Well, that's odd - that spam web-bot thing left loads of comments on 12th August 2006 again. So I've changed the script so that the URL to add comments has changed. In fact, come to think of it, I could make the URL to add comments change every time. That would confuse them. Hmmmm. Anyway.

So, anyway . . . over the course of our holiday, A****** was always eating with us. We initially bought a couple of jars of baby food with us (which, stupidly enough, they insisted one of us (M**** volunteered) try before passing through security at Manchester airport). God, I forgot about that, and how much it all annoys me. Consider this (or maybe this or some craziness here), the pertinent bit being the following:

Now for the fun part. Take your hydrogen peroxide, acetone, and sulfuric acid, measure them very carefully, and put them into drinks bottles for convenient smuggling onto a plane. It's all right to mix the peroxide and acetone in one container, so long as it remains cool. Don't forget to bring several frozen gel-packs (preferably in a Styrofoam chiller deceptively marked "perishable foods"), a thermometer, a large beaker, a stirring rod, and a medicine dropper. You're going to need them.

It's best to fly first class and order Champagne. The bucket full of ice water, which the airline ought to supply, might possibly be adequate - especially if you have those cold gel-packs handy to supplement the ice, and the Styrofoam chiller handy for insulation - to get you through the cookery without starting a fire in the lavvie.

So, erm . . . previously, we tried him with real food, and he wasn't really interested for long, except at lunch time and breakfast, when we would have Ready Brek (and various other breakfast cereals), toast, sandwiches, yoghurts, fruit and stuff. But dinner . . . well, we had problems there. He just got in these rages and wouldn't accept any help with his cutlery (or his hands) in getting dinner to his mouth. But yeah . . . that's all behind us now. No more baby food and no more food rage (we hope). Continuing the A****** update . . . we're still not getting much in the way of words out of him, and sometimes the situation seems as frustrating to him as it is to us. He'll frown, point at things, shout jibberish and we've no idea what he's on about. Ah well. But hey, comparisons are odious. They talk when they wanna talk. Walk when they wanna walk. Et cetera.