Saturday, November 04, 2006

The Cigarette Incident.

Favourite Son and Favourite Daughter are at The Pond. I am in attendance. Obviously. (Fuck me. The Pond is about five miles from the house. I wouldn’t let them wander off. Unless I was having a nap.)

It’s not really a pond – it’s far too big to be described as such, but I will admit it is by no means a lake.

I am struggling. The ducks and the mallards are fine, but the geese and the swans are somewhat temperamental, as are the moods swings of my offspring. My guard is high HIGH up.

Added to which the fact that FS can barely walk, so is hands-and-kneesing it much of the time, despite the fact that the grass run-about-at-will area is littered with surprisingly large, round and firm droppings from the local bird-aristocracy.

So, I am juggling this, the fact that there is a large amount of WATER nearby (that apparently it is very easy to drown in), killer birds of huge proportion and the potential bird-flu (were it not pretend) to be contracted from all the SHITE everywhere, with attempting to provide my Favourite Offspring with an impromptu afternoon out.

But we’re O.K. We feed the ducks, I shoo-away the more fearsome birds and everything finally runs smoothly.

For about five minutes.

We run out of bread.

We are a fifteen-minute bus ride away from anywhere that sells bread.

I inform FD of this grave news.

‘We’ll just have to go sweetheart.’

She is not one to give up as easily as me. She spies another young family approaching. A young mother with her two girls.

Without a word to me, FD goes marching up to them. She is three at the time.

FD: You. Give me some of your bread now. Please.


Toward the end of a very long afternoon, FD has arguably robbed at least three families of some time and pleasure. And bread.

And I cannot admonisher her. She wanted something. Thought. Went and asked for it. Was not rude. Got it.

Did not cry for somebody else to sort it out for her.

Hmmm. Still don’t know if it was good or bad. Anyway.


Fuck. I think. It’s only fucking eleven o’ fucking clock and I’ve got NO fucking cigarettes whatsoever and there is no chance of fucking getting any at fucking all until at least half fucking one and I for cunting one am not cocking happy about the fucking situation.

One peasily (it’s a fucking word now) twatting little cigarette and all would be fine. I cast about me.

The only smoker in the office is Very Scary Guy Who Killed People In The Falklands. I have never spoken to him.

For obvious reasons.

I think about my strategies for achieving the hallowed cigarette.

‘Hi, erm, I know we don’t know each –‘


‘So, Killer –‘


‘Hey, erm. Cor. Smoke much do you. I can help you cut down. Just give me –‘


I remember Favourite Daughter. The look of pride, youth, confidence and strength on her face.

I march up to him.

‘You. Give me one of your cigarettes NOW. Please.’

VSGWKPITF blinks, looks around him as if to make sure that this is happening and then opens a desk drawer and GIVES ME ONE OF HIS CIGARETTES!


She is a genius.

( He later revealed that he thought me a thorough cunt for asking in such an off-hand manner. He gave me the cigarette. Who’s the cunt?)


Blogger Pickled Olives said...

lol! Just when we think its up to us to teach the lessons, we get taught. Nicely done!

4:39 am  
Blogger ldbug said...

Your daughter would be so proud!:-)

4:50 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hmmm I may well try this.....give me 50 quid NOW please.

11:38 am  
Blogger Will said...

Ask and ye shall receive. Particularly when it comes to daily bread. Etc.

1:31 pm  
Blogger Clarissa said...

Now, Dad, your Killer Colleague would not have thought you such a thorough cunt for asking, if you had sent your favourite offspring to request on your behalf. Kids have to be good for something!

I am curious how you spend time with your lesser favourite progeny.

btw - kudos on your style. I love the way you bring seemingly disparate episodes together. Nicely done.

2:38 pm  
Blogger Cynnie said...

I'm torn on this ..
I would like you to try to teach the daughter some smoother manners..
But really isnt that just putting lipstick on a pig ?

I'm considered aggressive and pushy..
But i'm's expected.

being a parent is never know if you're doing the right thing until it's too late to do a damn thing about it.

3:40 pm  
Blogger Cynnie said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

3:40 pm  
Blogger Amanda said...

Its 'the girly thing' again! *rolls eyes*

4:19 pm  
Blogger Lee said...

Oh you are definitely gonna call me a cunt for this, but I wonder if you're daughter will someday walk up to boys she likes and say, "You. Off with your pants now. Please."

8:06 pm  
Anonymous pete_at_raspberry said...


I would have to go with "it was naughty". Maybe innocent naughty, not naughty-steppable naughty (and anyway, where would you find a suitable step in the middle of a park?), but not really on. Its kind of the thin end of the 'girls manipulating their fathers, and then gradually more and more people' wedge. I would advocate trying to maintain some sort of control while FD is at an impressionable age. And before you claim you weren't asking for patronising know-it-all advice, you did, er, ask.

2:20 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

P.O: Thanks.

Lady: Beyond me but it sounds complimentary.

RD: No. Hmmm. Perhaps it does not apply to monetary transactions.

Will: Very good. No Bible study class this evening?

Clarissa: Very kind. To be honest, Favourite Son, being a mere 19 months old, just isn't very interesting. (To anyone other than his immediate family). I mean, I could regale you with tales of which word he has learnt today but.....

C: I know what you mean. But I think dicouraging assertiveness is not the way to go in this case.

Amanda: Oh let me off this once.

Lee: Why? WHY?

Pete: Welcome back. Yes I did and perhaps you are right. However, I am keen not to discourage any assertive behaviour on FD's part. There are sensible reasons for this. As Cynnie says, you never really know for the best until it's too late.

Fuck me. It was just a story. But thanks everyone.

8:40 pm  
Blogger FOUR DINNERS said...

He is. Well done old bean. You're a chip off the old block. That's the wrong way around but it'll do.
I've a full pack here. It'll be empty by morning though so you can't have one.

11:50 pm  
Blogger said...

God it is just a story. Poetic licence and all that.


I suppose my readers think I'm utterly thick then if they take it this seriously

12:26 am  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Dinners: Thanks. And thanks for nowt.

BG: You know, it's all true. But not in this order. Or in the manner in which I present it. Fuck me, does the world need another 'here is an exact description of my day' blog?

7:46 pm  
Blogger pocketpunk said...

its amazing how much confidence a grown up can gain when they witness their offspring .....just fucking doing stuff....just asking for a balloon on a display ...just walking on that wall in the middle of the day....just commenting how stinky that lady's turd was. I love it .....i really do ...i love the innocence and its such a shame that growing up turns us all into boring twats

10:05 pm  
Blogger mad muthas said...

he's probably blogging about Very Weird Bloke Who Just Demanded Ciggie Just Like That right now, somewhere on the blogosphere thing

12:47 pm  
Blogger mr_glide said...

That's brilliant. I applaud FD's behaviour. I was a meek child, and so barely had a pot to piss in by the time I was 25. Fine now, though. Bit of a fable, really.

The only time you should draw the line is if you see her shaking down other three-year-olds for sweets.

1:27 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

P.P: Thankyou. I am often accused of being breathtakingly rude. After your comment, I now know to pass it off as child-like innocence.

M.M: Welcome. I have no doubt although I shall not make the effort to look. Do you know ANYONE who does NOT have a blog?

M_G: I'd probably feel a brief surge of paternal pride at The Sweetie Protection Racket before being all Officer Dibble and closing it down. You are spot-on in my opinion.

Did anyone else *get* Top Cat(Or Boss Cat as it was inexplicabily re-named when I was fifteen)? I mean, it being Sergeant Bilko and that? Was it just me?

8:58 pm  
Blogger Amanda said...

Yes, I got top cat. :0)

4:52 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Bugger. I thought I was Insightful.

7:47 pm  
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8:08 am  
Anonymous sbalb said...

Quis cuntodiet ipsos cuntodies, as my buddy Harry "Wimpole" Harris used to say, before he bought it during the Bluff Cove stickiness. But then he was always a rather bluff cove himself.

You. Pass the smokes. Please.

3:43 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

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8:19 pm  
Blogger Delboy's Daughter said...

A TD classic here i feel. Wanted to mail you and check up on you in a motherly way, but after checking up on your blog first i realise i now have no bleeding [ed: insert cunting here] time as have to save mother from my sprogs this morning and get ma sheeeit together.
Mail me!


8:00 am  
Blogger jali said...

YOU are another of my idols online. You are funny as shit dude!



10:20 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Christ. Thanks.

3:16 am  

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