Wednesday 28 March 2012

Extracurricular

We have enrolled the Boy in football lessons at his school. To clarify for my American readers, when I say football I mean what you call soccer. If I refer to what you call football I normally say "The sport bit between the two hour Pepsi ad." It's not catchy, but it is accurate.

The only downside with the Boy playing football is that because he goes to a faith school everyone has to go in goal. Because Jesus saves you see.

Sorry about that. Won't happen again.

Today I popped along to watch him, which was a bit of a mistake. After only a few minutes it was apparent that he was pretty much oblivious to the game. Not that he was alone in this. Three or four kids were taking it very seriously. However the rest were either running in circles, crying or peeing in the bushes. The Boy seemed completely unaware that the ball had any significance to the match. Certainly he never tried to kick it. In fact he didn't even look at it. To the Boy the game revolved around adjusting his tabard, as if it was an uncomfortable bra or a nice little off the shoulder number. Once, in a moment of inspiration, he laid down across the goal mouth. Unorthodox defending, but it worked because it stopped a goal. Later I asked him if he'd done that because he was in defence.

"No. I was a bit tired."

This despite the fact that he ran once during the entire match. And that was to the toilet. Still, he enjoyed himself and cheered every time a goal was scored.

"Goal! "
"You're not supposed to cheer THEIR goals! "

I hid myself away whilst he was playing, so he would stay focused (some chance).  When the mayhem ended I stepped out from behind a tree and said hello.

"Mum! "
"Christ.  I'm DAD. "
"Did you see me play? I scored a hundred goals. "

Whilst this statement wasn't that amusing in itself, the look on the face of his team mate who had been taking it all very seriously was, to put it mildly, hilarious.

Earlier that morning the Wife and I had taken the Girl to gymnastics. I recommend watching a toddler's gymnastics class because I think it's the closest you'll get to experiencing the end of the world.  They act like I expect people to act when they've been told that an asteroid will hit the Earth. Lots of running and screaming, a bit of vomiting, crying, biting - even the odd stolen kiss or hug. It is the purest form of chaos, with a few ruddy faced women of a certain age trying - and utterly failing - to keep order. Essentially its like descending into madness - particularly when any queuing is involved. The teacher would neatly line all the Kids up,  then turn to get some equipment and the queue would scatter instantly and try to kill each other with hula hoops. Sometimes they would join a different queue, causing complete confusion for the teachers. At one point a little boy subject the Girl to her first french kiss. He didn't even buy her a drink first. Honestly, Kids today. No manners.

The up and the down side of a day like today is that going back to work tomorrow will seem very normal and mundane. Moribund, even. It's good to have a bit of chaos in your life.

Tuesday 27 March 2012

Lucky

I'm lucky enough to get home from work early enough to spend a couple of hours with the Kids. I say lucky, this was how my two hours went today.

On walking through the door I said hello to the Girl, who roundly ignored me. The Boy did say hello and then muttered at me from the other side of the house.

"Dad! Dad!" *mumbles*
"What?"
*mumbles*
"WHAT???"
"I wasn't talking to you."
"Who were you talking to? There's no one else in here."
"Er.... Me!" *mumbles then laughs maniacally*

Two minutes through the door and I was ready to go back to work. So I stalked upstairs in a fit of pique. The Girl followed me, jumped up and down on the bed whilst I got change and then, when I tickled her, kicked me firmly in the throat. This was not the first time I had been pole-axed by a three year old Girl, but it was one of the most painful.

Whilst I crawled on the floor gasping for air and clutching my throat the Girl jumped on my back and tried ride me like a horse. It took a few minutes for me to extricate myself from this state of affairs, and I only managed this by pretending to be dead.

I'm not proud of myself.

I went back downstairs, had the usual conversation with the Boy

"How was school?"
"Ooh. Er... Ah. Can't remember."
"What did you do today?"
"Can't remember."
*Sigh* "What's my name?"
"Mummy."

whilst the Wife snuck off to the Boy's open evening (a paltry excuse for abandoning me to the whims of my Kids). I cooked dinner, which for once they ate without the usual food throwing, crying and occasional soiled underwear (the Girl, not me. Well, sometimes me but only six, maybe seven times.)

I passed on giving them a bath, since the day before they'd insisted on having a shower. The net result of this shower was; I got soaked, it used more water than the bath, the Boy blinded himself with shampoo and the Girl would only allow her bum to get wet. As such I moved straight to books and bed time. Now that the Boy is more confident with his reading he likes to read books to the Girl and myself. This does not always go without a hitch. Tonight's moment of crisis was this;

"Hungry fox falls in the box. Look out fox! There's cum on your snout."

Brilliantly I reacted to this by yelling

"Not cum! Cream!"

Which I'm sure you'll agree was exactly the right thing to do. Having negotiated that particular minefield I got the Kids to brush their teeth. Or in the Boy's case his nose. Then off to bed and that was when the Girl slammed the anchors on. First she refused, then started yelling "No" over and over until eventually the Wife had to intercede.

"If you don't go to bed you won't be able to go to Grandma's party tomorrow."
"Don't care."
"Ok... What should I do to tell you off for not going to bed?"
*Thinks for a moment* "Kill Boris?"

I'll be honest, I was on her side there. I hate that cat.

Saturday 24 March 2012

Rules


You can only climb up. You can't climb down again, but you can always climb up.

Similarly, you can take things out of boxes, but can't put them back into boxes.


As long as your head is hidden no one can see you


When Mummy or Daddy take you to their friend's house, you must only play with the single most expensive item in the house, regardless of what it is. If unsure, head for the telly and try to push it over.


When your toys are in a box, you must remove all of them and put them on the floor. If you are told to put them back in, refer to point two.


Every time Mummy or Daddy tread on Lego, they love you a little bit more.


When you hear the word "don't" it actually means; "Wait until I'm not looking. Then go crazy."


Your Mummy is her own Mummy. Also she is your Daddy's Mummy. Also, Daddy is your Mummy's Daddy, and also his own Daddy. This must be true, because they call each other "Mummy and Daddy". Except at night.


Mummy and Daddy give you a bath because they want to you either drown your brother/sister or fart.


If you need the toilet always wait until you are in the bath, in the car, or at the very least as far as humanly possible from a toilet.


If you feel sick, find Daddy. Then be sick on him.


The cat/dog is your slave/patient/dolly. You are free to do what you want to it.


On entering nursery you must cry until Mummy and Daddy can't hear you any more, then play happily for the rest of the day. When your Mummy or Daddy pick you up, scream.


In an emergency, your ride-along toy car also doubles as a toilet.


If you haven't eaten something before, you don't like it.


If you have a runny nose or chocolate/ice cream/milk around your mouth, wait until Mummy or Daddy are dressed for work then pretend you want to cuddle them and wipe your face on them. They will think of you 'fondly' when they find your little present during that important presentation. 

Your nose is a legitimate source of food.


Dear Readers - let me know if you've got any more of these (preferably by the comments box below - you don't have to join anything to comment). I'll make it an expanding list.

Friday 23 March 2012

In The Sun


"Dad! Dad!"
"What, Boy?"
"The Girl's throwing food at me!"
"Girl, stop throwing food at the Boy."
"He's in a zoo! I feeding him."
"I'M NOT A MONKEY!"

I don't know why, but my Kids either want to kill each other, or get married. And it changes in the blink of an eye. Over dinner yesterday the pair of them squabbled non stop. Either they were throwing food, tipping drinks on each other or - at one point - knife throwing. It truly was, to steal from Douglas Adams, the Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul.

After dinner the Kids went upstairs and whilst I was fart-arsing around I heard a thud and then the Boy said

"Are you all right, Girl?"
"Fell over."
"Did you fall over the Hoover?"
"Yes." *Starts crying*
"Don't cry! I'll cheer you up, I'll fall over the Hoover too!" *THUD* "Ow!" *Starts crying*

Still, it worked. When I got upstairs the Girl was laughing like a drain. 

The sweetest thing was that the Boy was tired and grumpy, and kept having meltdowns. So much so I had to give him a pep talk.

"Why do you think you're so tired?"
"Can't remember."
"Because you got up at five in the morning for a wee and instead of going back to bed you sat on the landing trying to feed Boris a toy car."
"Oh yeah. I got him to lick it once!"

The next day Nanna and Grandad came over prompting the Boy to mumble "Hello" and the Girl to yell "NO!" whenever anyone spoke to her. Or looked at her. Or weren't dead. Fortunately this passed and she resolved to lie face down on the ground for ten minutes. Along came new niece, and then Cousin. As ever there was a short stand off between the Girl and the Cousin who stared at each other like two gunfighters. The Boy broke the ice, in his own particular style, by punching himself in the face and falling over. We sat in the sunshine, laughing and joking. The Boy made the Girls laugh by trying to feed his bum to the chickens. The Girl complimented Nanna on her nails

"They're pink. I don't like pink."

And then all three Kids jumped on our slide and tried to push each other to their deaths. I cooked dinner for them - for which the Cousin was so grateful shepicked the broccoli off her plate and contemptuously flung it across the table.

After this afternoon I'm the happiest I have been for two weeks. It was an afternoon spent in the warmth of the family and the sun, surrounded by birdsong and laughter. Goodbye Winter. Hello Spring.


Sunday 18 March 2012

Play

Today the Wife and I took the Kids over to the brother-in-law's house for lunch. It was a lovely afternoon, we all coo-ed and ahh-ed over the new niece again. The Boy, the Girl and their other Cousin played nicely, and then not so nicely and then actually quite violently. Particularly when they were all on the trampoline (or "bounce-a-lene" as the Cousin insists on calling it) and the Girl and the Cousin tried to strangle the Boy with his own t-shirt. He didn't seem to mind too much. Either that or he knows better than to argue with two psychotic females.

After dinner the three children decided to put on a concert for the assembled adults, so they ran around collecting every musical instrument they could find (which turns out, was a lot) and set them up in the front room. Everyone was given a ticket (a post-it note), and we were ordered (not told - ordered) into our seats. The Cousin handed me a cushion and told me, rather pointedly 

"You have to use this to shoot any bad guys."

Then she and the Boy organised several "guards" around the stage, as if they were expecting trouble. It was a bit the Rolling Stones at the Isle of White - if you replaced Hells Angels with toddlers. Meanwhile, as a joke, I started shooting the Cousin with the cushion she'd given me. This did not go down well, and after a second time she confiscated the cushion from me

"Not me! You have to shoot bad guys!"

and demonstrated this by shooting her Grandmother. Having performed this execution, the Kids then proceeded with the concert. Now I know two of them were my Kids, and I'm a proud father so I'm a bit biased, but it really was god-awful. The Boy was on keyboards, the Girl (aptly) on drums and the Cousin on vocals. VERY vocals. Mainly what she did was tell us all off. In a weird way it was a bit like a free-form jazz recital I once went to. Then the Boy got up and danced like a robot, the Cousin ran out the room with her arms in the air and the Girl fell over the drums. Finally, the Boy tried to play the Kings of Leon "Sex on Fire"

"I can't find sex on the keyboard. Ess.... Sssss... Sssss..."

And before he asked us which key was sex, we all got up and left. Frankly the whole thing was a debacle. I really should have drunk more.

Big Day

Since its Mothers Day, my Kids came home from school with an assortment of crap that they'd made to show the Wife how much they love her. Nothing says "I love you" like a picture the Boy has drawn of himself playing football in the park and a legend that read


Tomum


lovefrom


BoyandGirl

Not one for spaces, my lad. As well as this, the Girl had made a heart shaped card, with bits of pink paper and glitter stuck to it. This did two things. Firstly it instantly adhered to the passenger seat of the car on the way home. Secondly it prompted everyone I've seen in the past two days to say to me; "You've got glitter on you."  In the same way that when you put TCP on a cut you have to endure six weeks of people sniffing and saying "You cut yourself?" The only person not to say this was the Girl, who alternately said

"You a lady!"

and

"Oooh... you preeeetty..."

in a very creepy way.

On top of it being Mothers Day, its also the nine year anniversary of the first date I had with the Wife and I remember it like it was nine years ago. I turned up in my tiny Nissan Micra, which was sort of like turning up in a pink tu-tu. I knocked on the door to discover her wearing a tracksuit (something I hate only slightly less than flip-flops. Weirdly this was the only time she wore a tracksuit) and had to convince myself not to fake a violent bout of diarrhoea. Fortunately I stayed and we had a romantic drink in a pub called the Pig and Whistle. She talked. A lot. We went back to her place. We discovered that we hated each other's taste in music.It was lovely. And in case you're wondering, no. I didn't put out. As the Girl says; I'm a lady.*

I was talking to the Boy and Girl about this as I drove them over to Grandma's house so I could rid myself of them for a while. They've been a nightmare this weekend

"Boy, this is the seventh time I've told you to put your clothes on! You're driving me insane!!"
(Girl, looking very confused) "You're not in Spain."
(Boy) "Gran comes from Spain."
"Not 'in Spain' - 'insane!' Gordon Bennett!"
"Who's Gordon Ben-?"
"GET IN THE CAR!!!"

Once I'd calmed down I got to talking to them about how I'd never really been happy until I met the Wife, and that she'd turned my life around. 

"I didn't really like myself before I met your Mum."
"I don't like myself."
(Concerned) "Really, Boy? Why not?"
"My winkle gets in the way of things."

I didn't enquire what "things" it was getting in the way of. Mine has never got in the way of anything, except for the occasional cricket ball, or knee. As often happens when the Boy speaks, there was an awkward silence. And as also often happens, this was broken by the Girl who yelled, quite aggressively

"Make a rainbow, daddy! MAKE A RAINBOW!"
"He can't, you berk!"
"Don't call your sister a berk!"
"Why, what does it mean?"

For those of you unaware, "berk" is cockney rhyming slang. The full phrase being "Berkeley Hunt" (I'll allow you to draw your own conclusions as to what it refers to. Safe to say, I didn't explain.

Gotta go, but before I do I feel compelled to mention that a friend of mine is getting married. So, Miss L, soon to be Mrs H - congratulations. I look forward to the day that your first child is born so that I can laugh at you. You've read this blog, its not like I haven't warned you.


*Some, all or none of this is actually true.

Tuesday 13 March 2012

Love Me Do

Bing Crosby once told a story of the day his son's hamster died. To help his son come to terms with the demise of his pet he helped him make a beautiful coffin from a shoebox, repleat with satin lining and handles. When it was finally finished they put the hamster into it and, as they were closing the lid the hamster suddenly stirred, stood up and sniffed about. Crosby and his son looked at each other for a long moment until his son said; "Let's bury it anyway."

Now, our Girl loves her cat. I mean, ignoring the time she pushed a spoon up its bum. Aside from that, she's always giving it cuddles and telling it, rather oddly, to "Calm down". Generally when its asleep. Its not like  Boris (our cat) is particularly stressed. Its so laid back its more like a door stop than a cat. Regardless, the Girl loves Boris. Which is why the Wife was somewhat taken aback by the following conversation in the car. 

"Where's Sidney cat? Did he die? Did he?"
"Yes. He died because he was very old."
"Is Boris cat old?"
"No, don't worry. He won't die for a lo-"
(Interrupting) "When he dies can we get a kitten?"

Kids are honest, you see. They say what they think. And it turns out they're heartless little bastards. Earlier this week Uncle Will and Auntie Sarah brought our new niece round in her pram. We were in the back garden and so, not getting a response from our front door, they went to our back garden gate where they encountered the Boy blowing bubbles on the back step. When they asked him to let them in he replied

"When I've finished blowing bubbles."

And very deliberately blew bubbles all over them for five minutes before we realised what was going on and rescued them. This level of "affection" isn't reserved for uncles and aunts. Tonight the Boy said

"I love mum the most."

And followed this up with

"Except for dad. I love him more."

Typically this alienated the pair of us. Part of me wanted to focus all my affection on the Girl which lasted right up until she insisted on dragging me up to the toilet and shoving her knickers in my face saying

"No poo!"

And then, very loudly

"SNIFF MY KNICKERS!"

We have very thin walls in our house. Next door don't get eye contact with us anymore.

Friday 9 March 2012

Panic

I had to pick the Kids up from school today, which is always a pleasure. That's not sarcasm, I mean it. Its one of the few times my Kids are glad to see me. So after work, I popped round the mother-in-law's for a quick cup of coffee, a conversation about the diet the Wife and I are on and a compliment ("You're not that fat. You don't look that bad") that left quite a lot to be desired... Then off to pick up the Kids.

As ever the Boy came out without a qualm, with a handful of sweets but somehow still choosing to eat his coat. We had our usual conversation on the way to the car;

"What did you do at school today?"
"Can't remember."
"Try."
*Sigh* "Something about numbers. Can I watch things exploding on the computer when we get home?"
"Er... yeah!"

Then off for a bout of driving up and down the road trying to find somewhere to park near the Girl's school whilst dodging humongous 4x4's driven by tiny, tiny women who don't feel that they need to LOOK OUT OF THE BIG WINDOW IN THE FRONT OF THE CAR.

Sorry. That's not relevant, it just really pisses me off.

At the school the Boy rushed off the play on the climbing frame whilst I and every other parent ignored each other by staring at our phones as if we'd had an urgent text message - when in fact I suspect most of them, like me, were trying to get three stars on Angry Birds. I was only roused from my reverie when I heard the Girl yell "Mummy!" (honestly, every bloody time) and run out of the door and head butt me in the crotch.

Once I'd recovered, I turned to the Boy and said "Come one" to discover he wasn't on the climbing frame. I looked around once, then again and, quite frankly, the bottom fell out of my world. He wasn't anywhere in the playground. I checked in the tree house whilst the Girl, having grown bored of me already, tried to escape. Getting properly scared I dragged her out through the gates thinking he might have tried to walk back to the car, but nothing. Then I started seeing the headlines, the press conference where we were begging whoever had him to give him back unharmed. And then the Boy nudged me in the back of the knee and said

"Ha ha! I was hiding!"

I love my son so much I simply can't express it in words, so I expressed it by grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, shaking him and shouting incoherently at him. This continued as I dragged him towards the car.

"You scared the hell out of me! Don't you ever do that again!"
"I was just hiding!"
"You scared mummy, Boy."
"Daddy. I'm daddy. And I'll tell him off thank you."
"Yeah, shut up, Girl."
"Don't you tell her to shut up."
"Yes. Don't tell me to shut up. You scared mummy."
"Actually, shut up, Girl."

Having got him in the car I took a deep breath and calmed down. I apologised to him, started the car and as we pulled away asked the Girl what she'd done at school today.

"I killed Benjamin."

So I lit up the front tyres and left as quick as I could.

Wednesday 7 March 2012

I'm Not Eating That

In an impressive feat of greed the Kids ate eleven yoghurts between them at dinner. Now, we don't normally stand for that level of corpulence, but the Wife bought them down the market for the princely sum of twenty five pence. And they would have gone green by tomorrow so it seemed like a good idea. No doubt it will return to haunt us at three in the morning when it all comes hurtling out of them like a jet of cream cheese but that's a risk I'm willing for the Wife to take. Apologies if you're eating by the way.

The Boy has been going through an anti-vegetable phase in the past week. This is a little unusual because in the past I have seen him root through the fridge and pilfer raw broccoli. For a while he was very health conscious and would regularly tell anyone who would listen (and many that wouldn't)

"I have to drink lots of water or my poo will come out all hard."

However last week he switched personalities and turned into one of those balloon-like, moon faced children you sometimes see on "documentaries" called "Ten Stone Todders" or something equally intelligent. On being presented his dinner he scowled at it and we had a conversation during which we somehow reversed our roles.

"I hate vegetables. What's that?"
"Aubergine."
"I don't like it."
"You haven't tried it."
" Why is it black?"
"To annoy you. Just bloody eat it!"
"Don't say bloody. I'll tell mum."
"No, don't!"

This happens on occasion. Today it was like this

"Boy, can you ask mummy to make me a cup of coffee?"
"Mum, dad would like a cup of coffee," (looks meaningfully at me) "PLEASE."

Anyway, a row ensued and to cut a frustratingly long story short, it ended with him sitting behind his bedroom door crying. With no trousers on. Although I have no idea why he took his trousers off. Maybe he was contemplating a dirty protest.

After this colossal row (during which the Girl took my distraction as an opportunity to give herself a mashed potato shampoo) the Boy came round again, and the next day ate everything on his plate. Strangely, it made me want to strangle him slightly more. However, this feeling subsided a short while later when the Girl made her Barbie dance on me whilst I was sitting down and the Wife casually said

"I think she just made Barbie give you a lap dance."

You don't live here. You don't know what it's like.

Monday 5 March 2012

Proof God Hates Me

Right, here's what happened. This is all true, so you can effectively treat it as my statement if you want. Its all the Girl's fault.

On Saturday I took my two delightful and not-at-all combative  Kids to see my mum. We had a nice day, playing and chatting. If you ignore the fact that the Boy and Girl spent most of the time hitting each other over the head with various  toys and small bits of furniture. After one particularly vicious incident involving the Girl, the Boy's nuts and a foot, I had to give the Girl a proper telling off. As I opened my mouth she looked at me and threw a pre-emptive tantrum. So, I sat on the sofa and picked her up to calm her down. This appeared to have the opposite effect, 'cos she tried to pull my face off. So I put her down again. I learn quick, you see.

Today I went into work and was asked what happened to my face pretty much all day. Initially I told the truth but after a while I grew tired of saying

"My three year old Girl did it."

Because I started to think people were making a judgement about me. Especially when someone very seriously told me that domestic violence was never acceptable, even when perpetrated by toddlers. And then laughed in my face. So I started making things up and when people asked me what happened to my face I would reply  "Frag grenade" or, simply; "Otter."

Turns out this was a mistake when simultaneously two of my colleagues found the same news article. It said that there had been an attempted sex attack in my town and that the suspect would be recognisable because - and I quote; "the victim had scratched his face several times."

Now obviously it wasn't me. But as my colleague pointed out, I didn't have an alibi, I had scratches on my face and - damningly - had changed my story several times.

I'm going to jail. I blame the Girl.

Friday 2 March 2012

What Goes Around...

Few things bring greater joy in life than a new born baby. Specifically a new born baby that you can give back when it smells. And for the already experienced parent of two kids this joy is only surpassed by the opportunity to pass on your hard earned knowledge. So imagine bliss when the Wife and I took the Boy and Girl to see their day old cousin yesterday. It started so well, with lots of cooing and ahhing and pinching of cheeks before we gleefully told the proud parents how they would NEVER SLEEP AGAIN and had fundamentally RUINED THEIR LIVES.

The Boy was industrial grade underwhelmed, giving his cousin a cursory glance and a brief smile before stating, with some authority

"I think fish are better than babies."

and deciding to engage of his favourite pastime of alternately punching me in the crotch and clutching his winkle. The Girl was more interested, cooing and stroking the baby's face. Every now and then she would point at her and say "baby" to ensure we hadn't missed the reason we were all gathered there. Then she ruined everything by insisting on showing off her gymnastics (or, in everyone else's language; jumping) and narrowly avoided kicking the baby out of her basket.

Eventually we decided to go, as the Boy was due to go for his swimming lesson. It was at this point that the Kids started frothing at the mouth, went feral and disgraced themselves. The Boy immediately announced

"I NEED A POO!"

and locked himself in the toilet. Much pounding on the door and yelling "Hurry up for fu- er... crying out loud" ensued. The Girl tried to open the door by smashing her face against it and finally the Boy threw the door open in disgust. He stood frowning crossly with his hands on his hips, trousers round his ankles and proceeded to publicly and graphically wipe his bum in front of all of us, saying

"I need a clean bum. I'm going swimming. I don't want poo in the pool."

As the Girl attempted to climb up my trousers like the north face of the Eiger the Wife and I attempted to shout the Boy into his shoes. This woke up the baby who, for the first time since we were there, started crying. The Girl, who we had almost ushered out of the door insisted this was a spectator sport, and did an about-face. The Boy threw his shoes in the air in disgust and told us it wasn't fair the Girl got to watch a crying baby and that putting on shoes was "just stupid." He went on to say

"I want to watch almost naked animals."

Which alarmed everyone until he explained it was a cartoon on telly, and not some weird new peccadillo of his. Finally we managed to get the Kids out of the door and as I turned to congratulate my brother-in-law I noted his expression. It was the sort of expression you see in history books. Generally on the faces of new recruits arriving on the Western Front.

An hour of panicked rushing about later I found myself sitting with the Girl on my lap next to the swimming pool where the Boy was having his lesson. I say having a lesson, what he was essentially doing was water-boarding himself. The Girl sat on my lap trying to convince me to steal the towel of a small girl sitting nearby. A friend sitting next to me commented that the Girl was being well behaved and had turned a corner. I was in a bit of a bad mood, and I think I greeted this statement by giving our her the sort of look I'd give if she'd said; "Didn't Hitler have nice eyes?" I was particularly in a bad mood because I don't like being rushed, and the Boy had made me shout him back out of his shoes on arrival. And then shout him out of his clothes. And then into his swim suit. Plus, as ever the pool - which is the size of a postage stamp - was rammed with screaming, dripping wet children and their dim-witted, equally-wet-in-a-different-way parents. All of them bumbling about like lobotomised sheep, oblivious to people trying to get past as they either stared at their phones or shouted at their kids. All this in a room kept inexplicably at the temperature of Fukushima in the Spring. As I sat there, giving serious consideration to an AXE RAMPAGE and ever-so-slightly rocking back and forth like an obsessive compulsive, a memory came to me of a day five years before.

It had been three days after the Boy had been born and the Wife and I, exhausted having not slept since he'd been born, were paid a visit by the Wife's step sister and her ten month old son. For about an hour we sat, rapt in horrified attention as the little boy attempted to total our flat whilst his mum flailed about after him, trying to stop him from eating the soil from the pot plants or head-butting the doors. When she left we both looked at each other and said "What have we done??" before having brief but unpleasant emotional breakdowns. And that, essentially, was what we had inflicted on my brother-in-law and his wife.

So in future I shall think more carefully about handing out parenting advice. My new niece slept peacefully almost the whole time we were there, and was impeccably behaved. Ok, she was bombed out of her mind on pethidine, but we're not allowed to do that to the Kids any more. The doctor told us off last time. My Kids descended into madness the moment we asked them to put their shoes on. I haven't raised my Kids, I've warped them. As adequately proved when the Boy asked;

"When auntie had the baby, did she crack open like an egg? And did uncle have to glue her back together?"

Whilst, in the background, with a lack of irony that only a child or civil servant could muster yelled at the top of her voice

"DAD!! I LOVE WHISPERING!"

And today, when I asked her what she'd done at school she said

"Bogie throwing!"

Which isn't even on their curriculum!




For Eleanor