Gene Genie

Nothing reminds me why my Kids are the way they are than a trip to my mother's house, and today was no different. A case in point

"Got any holidays planned?"

"Yeah, we're going to Legoland."

"Oh. With the Kids?"

"No mum, with a serial killer."

And then I get that look that tells me I'm being rude, and that it wasn't a stupid question. Certainly no more stupid than

"What does your friend Paul do for a living?"

"He's a wind surfing instructor."

"Can he wind surf?"

Now, I shouldn't be telling you this because my Ma reads this blog and the next time I go over to her house (claiming to want to see her but really because she's just bought and iPad) she'll chase me round the kitchen with a broom handle. But the fact of it is that she, as well as all the sundry other members of our family, are to blame for the way my Kids are. Except me. I'm blameless.

Not that my Ma is stupid, far from it. She's er... not sixty anymore... and yet she can use predictive text, she's on Facebook, she's just bought and iPad (I know I've mentioned that, but I'm a bit fixated) and although she says "uploading" when she means "downloading" (which DRIVES ME INSANE) she's very modern and with it. More than me. I use phrases like "with it." Plus, despite coming across as a bit timid, she's rather brave. After all, she moved to the UK when it still had an empire and most people in this country thought bananas were exotic. That doesn't stop her from being crazier than a shit  house rat. Although she can text rather well, this is the kind of text message I get from her

Am I texting in a Spanish accent?

She can be a bit overly concerned by her accent, having been regularly asked if she's German, Portugese, Nigerian (?), French, and - my favourite - Irish. This was by an Irish woman. 

"Ah, you're from Ireland! What part of Ireland are you from, love?"

"Barcelona."

Classic.

But I kind of understand. After all, I am not called David because of her accent. I should preface this story with the fact that the Spanish pronounce "V" the way English speakers pronounce "B". So the story goes she was in the ambulance in labour with me when the paramedic decided to strike up a conversation.

"So have you got a name for the baby?"

"If its a girl, I'll call her Maria. If its a boy I'll call him Dabid."

"Dabid?"

"No... Dabid."

"Is that Spanish?"

"No. Dabid. DA-BID. Like Dabe."

"Dabe?"

"I've changed my mind. I'll call him Boy."

And my Ma is just the tip of the iceberg. The Kid's maternal Grandmother lists "collecting bricks" amongst her hobbies.

So you see, the Kids were screwed from the start. This is why today, when asked who her favourite man was the Girl said

"Boy."

"Oh. Well who's your favourite Daddy?"

"Auntie Jason."

And the Boy steals my iPod and takes videos like this

And to all you neigh sayers (excluding horses, who can't help it) the Boy did take this video. If I'm lying you can keep him. In fact, you can keep him if I'm telling the truth. He keeps blowing up the cat.