to cut through even with the razor sharp scissors that hospitals use.

By this time Glenn and Yure had prepared the cradle to move down to the Special Care Nursery. My boy wasn't out of the woods yet. Or so we all thought.

Special Care is down one floor from the Birthing Suites. The journey - with the cradle - took about two minutes. By the time we reached the nursery my son was wide awake and bright eyed. He was also highly curious of everything. I suppose I would be too if I was seeing everything for the first time. Even blurrily.

After a check JOOB was declared fit and healthy. Then we waited while he received his shots that unfortunately for him were preceded by a taste of glucose. I hope as a result he will associate sugar with discomfort and avoid lollies and other sweets. Probably not. He was then washed, dressed and double checked by the head pediatrician and given the all clear. Then came the time to put new tags on him - his own instead of his mother's. It was like watching the midwives prepare for a full-scale nuclear missile launch. They checked and double-checked the information, made sure another midwife confirmed it and then made sure I did too. It was great to see that level of care and professionalism.

Once that happened we had to wait for the midwife to have enough time to take us back up to TP. They're exceedingly busy in there and most of the tiny patients are in serious need. This gave me plenty of time to bond with my son. We discussed football and cricket and talked about what style of martial art he was interested in pursuing. We chatted about art and music and science and politics. Just the usual things a father and son chat about. Then, once the midwife was free we headed back up.

TP was just emerging from the shower when we got back to the Birth Suite. There were tears when she first held him but that is only natural. He, however, was looking back up at her and I gathered he was wondering what all the fuss was about. I explained it all later. He understands now.

I have to say that our entire experience with KEMH was an absolute pleasure. Everything from the antenatal classes to the labour team to the after birth care - which is still ongoing and will continue at least until he reaches primary school. HOW GOOD IS THAT? The world has another concert pianist or nobel laureate or axe-wielding psychopath and it's all thanks to them. Without their help we wouldn't have known what to do and JOOB (and possibly TP) certainly would never have survived. Thanks.


Anonymous stranger: "So what did you do today, skribe?"
Me: "I milked my wife."

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Sunday, April 09, 2006

JOOB - the story so far (Part One)

I suppose the best place to start would be with the magical hands of Dr John. TP had her last clinic examination on Friday morning - performed by Dr John- which, unfortunately, involved an internal exam. They hurt, particularly when the cervix is unripe. TP's wasn't even close to being ripe and so she was booked in to be induced on Monday. But it appears as if Doc's magical hands triggered something because within a few hours TP was in labour.

Of course, she didn't realise it at the time and I didn't find out for certain until about five hours later - I had to drag that out of her as it was. For weeks she's been having muscle spasms in the groin area as the muscles loosen in preparation for the birth. She's also been plagued with Braxton-Hicks so I forgive her for not telling me. When we got home all she wanted to do was sleep - the last two weeks have been exhausting - so I tucked her in and she had a good few hours nap.

I woke her up for dinner and she seemed fine. It was after dinner that she revealed that she was getting regular 'twinges'. Are these like Braxton-Hicks?, I asked. No, she said, They're a bit different. So I said, Then, you're in labour.. She didn't believe me, but it was confirmed after I felt her belly during a contraction. We had been told during antenatal class that we'd be able to tell the difference and you can. So, the show had started and the guest-of-honour was about to arrive. By this stage contactions were coming every eight-or-so minutes and lasting roughly 30 seconds.

When you're told about contractions and their timings it all seems so orderly, but we're dealing with the human body here. Some contractions lasted only a few seconds others went 20-40 secs, and the timings between them varied between six minutes and ten. But on average they went for 30 seconds with about eight minutes between. It's one of the many things I learnt during the next 24 hours.

I also learnt that the early stage of labour is boring, even for the mother. There's little pain involved so there wasn't much for me to do, other than make sure that TP was comfortable and getting lots of fluids. I watched a movie. TP played computer games. That changed around eleven o'clock when the pain began.

You know how you hear someone talking after some heroic effort by a fire-fighter or a cop like walking into a burning building and single-handedly carrying out seventeen generations of one family and they say the training took over? Well, the training took over. We'd been well-schooled by Susan, who runs the antenatal classes at KEMH, and so we knew what to do.

By 1am events were progressing nicely and so we called the hospital to see if we should come in. They advised us to wait a little longer and call back. We called back around 2am, and this is the only complaint I have of the entire six-month experience (clinics, classes, etc) at KEMH. The phone to the 24 hour, always on call, we will be here when we need you, birthing clinic rang out. Repeatedly. In the end we decided to go to the hospital.

We arrived with much luggage in hand and quickly progressed through to the assessment area. It's possible to be in labour and yet for the cervix to be still unripe. It has to soften and retract, and if that was the case we would have been sent home to wait some more. One girl we know had been in labour on and off for a week. So TP had to undergo another internal vaginal exam. I have no idea how that went because I stepped out for an urgent personal refreshment break (pee) and found myself locked out for the next hour. When next I saw her she was doped up on morphine and complaining about being so sleepy. The good news was that she was definitely in labour and her cervix was ripe. The bad news was it had only dilated 2cm. It needs to be 10cm for bub's head to fit through.

We spent the next three hours in the backroom of the assessment area. At one stage one of the midwives came and shut the door to muffle the screams. Unfortunately, nothing, not even the morphine, seemed to help.

About 7am we were moved into a proper birthing suite and assigned our own midwife: Glenn. He's actually the only male midwife I've ever met and I don't envy him: the other midwives make fun of him, but only a little and certainly not when I mention that they're female sexist pigs - all in good fun of course (well mostly). Glenn was great. Our rock.

By this stage TP was screaming for gas. NO2, like what dentists and poor goths, looking for a cheap high, use. It actually had an effect upon her pain. At least initially.

As the support person my job was to aid TP mainly by making sure she was as comfortable as possible. Usually that involved creating a mellow atmosphere (lights down low and soft music), making sure she was hydrated (ice-chips/cubes get TPs personal stamp of approval btw), and remembering stuff for her during a contraction - like using the gas. Severe pain drives out logic. Even the most basic and obvious things are hard and sometimes seemingly impossible without a little help.

About an hour after the move to the Birthing Suite we were asked if we would mind having a medical student join us to observe and assist. Neither of us had any problem and so Noel joined our happy little troop. My job was made so much easier by having Noel there.

If the early stages of labour are boring, then the middle stages (end of stage one actually) are mind-numbing (at least for the support person). There's not a lot to do, and much of that is at the whim of the mother. After six hours of back rubbing, standing around waiting and ice-cube retrieving all while having a woman scream at the top of your lungs the mind tends to wander. The midwife is pretty busy, but Noel had no assigned tasks so he was someone I could talk to and ask idiotic medical questions. I think he liked that and we developed a great rapport.

Around 11am TP had another internal exam and she had progressed to 5cm dilation. Halfway there. But events progressed fairly rapidly and much of it is a blur.

I remember that at about 11.30am they gave her another shot of morphine - which like the first one seemed to do nothing. At around 12pm they broke TPs waters (using a device not unlike a knitting needle) and she was at 6cm. At about the same time they put a drip into her arm to help her hydrate - she didn't want to drink and the ice cubes weren't enough.

By 1pm the gas was no longer enough and, although she had sworn never to use it, TP requested an epidural. This involves sticking a needle into her spine and pumping painkillers directly into her spinal cord. TP and I had discussed pain management at length. One of the reasons she'd decided not to use an epidural was because it would limit her movement - you end up attached to a drip filled with the painkiller. By this stage TP was already hooked up to a drip and had to be severely prompted into even shifting position - let alone moving around so it seemed moot. Plus the pain had simply become too much and so she gave in.

I say gave in because she was the only one in the room who wasn't prompting her to use it. I recommended that she have one at 11am but she's stubborn and one helluva fighter. She went through another one hundred or so soul-destroying contractions before she changed her mind. The irony is that she never got the epidural.

We were told that the anaesthetist was delayed. Then Glenn had to go to his scheduled lunch break at 1pm and so was replaced by an Irish midwife, Anne I think her name was although I honestly can't remember. She was like a whirlwind. She moved TP around and had her change into a better position. Within a few minutes another doctor arrived to do her internal exam and presto TP turned out to be fully dilated.

For the previous 12 hours I had seen my beloved slowly crushed by the pain. She was a rag doll totally consumed by the spasms in her belly. And then Anne told her she had to push and I saw a light blaze in TPs eyes and she said one word: Finally!.

It took her a few tries but she got the hang of it. During one of her pushes the midwife said one of the funniest things I've heard in my life - or perhaps it was just that I hadn't slept in 36 hours: Come on, push! You still have some pain left..

Anyway, after a few push cycles they decided to suck poor little Jooby out with a vacuum. This involved them fitting a device to his head and pulling while TP pushes. It's harmless but because the skull of a newborn is so soft the bit that attaches to the vacuum distends. The lump does disappear pretty quick but it leaves a bruise that is supposed to last a few days (can't say I've noticed btw).

It took a couple of more contraction-push cycles before the head emerged. The first thing I noticed about my son - apart from his thick black hair - was his left ear. I have distinctive ears and he had them.

By this stage I could smell poo. I initially thought TP had messed herself during her push, but then I heard one of the doctor's mention that Jooby had pooed in the womb. It's not uncommon but it generally occurs when the baby is in distress.

Then Anne told TP, Get ready. We're going to put him on your belly because there's no room down here.

The next thing I knew was he was there on TPs belly and she was looking down at him and I could see in her eyes she was thinking (later confirmed), What the fuck is this thing?. She was in la-la land, which is just as well, because Joob was too. He was motionless and dead-looking.

continued in part two

Saturday, April 08, 2006


Born at precisely 13:50 Saturday 8th April, 2006
Weight: 3.08kg
Length: 50.5cm

JOOB are his initials btw. Actually they're technically JOOWB, but the W is silent =).

Friday, April 07, 2006

Word of the Day

Terrorfication, n. intense, overpowering fear when you realise you will become a parent within a few days hours.


You know how it is, you've been working on a project for months and then suddenly - BANG! - the deadline is just around the corner. Well, the project we've been working on for the last forty-one weeks suddenly just got its deadline: Monday at 4pm TP goes into labour. It could happen sooner, apparently there are all sorts of rumblings and stretchings going on as we speak, but come Monday bubs getting kicked outa the house - whether he likes it or not. I just hope we don't have to repeat the process thirty years from now.

UPDATE: We seem to be in the middle of the real thing. Contractions progressing. One every 7-8 minutes so far. Mostly mild (but still uncomfortable) although bub doesn't like them. He's kicking up a storm.

UPDATE 2: Contractions now every 5 minutes or so. Heading to the hospital soon.

Thursday, April 06, 2006


Did anyone else just hear a series of explosions around Perth? Sounded like fireworks but it's daytime.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

You Know You're Seriously Sleep-Depped When...

... you can't tell the difference between April and May (re: my earlier post on 01:02:03 04/05/06), and it takes you a couple of days to realise it.

... you catch yourself about to put sugar in the coffee grinder, so in a self-congratulatory glow, you then put the unground coffee beans into your mug, pour freshly boiled water into the empty French press, and then come back five minutes later and think, "That's odd, the coffee's not ready."

... it's too much trouble to decipher the numbers on a digital clock, so you figure out the time by what's on TV (ie. if there're no cooking shows on at all, it's probably lunch time).

... you also use TV to keep track of what day of the week it is (even though you can't keep track of how often Lost, Futurama, and all the CSIs are on).

... you empty the chicken bones and cutlery off your plate into the bin, and then wonder why there seems to be less washing up to do.

... everytime you open a door, you keep bumping against it, because you've forgotten to allow for your pregnancy girth.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

End Women's Suffrage


01:02:03 04/05/06

Set your alarms and time your screenshots, if you're of a mind. At two minutes and three seconds past 1am tomorrow morning, the time and date will be:

01:02:03 04/05/06

This won't happen again for another century, unless you live in the US, in which case you just have to wait until 4th May.

Blooker Winners Announced

A while back, I mentioned here that the self-puplication site Lulu was running a competition for blogs-turned-books called the Blooker Prize (ha ha). Well, the winners for 2006 have been announced. Entries for 2007 will soon be open.

With an increasing number of high-profile blogs finding their way onto bookshelves, are so-called "blooks" the publishing trend of the future? After all, what better way to test-drive a potential book than to publish it on the web first and gauge feedback?

Or maybe, in the case of Lulu, the Blooker Prize is just a clever way to further develop their market. Damn, I'm cynical. Blame it on the hormones: these days I seem to be either crying because I can't get out of bed, or blackly dismissive about the price of bananas and the inconsistencies of Honest John's immigration policies.

Monday, April 03, 2006


Ten Top Trivia Tips about skribe!

  1. Ancient Greeks believed earthquakes were caused by skribe fighting underground.
  2. skribe is worth his weight in gold - literally.
  3. The canonical hours of the Christian church are matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, skribe and compline.
  4. In the kingdom of Bhutan, all citizens officially become skribe on New Year's Day.
  5. If you break skribe, you will get seven years of bad luck!
  6. The patron saint of skribe is Saint Eugenie.
  7. When skribe is swallowed, he will enter the blood stream within twenty minutes.
  8. skribeicide is the killing of skribe!
  9. Humans share over 98 percent of their DNA with skribe.
  10. According to the story, Pinocchio was made of skribe.
I am interested in - do tell me about

Thanks, Jess.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

That Day of the Year Again

Admittedly, I'm not looking very hard, but apart from Slashdot having a bit of fun with its website, there doesn't seem to be much else happening. Is April Fools' Day dying out? Or is it just not a slow-enough news week?

Months ago, I thought it would be amusing to have an April Fool's baby (and since I'm technically overdue - according to one set of calculations - it could yet happen) but now I'm not so sure anymore. True, no one would forget his birthday. On the other hand, he'd have to put up with the sort of gag gifts and japery other people think is hilarious for the rest of his life.

Ah, well, the waiting game goes on. Anything but 4th of April, fingers crossed. I don't think any of my more superstitious relatives would forgive me for that :)