My predictions for 2011

Here are a few thoughts I’ve had as to what may occur over the course of the next 12 months.

January

Kay Burley becomes a Dame in the New Years Honours list for her “services to broadcasting”.

The big freeze goes on. The Thames freezes over into one gigantic solid turd.

February

Wikileaks reveals that George Bush invaded Iraq after he was instructed to by listening to a Billy Ray Cyrus album backwards. Cyrus is executed (not for war crimes, but for crimes against music).

Temperatures reach -30C and tragedy strikes as several TV reporters freeze to death on the A11 near Norfolk live on Sky News. Kay Burley orgasms live on air as she commentates on their demise.

Sex and the City 2 wins the best movie Oscar. Scorsese blows himself up live on air in protest.

March         

Apple launches the iDildo which promises to help penetrate deeper into your pocket than ever before. Millions queue to buy it because their mates have got one.

Newcastle appoint their eleventh Manager of the season, Graham Souness who lasts 4 hours before being replaced by Kevin Keegan again.

April  

The Royal Wedding takes place although due to Sky paying the most for coverage several last minute changes are made. Rupert Murdoch gives the Bride away and he also exercises his right to remove her maidenhead before the ceremony (show on Sky box office as a pay per view event)

May   

Kay Burley is made Director General of the BBC. Her first move as DG is to remove any factual content from BBC News 24.

Jason Orange sensationally quits Take That. No one notices.

June

The Liberal Democrats rebrand themselves as The Gary Glitter Fan Club in an attempt to gain some popularity.

Simon Cowell announces his new Prime Time ITV show “Britain’s got lepers”. Sepp Blatter and Amanda Holden are to be the judges. Cowell promises to really pull apart the bad acts.

July

Ricky Ponting applies for asylum in the UK as he feels his life is in danger in Australia. It is granted under the condition that he smiles once in a while. He immediately flies home and is found dead two days later after “accidentally” impaling himself on a didgeridoo. Almost four people attend his memorial.

August

Tiger Woods forced to issue a grovelling apology to the eight or nine women he didn’t manage to sleep with at Sandwich Golf Club at lasts months Open Championship.

It gets warm for 3 days (over 17C) and all the UK’s water companies declare a drought.

September

Students take to the streets once again after it is confirmed that they may have to start lectures as early as 11.00am.

Kay Burley is made the Coalition Governments “Good Times Tsar” and will advise on how to bring out the best in everyone and how we can all be friends and get along.

October

Eastenders agrees to reduce its misery content by 50% thus leaving only 15 minutes of crying per episode. The other 15 minutes will be used to show the how Walford is benefitting from the “big society” with a “Phil Mitchell is your new teachers kids!” Storyline.

Lib Dems/Gary Glitter fan club merge with the BNP to consolidate increases in support.

November

Swine Flu strain causes 3 people to miss a day’s work and the 24 Hour Media manage to fill over 9000 hours of coverage by talking to people who have heard of it. 342 more people die of worry and/or boredom.

Rupert Murdoch buys ITV and Channel 4. C4 plans to show a continuous loop of Murdoch counting his money whilst plans to “dumb down” ITV are put on hold when he realises that it would take a miracle and he’s not God (yet).

 

December

George Lucas announces plans to film a Star Wars sequel/prequel just to prove that he can make a film worse than The Phantom Menace.

The X factor single is beaten to the Christmas No1 spot by Kay Burleys cover of “Sexual Healing”. The second single from her hit album “Student Insurgents”.

   

Baggs of talent? - A review of The Apprentice

Like a gladiatorial giant he came into the boardroom. Riding across a field of ponies, the sun glinting on his slightly rouged face. Stuart Baggs. The brand. The man.

If you don’t watch BBC1’s The Apprentice, you’ve missed something special this year. A man so full of self belief and a large amount of horseshit that if he were to explode he would cover most of southern England with a two foot layer of detritus.

Stuart appears to me to be the deranged love child of Norman Wisdom and Frank Spencer. Everything he touches turns to fudge; he is the anti-midas. I have no doubt that five minutes of control at one of Alan Sugar’s companies and Stuart would comfortably have been instrumental in its shares being suspended.

He is unprofessional, smug, annoying and let’s be honest, a bit thick in equal measures and yet he has a unique ability. He is 100% prime time. The sound bites he produces are absolute gold dust, he can make you bellow with laughter and cringe behind the sofa in a way I haven’t since I was a kid watching Dr Who.

This week after another inept performance that had seen him asking women to taste his jellied eels and nearly coming to blows with a fellow contestant he found himself in the boardroom again to face Lord Sugar (the man of a thousand put downs). Surely this week there was to be no hiding place; Baggsy was for the slag heap.

His fellow contestants in the boardroom were the clever but slightly robotic Stella and the breathtakingly beautiful and competent Liz. Both strong contenders to win the show outright. Stuart sat between them, looking flustered, contrite and resigned to a taxi ride to see Dara on BBC2.

What followed was a masterful performance in the art of flim-flam. He begged, he pleaded and he promised the grumpy entrepreneur a life time of happiness. That he would be there to wake him gently in the morning by massaging his testicles, breathing platitudes into his ears as he carried him to the bathroom to bathe him in ass’s milk. Well, maybe not quite but not far off.

Unbelievably, it worked. Millions of viewers watched in amazement as the multi millionaire seemed to change his mind and fired one of the people who could actually help and not hinder him. Liz caught the taxi of shame blinking back tears of rejection. It’s possible she’ll never recover from a beating like this…

So why is he still there? Lord Sugar was fairly convincing as the man who saw a little bit of his younger self in “the brand” but surely a seasoned business man like him must be able to spot a dud? Then it dawned on me, he’s not been left in to win it. Next week is the interview episode, the ritual humiliation of the final five candidates. Baggs is the sacrificial lamb being thrown to the slaughter and we all get to watch.

At times, I forget that this is an entertainment show. Mere competence is not going to keep me coming back week after week. Watching Liz giving solid answers to difficult questions all be it slightly uncomfortably is not making me watch through my fingers.

Stuart is a different story. The man who changes his story more times than a Lib Dem MP caught on Hampstead Heath is going to get torn apart. Worth keeping him in for? Hell yeah.

Talking of which, Stuart talk’s seven kinds of bollocks, changes his story every 12 seconds and cares about nothing but money. Your seat in the House of Commons awaits. It’s either that or The One Show…..

An open letter to Sepp Blatter

Dear Sepp,

I just wanted to personally say thanks for the help and support you gave to the England bid for the 2018 world cup.

Obviously, it was disappointing that we only received 2 votes but I’m sure you helped the committee take each bid on its merits and ensured that it was all done in the fairest way possible.

Now some say that you may be prone to a little bribery and corruption. That you are fond of the odd brown paper bag full of cash handed over in a Swiss Car Park. The whiff of dirty dealings has surrounded you wherever you go for the last 12 years or so. Not I. I mean you soon saw off Michel Zen-Ruffinen with his claims that $100 million had gone missing from FIFA accounts. Where is he now by the way?

Fortunately you have turned FIFA from the gentleman’s club of 20 years ago into a hugely transparent organisation. I mean, you even tell us how many votes each country gets at world cup voting time now!! How’s that for transparency? Alright, some will point to the fact that we still don’t know who voted for each bid but hey, you can’t spoon feed the masses right?

You’ve laid out a clear method of bidding with the technical bid, and a commercial plan and also a risk assessment looking at infrastructure and stadia. Obviously this is what gives the voting committee their guidance on their bids. I’m sure when I trawl through the reports; I’ll see that gas rich Russia and oil rich Qatar topped the list in these areas comfortably. They must surely deserve it.

You were quite right to point out the committee member’s seconds before voting, that they must remember the attacks from sections of the media. I mean, none of them have memories from literally 2 days before. Besides, how dare they accuse anyone from FIFA of corruption. You’re so open with us Sepp, how could your people possibly not be hurt and indignant? I mean, if they were genuine charges of corruption you would have rooted the culprits out. The only way it would remain uncovered is if it started at the top, and that could never happen whilst you are the head honcho my dear Sepp.

In the last 24 hours I’ve heard many jokes about you flying round.

Reports of a magnitude 7 earthquake in Zurich. Turns out it was just Sepp Blatter dropping his wallet.

Sepp Blatter was asked “Who is your favorite Qatar player?” He replied “Eric Clapton!”

Sepp Blatter is furious with allegations of corruption against him. He will be making a statement outside his new Russian mansion later.

I can’t believe people can’t just take you at face value. There is no hidden agenda with you. You are truly a man of the people.

I’m with you all the way Sepp.

All the best

Paul

P.S. Leave the cash in the usual place, I’ll get the wife to collect it….

These boots are made for working...

As Christmas approaches, looming large on the horizon like a debt filled iceberg heading for my Titanic of a bank account, I am starting to think about a second job. Something to allow my wife and I to buy the kids those presents that they will probably forsake for the cardboard box it came in about 28 seconds after opening them.

Thing is, I’ve never had a second job (some might argue I haven’t done the first one) and I don’t really know where to start. By day, I work in IT but I have no real appetite to continue that into an evening activity and have no desire to start my own business (my wife already has one of those – but more of that later).

So at the moment I’m left with pub/waiter/fast food type work or supermarket shelf filler/checkout boy.

All of the above I think include a great deal of hard work (especially around Christmas).

If pushed, I’ll do any of these but I’m wondering what else is out there. So, with about as much enthusiasm as a man waiting for a vasectomy outside a brick factory, I started trawling the internet. Here’s what I came up with:

Selling

Over the phone, usually selling something I myself wouldn’t care to buy.  Commission based and soul destroying. Mainly listening to either expletives or disinterest. (I should explain that whenever I get a phone cold caller phone me at home I put my 5 year old son on to them and he happily explains about Cbeebies until they hang up) No thanks.

Cleaning

I have enough trouble keeping myself clean. Not an option.

Promo work

When they say promo work, they mean trying to persuade tired looking parents that they would look great in photos with their vile children (usually pictures of them lying on the floor in white t-shirts), at great expense.

Party Organizer

This one sounds fun doesn’t it? Until you take into account that it’s selling stuff no one wants to your mates until they can barely look you in the face anymore. (Most of my mates would tell me where to stick a Virgin Vie candle).

WW Leader

WW stands for Weight Watchers. I believe it’s the opportunity to stand up and tell everyone that whilst you’ve not managed to follow the diet yourself last week, the people in front of you with low self confidence should really have done a lot better. OK, that I can do, but I think they normally look for women to do this? (Sexism alert!).

So, there we have it. Not great, but then maybe I’m not a great candidate. You can probably glean from this that I am lacking enthusiasm somewhat. What I like to do, what I enjoy doing is this. Writing, and I’ve not found a way to make that pay yet.

Finally, I come to one thing I do believe in. My wonderful wife has started a business selling cupcakes in Bristol and although I am biased, I am told by other people they are amazing. Her website is http://www.houseofcupcakesbristol.com/ and she is infinitely more talented and skilful (as well as kind and gracious). I have made it my goal to help her achieve her dreams of making it as successful as possible.   The picture below gives a an idea of how good they are, better I think than I can describe.

Maybe this blog will in some way help her. I hope so (then I can spend all day on the golf course!!!).

What the folk?

Folk music. Two words to strike fear into any man. Well, not those who like that genre obviously but to most of us, the “normal ones”, it invokes images of Morris dancers and men with beards smoking pipes wearing hairy jumpers.

For me, it was my dad forcing me to listen to Steeleye Span as a teenager. I still shudder at the thought.

So, when I was asked if I wanted to go and see Bellowhead last night at the Old Vic in Bristol, my first thoughts weren’t positive. Admittedly, someone had to explain who they were to me before I could get to that point. They sounded a bit like a heavy metal band to me, something loud and shouty. Then that word appeared. Folk.

I sat in stunned silence, slightly affronted that someone thought I was the type of person to go to that sort of a thing. I mean, I’d had a shave that day and everything. OK yes, I am 39 and not exactly on the cutting edge of music these days, but I do cling onto the fantasy that anyone receiving a lift from me in my car will give me a surprised glance as they come to realise that my CD compilations provide the blueprint for what should in fact be everyone’s default taste in music.

I left work, with laughter on my lips. As if. Then someone sent me a link to them performing live. I found my foot tapping, my kids nodding along, doing a little jig. I realised to my horror that it sounded “quite good”. What harm can it do, I thought? It’s one night out of thousands (and I don’t get out much).

What I got was a revelation.

A delightful duo provided support, beautifully crafted songs old and new that made me sit with a silly grin on my face. Their question to the audience “do you want a happy one or a miserable one next?” made everyone chuckle. Totally disarming and what was this feeling, I appeared to be enjoying it, so much so that I found myself disappearing upstairs in the interval to buy their CD.

What followed was two hours of songs of sheer excellence. Eleven supremely talented musicians ripped their way through song after song that had a heart of folk but were fleshed out into anything from funk to blues to punk at one stage. I didn’t know a single tune, but by the end they had me (as well as every single member of the audience) on their feet.

I have also, never experienced a group that seemed to enjoy what they were doing so much. Two hours felt like ten minutes and the encore wasn’t long enough.

I have made two conclusions from my wonderful night.

1) Widen your horizons and never discount any experience until you have tried it.

2) Go and see Bellowhead. You will not be disappointed. You may even find your view opens to a wonderful panorama that you didn’t see before.

The door to folk music is open. I may not like it all, but at least I’ll step through and give it a go before I make up my mind….

Die hard fans in the mood for vengeance

I’m going to start this blog by letting you in on a little secret. I think I may regret this but I’m going to tell you anyway. Are you ready? Here goes….

When I was 15, I joined the Harry Connick Jr Fan Club.

Now I know that some of you may want to stop reading this now. Some of you may want to go further and make some abusive comments on my blog. Hopefully none of you will try and track me down and hurt me for this. I was young(ish) and impressionable and liked that big band swing thing. I even went to a gig (if you can call it that – half the audience had dinner jackets on).

That’s my shame now, but at the time it all seemed perfectly reasonable. I listened out for any new album releases and read the bi-monthly news letter cover to cover. I was aware that HCJ wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea and that was fine. If I heard any negative comments about him, I would smile and internally note that the person responsible had the IQ of a half crazed Tottenham fan and was basically an idiot. I would however keep these ideas to myself.

So I was surprised recently at the response of some of the fans of Amanda Holden on twitter this week (yes, she has many apparently).

It all began with a strange and silly conversation about new comedy ideas for ITV programs. I had suggested to my enormous twitter following (66 and counting) that a sitcom based on The Kray Twins running a bowling alley starring Ant & Dec could be a winner. I even had a name in mind that I never got round to tweeting. Turkey Beserky. Not my best but there you go.

Someone suggested that it didn’t have to be funny as it was on ITV and someone else went a step further and suggested that if we put Amanda Holden in it, it wouldn’t need actors either as she is so bad (please see Big Top – or rather, don’t. You’ll need to rip out your brain using a blunt spoonectomy afterwards).

My friends (but strangely not I), were inundated with levels of vitriol usually reserved for politicians or Gary Glitter (same difference). It seems that Ms Holden is enormously talented. Asked if she was better than Meryl Streep, the angry tweeter responded with “Never heard of her”.

A twargument (trying to get this word to catch on) ensued and lasted for most of the evening. It even earned a #tag on twitter #amandaholdenspat. Alas it didn’t quite have the legs to reach the trending charts.

People didn’t like having their idol (their word) sullied by a bunch of talentless nobodies (I think they meant us). They weren’t going to let this giant of the theatrical world be besmirched by unsophisticated oiks. Retribution was required. All they got were a few terse replies and a big tablespoon full of scorn.

I guess I’ll never know how these people can become so slavishly loyal and committed to a minor celebrity, or any celebrity for that matter. It’s right in there with people weeping openly when Princess Di or Michael Jackson died. Fine if you knew them, otherwise get a grip and get on with it for goodness sake.

We seem to cling to celebrity in this day and age as a sign of greater things. I can’t explain why. If we are going to defend something with the vigour and belief of a Spartan soldier, surely it should be for something better than a purveyor of “Britain’s got talent”?

My own days of fandom and idolisation are over. Although, I wonder if Michael Buble has a fan club…..?

The good, the kind and the friendly

This week’s blog is something of an anti-rant.

It was my sons 5^th birthday this week. Cue the usual parental things to make it as nice as day as possible (presents, cake etc). We certainly helped make it a cheerful day, but it was taken to another level by unlikely heroes. It was the kindness of two complete strangers towards a boy that they will in all likelihood never see again that made him almost burst with happiness.

At a time of massive austerity, when we have MP’s cheering as hundreds of thousand of people’s lives are flushed down the toilet, unions gearing up for crippling strikes and probable civil unrest on the streets is imminent, it’s important to look for those chinks of light. Those people who through their actions make you remember that what we see on the news every day is a tiny slice of misery in comparison to the goodness that goes on in our neighbourhoods and on our streets every day of the week.

So a massive thank you to the train driver who let a boy on his birthday switch the train engine on, beep the horn and turn on the windscreen wipers on his train from Temple Meads.

Also huge credit to the builder who, when my son told him he wanted to follow in his footsteps when he grows up (well you’ve got to have a trade), ran off and bought him a proper builders trowel back to take away as a present.

OK, a couple of five minute conversations aren’t going to change anyone’s life. Nice, but so what? Well, it made me think. If it’s that easy to touch someone’s life in such a positive way, why aren’t we all doing it? Maybe most of you are.

So here’s what I would like. I’d like to hear about the good things you do for people. The old woman who lives on her own that you do shopping for, the schoolchild you help with their reading or the homeless man that you take soup to.

I want to know so I can show people that we are intrinsically good and not the bitter, empty, miserable people that we are portrayed as through the TV every night (Eastenders I’m looking at you). That politicians that are labelling us as a drain on the state are wrong. They are looking in the wrong direction and missing the pure human decency that surrounds them. They look at the worst of us and try to tar everyone with the same brush.

I’d like to be a champion of the good, of the kind, of the caring. Each blog, I will try and include some of your kindness to inspire others. If you want to avoid feeling bigheaded, do it anonymously. Tell me how it made you feel as well.

Also, let me know if you have a cause that needs help. I’ll be happy to try and point people in your direction.

These are big ideas for a man with a blog read by a hundred people or so but what I saw in my son’s eyes was the real result of kindness.

Happiness.

Something we could all do with a little more of…..

Small is beautiful

A terrifying new type of bullying is developing in the workplace. The diversity policies of companies large and small seem to have missed it completely, unaware of the harrowing effect it is having on the lives of those affected.

Managers, ministers and clergy alike seem oblivious to its life destroying results. You, yourself probably aren’t even aware of it.

I’m talking about feet-ism. In particular I’m addressing small feet-ism. As I write this a colleague has passed by my desk and called me a f***ing freak. I sit, head bowed.

OK, admittedly I do have, small feet. I am six foot three and I have feet that are size seven. This does (I admit) make it difficult to stand tall in strong winds and ice skating is completely out of the question. When attempting to skate I do resemble a giraffe on crack surrounded by a swarm of angry bees.

Does this mean I should be the butt of quite so many jokes, whispers and sniggers from the shadowy enclaves at work?

Over the last couple of weeks it has been suggested that I had my feet wrapped (mummy style) as a child to prevent them from growing any more and that I am the “anti-hobbit”.

People are also quick to make comparisons between feet and other parts of my anatomy. I try to rise above it (not in that way) but they continue to speculate. Exposing myself to the whole office may be the only way to reason with them. Well, that would be my defence in court m’lud.

Help me, to break down the final taboo. The rights of ethnic minorities, homosexuals, women and even gingers have been championed and those who choose to discriminate are rightly pushed to the fringes of our society and abhorred.

Together we can beat this; together we can kick this intolerance into touch (or at least near the touchline).

Anyway, I blame my dad. For it is from him that I inherited this trait.

The small footed bastard….

Film sequels that really disappointed

I have been reading in Empire magazine lately that a huge number of remakes are taking place. This is itself is quite a depressing thing but imagine when they start remaking the sequels!  That’s when film making could really take a turn for the worse.

This made me think of some of the sequels that have really felt like a humungous let down.

Some of you are going to read the title above and jump straight to the conclusion that I’m going to name check the standard scorned sequels here like either of the Matrix abominations or maybe the ill fated Highlander 2 – The quickening. Well OK, granted they are both good example but here are some of my biggest disappointments:

1)   Monsters Ball   - I loved the first one, Monsters Inc is a film I can watch with my son and we laugh. A lot. Monsters Ball not so much.

Don’t cry son, we’ll put Wall-E on.

2)   The Sure Thing – OK, first disappointment, Kurt Russell’s not in it. Maybe John Cusack will split in half any minute now and a big spider alien thing will wander off. No, two hours of romance and not even in a deserted ice station. Blah!

3)   Purple Rain – Where’s Whoopee? I’m after a bit more harrowing black oppression. Instead I have to put up with a mini gimp tossing around on a motorcycle looking shit....

4)   9 ½ Weeks – Fellini is a great director and I wondered how he was going to continue his semi autobiographical filmmaking after 8 ½. He didn’t, it was just 2 hours of Mickey Rourke banging Basinger....with fruit.

5)   Leaving Las Vegas – Hang on? Nic Cage is in it, he’s in Vegas. Here come those Elvis Impersonators. Oh no, wait a minute, he’s not on honeymoon. Just another 2 hours of misery and ponderings on suicide. I’ll get my coat....

A question of loyalty

The Sainsbury’s near to where I work has recently added a big bank of shiny self service tills. Wonderful news thinks I, must be quicker than waiting whilst one of the old dears glares at me because I’ve added something that weighs more than a packet of crisps to my basket.

Then I tried to use it. It was (in my defence) before 8 o’clock in the morning when all transgressions can be forgiven (with the exception of shoplifting and listening to Country and Western).

I scanned my items comfortably, only receiving two cautions that I had an “unexpected item in the bagging area”. Why it’s unexpected when I have swiped it through the till seconds earlier is anyone’s guess (it’s not like I flopped out my dumplings and placed them onto the polished counter).

Shopping safely stored, I decided to gain the 3 valuable points by swiping my Nectar card.  I am hoping that if I shop regularly in Saino’s for the next twelve years I may be able to afford to treat myself to a large packet of taste the difference cold meat.

Swipe, fail, wait, cheeky reset from the hovering till failure operative.

Swipe, fail, wait, cheeky reset from the hovering till failure operative.

Swipe, fail, wait, cheeky reset from the hovering till failure operative.

Ok, something is clearly wrong here. It can’t be me can it?

I’m starting to get angry now. Have I not been loyal enough? Did they spot me sidling into Asda’s side door for a bagel, some champagne or a pot plant?

Swipe, fail, wait, cheeky reset from the hovering till failure operative.

Then she smiles, clearly I’ve made her day.

“That’s your Tesco clubcard love” and before I can mumble my apology and explanation that I don’t really shop there and that my wife told me to look after it, she’s gone.

Maybe the problem is that all the supermarkets seem the same now. A shopping trip for food has become a jaunt down the same aisles of the same products (and even the same 3 for 2 offers). It’s our own fault but the days of popping into half a dozen shops for bread, meat, veg, etc in the town centre before catching the bus home have long gone.

Where’s my choice gone? Maybe I should have been more loyal to those now absent local shops….

I could be so good for you.....possibly

As I’m sat writing this, I have the theme tune to Minder playing in my head. You know the one. Denis Whatisname singing about being so good for you. I can’t get rid of it. Tried transplanting it with something by Muse or The King of Leon but it’s stuck. I mean seriously, Minder hasn’t been on telly for what, about 20 years? It wasn’t even that good.

Why then do I have it bouncing between my ears? What’s made me go almost crazy humming a dodgy 70’s tune? Is this the kind of crap that I carry around with me every day, torturing me whilst all useful nuggets of information leak out onto the cutting room floor of life?

It feels like nothing useful has gone in for years. If you put me on the spot however, I can probably tell you the difference between the theme tunes for Bewitched and I dream of Jeannie, or hum you the theme to Crown Court. I could at a push quote you a lyric or two to quite a few different tunes (probably not much past 2005 though – I am nearly pushing 40).

When asked a few years ago to name something that she liked about me, my ex-girlfriend paused in reflection for what seemed like a lifetime but was actually only about a minute. It shouldn’t take this long I thought bitterly. This had better be good when it finally arrives. The best she could come up with having taken this inappropriately long breath was simply this:

“You are really good at knowing the words to songs”. We only lasted a few weeks after that (I wonder why?)

My life is heading towards a crossroads. In the next few weeks or months I’ll be looking for a new job. Fate (and politics) has given me no choice in this. Do I carry on in a soulless IT environment or do I branch out into something new?

Trouble is I don’t think anyone’s looking for a human version of Shazam from the 80’s....

Wipe my memory now..

So, I'm on Twitter. Kids are in the bath (they are 5 & 2) when the call comes out. "Dad, she's done it in the bath again".


Yes that's right we had a Code 9 brown torpedo situation. Ironically, we also had a toy torpedo in the bath but that had the good sense to remain hanging around by the plughole. I raced into the bathroom as slowly as my morals would allow. Number 1 child had had the good sense to extract himself from the arena pretty damn quickly. Number 2 (how appropriate) sat playing happily with a Waybaloo figure. 


My wife smugly leaned on the door-frame, arms folded. "Your turn". She can barely contain the glee as she removes the small child and takes her to sit on her potty. A bit bloody late for that, thinks I.


I glance down into the tub praying for 2 things:


Firstly that I've misunderstood my son and that what he meant by "she's done it in the bath again" is that she's managed to complete a Rubik's cube in under 40 seconds and I've failed to realise she has done it before and that she is in fact a genius, and I will be shortly living a life of leisure as she creates a computer operating system to outsell Windows.


or


Secondly that she has in fact gone for a pleasurable tinkle in the water and the clean up operation is going to go somewhat smoother that a BP Oil Rig... 


The bath tub Gods are not with me today. The shadow under the water stares at me like the Red October. I can hear Sean over my shoulder "A great day comrades, we sail into history! "


I know what has to be done. A father has his duties. Those of you expecting the gory details are going to be disappointed. Suffice to say, I did what I needed to do.


It washed off very quickly, unlike the stain on my minds eye. That may stay with me forever.


One day she will ask me to pay for her wedding......