Fatherhood once again. Bluh.

As you may have seen from previous photos, my wife, Nur, is pregnant, not overfed on pies. Proof of this is the pic on the left, done by 3D tomography, of the incipient homunculus. Modern technology - marvellous, innit guv'nor?

This young person, of whom I shall reveal more around the event, is due in November, but because of size restrictions (the baby is BIG, while Nur is tiny) will probably be delivered by C-section on or around October 25th. A welcome sibling for Angus, who is excited by the prospect: A complete family for Nur, the standard model.

You may have noticed by my tone that I do not seem entirely ecstatic at the prospect of fatherhood second time round; This is because I'm not. I dread and/or resent the following:

• sleeplessness and not getting a decent night's sleep for the next 3 years;
• crying, puking, childhood illnesses and nappies;
• five more years of penury - new children are bloody expensive;
• the prospect of trying to find somewhere bigger to live, and not being able to afford it;
• the mind-numbing boredom of playing with young children;
• the terrible Twos phase, followed by the Tiresome threes, Fearful Fours, Feckin' Fives etc etc.
• Having to watch, over and over, until my brain crawls out of my ears and finds somewhere to hide, the same episodes of Teletubbies, Thomas the Tank Engine, Toy Story, Tweenies, Fimbles, and especially, Roly Poly FUCKING Olie (see previous entries)
• Not getting a moment's peace, EVER.

However, a life is a life, and a child is a child, and still precious, and despite all the pety miseries and tribulations that lay ahead, I will still love and cherish the little wotsit.

I'll just have to get a job that means I spend very little time at home.

Who was Ismail Kara?

Ismail: the Mr. Fixit of Dilko. The Guy who was sent to the airport to pick up new teachers, fresh off the plane, they not speaking a word of Turkish, he only knowing a smattering of words - 'Welcome! Hello! Come!' - delivered in a voice that was deep and cigarette-stained. His face was a dark ruddy colour, forged from years of sunlight, fags and way too much raki. When he wasn't pootling round the school, generally avoiding work, or delivering things to the teachers' accommodation, he could be find in the spit-and-sawdust reeking pit of a birahane next door. When you wanted something done, or sorted out, or a bill paid, it was Ismail who would sort it out, one way or another, usually by finding someone else to do the legwork. A cigarette usually dangled from his mouth, which was largely set in a lazy, benign smile. A kind man, by and large, with a good word for everyone. Behind that, though, there had been tragedy in his life; problems with relatives, a daughter killed in a car crash, another one said to have been born with severe disabilities. Yet he ploughed on in a lowly, not very well-paid job, sweating his life by, largely trusted, even though he could be lazy and dishonest to his boss. Someone well-liked, loved even.
I found out when I went to Bakirkoy that he died of a massive heart attack while at work last year. Ruhuna Fatiha.

Bored.

The weather is grey, and threatening rain; I need to wake up early to ferry Nur to work, and wait until the evening, when she is ferried home again; Angus is in constant need of entertainment; Daytime TV has not made any significant strides towards being a more entertaining of edifying spectacle since Easter; And I am twitching around, seeking to keep myself occupied. Yes, it's the joy of the summer holidays, when I seem to spend all my time being chauffeur, entertainer, home repairs specialist, cook and bottlewasher. Oh joy!

Politeness on the bus.

...or in other words, 'get your lazy feckless arse off this seat and let the coffin-dodger rest their bones'.
It's good to see examples of old-fashioned orders disguised under layers of implication and suggestion still around. This from the 197 bus on Saturday night.

I went to Lee and Kate's new gaff. The original plan was to have a Not the Reading Festival Festival, but in the end there were ten of us, hiding from the rain in the conservatory, eating barbie food and listening to loud music, and, of course, getting totally rat-arsed.

yet more pics

How did it feel to be back, after four years?
Well, it was strange, to be honest; in many ways, I felt right at home again, as though I had never left Bakirkoy and Istanbul. It was as if I had tapped into another version of me, one who had stayed behind. I could see myself, walking the same streets, teaching the same lessons, involved in the same humdrum routines. This character, Turkish Paul, descended on me the moment I arrived in the airport. I found my Turkish suddenly sharpened, the way I behaved slightly changed, even the way I walked altered ever so subtly, and this persona departed only on the last day, as I packed him into my suitcase with all my other stuff. On the other hand, I remained observant of things I only half-remembered; the manner in which tired souls walk down hot night streets, with a rocking, rolling gait; the general rudeness of the street - think the way people are on the streets of London, but without the sense of encroaching on personal space; The breathtaking beauty of young Turkish women, their sense of poise or their languid sensuality; And the way that that the eye, amidst all the ugly, soul-grinding tower blocks and new buildings, yearns and strives towards a patch of beauty.
I also noticed the new. Whatever the shortcomings that Istanbul has, it is undeniable that it is making steps forward. The roads were perceptibly better, and there has been a clear attempt to make the general environment much more livable. There is still a long way to go, but it is moving in the right direction.

Walking down the main drag in Bakirkoy, Angus turned to me and asked, 'Dad, if twit isn't a swear word, then why is twat?'

holiday pics...

...boring to many I know, but irresistable to share. A greengrocer's; Nurel and Nuran; Nurel and Hasan; Angus in the Yesil Cafe, Bakirkoy; View from the roof of Gul and Hakan's villa.

tanned and peeling.

....and letting my liver recover from a frenzy of raki consumption. I have had a fantastic ten days of doing pretty much bugger all, lazing in a friend's 3-story villa overlooking a sparkling Marmara Sea. Just what I needed. I'll post more later, photos included.

Here it is - the first tomato of the crop, and just in time for Lammas, too.
Well, I'm off to Turkey tomorrow, and I suspect blogging possibilities will be limited, as we'll be traipsing round relatives and drinking far too much cay. However, if I manage to get to a cybercafe at some stage I'll post.