Pee Aye Are Tee Why?

I got invited to a house party this weekend. Yes I did. An actual party with people, and music and sambuca. This is a good thing (except for the sambuca, which was very very bad) It's been so long since I've been to a party that if I'd had a child during the last one, that child would have already finished school, fomented a loathing of me, stolen my car, had a spell in prison and written a book about me by now. 

I'm that popular.

Not to say that I haven't been to many parties. Back when I was in the last two years of school I spent so much time at parties I wrecked my exam results with a mixture of hangovers and ignorance. But this was when I was interesting talked about things other than the Kids. That's right, parents. The reason you're not getting invited to parties is not due to the difficultly of finding a baby sitter that isn't a convicted sex offender - it's because people know at some point you'll mention your kids. And from there it's only a matter of seconds before you've got your phone out and you're scrolling through pictures of them saying; "This is him sitting down. This is him standing up. This is him on the toilet. This is him playing with an electrical outlet..." And you'll be saying; "Oh, she's really very clever. I don't want to boast but she'll definitely be a doctor/lawyer/banker/rocket scientist/arms dealer" whilst everyone around you remembers the day they saw your precious little sweetums drinking out of the toilet. Eventually you'll find yourself sitting alone with the dim realisation that you're THAT person at the party. 

"Which one has the kid?"

"See those two people talking?"

"Yeah."

"See the bored one?"
"Yeah?"

"He's the other one."

Anyway, back to me. The friends throwing the party (who, for the sake of anonymity I will refer to as the Smiths) have a son who is friends with the Kids. Consequently we had to indulge in some subterfuge to get away without a drama. Fortunately two things worked to our advantage. Firstly the Boy has become obsessed with the educational benefits of television and has been so distracted he hasn't asked any awkward questions. This has not been without it's pitfalls.

"You can learn a lot from telly."

"Really, Boy. What have you learnt today?"

"Well... Finish Powerball tablets are great for getting rid of stubborn stains."

Secondly, they were having a sleepover at Grandma's. Grandma foolishly turned up a bit early to pick them up and unwisely said "Shall I take them now?" During the time it took her to ask this question the Wife and I had strapped the Kids in the car, shoved her out the door and double locked it.

At four o'clock the next morning the Wife and I were about 80% proof, comprised of a winning mixture of beer, Prosecco, red wine, bourbon and the aforementioned sambuca. I had been told four times by four different people that I looked a bit like Nick Frost (bastards). I had proved once again that when I dance I look like I'm falling downstairs in a set of leg calipers. At one point I had a massive geek out discussion about Japanese cinema and thereby alienated half the people at the party.

"Has he got Kids?"

"Worse. He's comparing Akira Kurasawa's 'Hidden Fortress' with Star Wars."

"Tosser."

 My favourite moment of the evening was when I was reading a note on the toilet door ("This toilet blocks easily. If you're planning something more... solid... please use the upstairs loo") when the Smith Boy ran up to me, yelled

"No poo! No poo!"

And ran away. Random.

Much enjoyment was had, and new friends made - until finally the Wife and I crashed in the Smith Boy's room (I hasten to add, he had been taken to his grandparents by that time). I caught a few fitful hours sleep before being woken up by the uncomfortable sensation of a full bladder and the discovery of a piece of Lego  jammed in my eye. And then the regret. Oh, the regret... The headache was bad enough. The cannonball I had somehow negotiated into my bowel was worse - there was a sense of foreboding about it. Like something awful that would happen out of the blue and all at once. It was bad enough to have it's own theme music. Like Darth Vader.

Some hours later I was in the toilets at the M4 services weeping silently and praying a travelling doctor would find me and administer an epidural. And then the toilet blocked when I flushed it. A battle ensued which I won't describe, but assume it was lengthy and undignified (although successful I should add. I'm not an animal). Heavens knows why by for some reason at bed time that evening I decided to tell the Boy what had happened in the M4 toilets.

"You blocked it?"

"Yeah."

"Wow! Awesome! It must have been huge! Like this big."

And to my distress he held his hands about three feet apart.

Nails

Since starting this blog I've been accosted on a number of occasions by people telling me that I give the Girl bad press when I suggest she'll grow up to be an assassin and such. Whenever I'm accused of this I remember a particularly awful tantrum the Girl once threw whilst we were on a trip to Ravensglass with some friends. I won't go into the details, all you need to know is that my friends now say "Ravenglass" the way Vietnam vets say "Saigon." When people say "My kids throw tantrums" those that have seen the awful splendour of the Girl in full flow simply smile and shake their heads, whilst the Wife and I laugh somewhat shrill and hysterical laughter.

That's not to say she hasn't got a sweet side. Lately she's been playing doctors and nurses (the non disturbing kind) a lot, and she's very caring. Today she wrapped me up in bandages and patted my head very sweetly.

"There, there. Mummy has to go away." *Leaves room*

"Er... where are you going, Girl?"

"Mummy will be back in a minute, darling."

"Ok."

*Several minutes pass*

"Are you ok, Girl?"

"I'm just getting some nails, ok?"

"Some nails?"

"Yes. Mummy has to nail you down to the bed, ok?"

So it all got a bit violent in the end, I'll admit. But she really was being very sweet. Part of what makes her particularly scary is that she's also tough as nails, as I've mentioned before. Aside from being incredibly robust (I get no greater thrill than seeing people's expression change when they pick her up - from "Ah... she wants a cuddle" to "Jesus Christ she's heavy!") she can tobbogan down a set of stairs and crash face first into a radiator without raising more than a quizzical expression. Three times we've been woken up by the crash of her face planting into her bed side table and entered the room to find her, still asleep, clambering into bed with bits of lego stuck on her cheeks. I've always been a bit nervous around big dogs because if they turn I'm unlikely to be able to fight one off. The same kind of goes for the Girl. She's three and a half, but I think in a straight fight she could probably take me. Or at least I did until we went to Legoland last week.

Legoland Windsor is brilliant, I should say, and would not hesitate to recommend it to anyone. Aside from the fact that they have a Millennium Falcon ten feet wide made of lego, it's also quite good fun for kids. However, I would urge you to do a bit of research about the rides. Because we didn't and I suspect the Girl is going to hold a grudge. As ever it all started quite well, we went on the Spider Spinner and the Girl (who has previously been a bit skittish on such things) loved it. Then we went on Pirate Falls and let ourselves down really rather badly. I'll fully admit I was feeling rather cocky. All of the rides had a minimum height of 0.9 metres and I figured if they were going to let three year old kids on the rides they not going to be all that right?

Well, yes and no.

Pirate Falls is a log ride that rumbles along nicely enough with skeletons coming out of treasure chests and the like before climbing twenty feet and plunging back into the water. I think the picture of the Girl and Boy below is more descriptive than anything I can say.

Fun for all the family. Except these two

That is not joy. That is an unbridled paroxysm of terror. Look at the Girl's eye - she actually thinks she's dying right there. I should add that the camera also caught me very clearly in the middle of a facial transition between smiling and saying the word "Shit!"

After this we went into the castle and found a ghost train called the Dragon. This was far better, chugging along past lego knights and a lego dragon head sticking through the wall, breathing smoke. Then it went through a doorway into brilliant sunshine and turned into a roller coaster. When I'd managed to get my bearings I turned to the Boy and asked him if he was okay.

"No."

He said.

"No I'm not."

The Girl still hasn't forgiven us for this, which is just another reason to be scared of her.

A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy Far, Far Away

When I was about five years old my dad took me to see Star Wars and from that moment on I was just crazy about science-fiction. Admittedly this made me about as attractive as chlamydia during my teens (compounded by having braces, wearing NHS spectacles and then - just because I fancied really screwing up my chances with girls - I became a goth). But it also made me unswervingly optimistic that every new technological advance would improve the world beyond all measure. As I've got older and more jaded I've come to believe that technology largely revolves around filling the following needs;

1. The need to find new and interesting ways to kill each other
2. The need to find quicker ways of accessing hardcore pornography

And thus, the internet was born. Lets face it, for your average 15 year old boy the internet is the equivalent of that burnt out car on the waste land near your house where someone dumped their collection of Swedish pornography. I think this is a bit of a sad thing, partly because of the fun I had stashing porn mags in every drawer in every room of my mate's house. His mum grounded him for about a year. And she sent him to counselling. It was brilliant.

But I mainly think its sad because when I was a Boy, the future seemed so exciting. Now, when I look at my mobile phone, or ipod, or laptop or any other the other gadgets around my house it makes me think how ordinary the future has become. The Boy certainly doesn't have the same amazement with technology as me. When I was a kid colour telly seemed like witchcraft. When I recently got a Google Android phone I ran over to him practically frothing at the mouth yelling;

"Look Boy! I've got the telly ON MY PHONE!!"

*Yawn* "So?"

Over the weekend I tried to introduce the "wow" factor to him by downloading a lightsabre app on my phone. He had great fun swinging it around and I have to say it did work for a couple of minutes right up until he accidentally flung it across the room and hit the Girl in the head. It turned out he was less impressed with the app and more impressed by the impact the phone had made on his sister. The Girl quite liked it. She kept chopping her nan's head off with it. I took it off her in the end because she wasn't playing with it properly. She kept saying

"Shoot! Shoot!"

And she got upset when I shouted in her face that it wasn't a bloody gun it was a bloody lightsabre.

"You're using it wrong! Stop saying shoot! It goes like this; wommmm... wommmm."

"Dad, why are you making the noise? It already makes the noise."

"Shut up, Boy."

Quite frankly, they ruined it for me.

Maybe I feel sad because the Kids ability to use modern technology makes me feel old. I'm forever finding Boy playing with my ipod, or on Backyard Monsters on the Wife's Facebook profile (and frankly, the only reason she hasn't been fraped is because he can't spell yet). Neither of my Kids understand the concept that television isn't all on demand. Television! On demand! I mean, when I was a kid that was second on the wish list, after being able to shoot lightning out of your hands.

"Why can't I watch Mike the Knight?"

"It's not on."

"Make it come on!"

"I can't. When I was a kid..."

And they give you that look that says they're going to humour you. I love being humoured by small children, it really makes me feel like I'm at the top of the evolutionary tree. Even when I do something as simple as switching on the telly the Boy will watch me staring blankly at the eight thousand buttons on the remote control before sighing and saying

"Dad, give me the remote.I haven't got all day."

HE'S. FIVE. YEARS. OLD.

My dad used to joke that he had to get me to programme the video for him. Now we don't even have a video any more. Partly because they don't make them any more, and partly because the Boy kept posting jam sandwiches into ours.