Yesterday.
I am being kept waiting by my country’s next Prime Minister. He is late. It is very tiresome.
Favourite Daughter: Daddy!
There are an awful lot of tall men with very short hair and enormous hands present. They wear black suits with strange bulges under the arms and 24-style earpieces. They start to get a bit animated. Something is happening.
Me: Just another minute sweetheart.
She is hopping up and down in four-year old frustration. Favourite Son is busy trying to smack his head off every single unexpected object in the building, as is the wont of most two-year old boys.
Forty minutes previously.
All three of us get off the train. We are at the city that I may have mentioned my strange love affair with. We head toward the science centre. It is a real place that does real things with genetics and that, but also has huge tourist-exhibition-type-things all the time.
Some of the way is uphill. FS is in a pushchair, FD is holding my hand. My right hand is on the right-hand handle of the pushchair, my left hand is holding FD's hand, and my right hip is pushing the left-hand handle of the pushchair. I've had practice, and find this works. Although does make one appear as though one is attempting to fuck a pushchair. Whatever. It works.
There are coppers EVERYWHERE. Favourite Daughter witnesses a man who appeared a bit out-of-place being instantly maced, cuffed and thrown into a meat wagon.
FD: Are they taking him to jail Daddy?
Me: Christ. For his sake I hope so.
Law enforcement are twitchy this afternoon. I hope he doesn’t get too much of a kicking.
FD is delighted. It is possibly the best thing she has ever seen.
FD: Policeman take the naughty people to jail he was naughty but we’re good so we’re safe.
Me: Yes sweetheart.
I’m not sure he was doing anything wrong at all. But he was unshaven. Which will not do when my children are present.
We get to the reception-type place of the science centre.
Quite Fit Woman: Can I help?
Me: I believe I’m on a VIP list of some sort? It’s Mr.Dad.
QFW: [checks] And who are you the guest of?
Me: Em. Under invite of Makepeace in Human Resources.
QFW: That’s right.
Me: Um. I know.
I am issued with much paraphernalia to indicate that I have a right to be there and will not be bombing anyone or anything. And that I don’t have to pay for anything at all. Ever. Well. Today. Not even lunch. Today.
I am told that we have to be at a specific point in the exhibition centre at a specific time. At the time the next prime minister will arrive.
Which is where we are now.
FD: Daddy!
Favourite Son: Owww!
He’s ten minutes late now. This won’t do. If he can’t keep a simple appointment I don’t know how he expects to run the country. Christ. I’m never late for anything. Maybe I should get the job. Anyway. Doesn’t he know who I am? I write a blog that gets literally tens of hits every MONTH. I bet his doesn’t.
On the gangway above us lots of the short-hair big-hand men begin approaching. All the television people around us get quite animated. I see our next Prime Minister who doesn’t even have a blog and even if he did it would be rubbish compared to mine heading this way.
My eyes and brain do that weird ‘ooh I recognize you but from tele-vision so it’s a bit odd seeing you without a tele-vision in front of me’ thing.
FD: Daddy! I want to see the monsters!
Me: Two seconds sweetheart. Look. That’s the man who is going to be the boss of the whole country.
FD: Which one?
Me: Him.
FD: Oh.
She looks at a man in a suit. She’s seen one before. This is not an event.
FS: Owww.
Me: Oh you buffoon.
Our next Prime Minister begins to head down the stairs toward us.
48 hours previously. I am on my way home from work. I share the car with sister-in-law Makepeace. I say share. I sit in the passenger seat and offer money from time to time. It is never accepted. I do not push the matter.
Makepeace: Strange request for you.
Me: Oh?
Makepeace: Gordon Brown’s visiting our place. Some sort of meet-and-greet thing. It’s just. We’ve had a call and he wants plenty of children there. For him to be seen with. It’s his thing. Only photogenic ones though. He wants to be seen chatting to them. What do you think?
Me: Do I have to pay anything?
Makepeace: No. You’ll have to security vetted, but otherwise it’s a free day out.
Me: Fill your boots.
Makepeace: I’ll put your name down.
Me: Great. And I don’t have to pay anything?
Makepeace: Not even lunch.
Me: Great. Although I’m not the biggest fan of Dave Cameron.
Makepeace: It’s Gordon Brown.
Me: Mmm?
Anyway. He’s heading down the stairs toward us.
FD: Daddy!
Me: He’s coming now sweetheart.
FS: Owww!
Me: Silly sod.
FD: Daddy! I want to see the monsters!
Apparently it’s a very good exhibition. Life-sized models of mythical creatures.
He looks shorter than on the tele-vision. But also bulkier. He gives the impression that he is made of very dense Lego.
FD: Daddy!
In fairness we’ve been waiting fucking ages.
FD: Monsters!
There’s a dragon I’m told. I’m quite anxious to see it myself. Animatronic. Apparently there’s real smoke. It’s supposed to be huge.
Our next Prime Minister heads our way. But is distracted by a family consisting of slightly-less-attractive-than-my-own children.
FD: Daddy!
Do you know what? Fuck it. I want to see the fucking dragon as well.
Me: Come on you.
FD: Yaayy!
FS: Owww.
We walk off. He had his chance.
And there was real smoke and everything. Favourite Son was terrified. Favourite Daughter was ‘middle-scared’. It was brilliant.
I am being kept waiting by my country’s next Prime Minister. He is late. It is very tiresome.
Favourite Daughter: Daddy!
There are an awful lot of tall men with very short hair and enormous hands present. They wear black suits with strange bulges under the arms and 24-style earpieces. They start to get a bit animated. Something is happening.
Me: Just another minute sweetheart.
She is hopping up and down in four-year old frustration. Favourite Son is busy trying to smack his head off every single unexpected object in the building, as is the wont of most two-year old boys.
Forty minutes previously.
All three of us get off the train. We are at the city that I may have mentioned my strange love affair with. We head toward the science centre. It is a real place that does real things with genetics and that, but also has huge tourist-exhibition-type-things all the time.
Some of the way is uphill. FS is in a pushchair, FD is holding my hand. My right hand is on the right-hand handle of the pushchair, my left hand is holding FD's hand, and my right hip is pushing the left-hand handle of the pushchair. I've had practice, and find this works. Although does make one appear as though one is attempting to fuck a pushchair. Whatever. It works.
There are coppers EVERYWHERE. Favourite Daughter witnesses a man who appeared a bit out-of-place being instantly maced, cuffed and thrown into a meat wagon.
FD: Are they taking him to jail Daddy?
Me: Christ. For his sake I hope so.
Law enforcement are twitchy this afternoon. I hope he doesn’t get too much of a kicking.
FD is delighted. It is possibly the best thing she has ever seen.
FD: Policeman take the naughty people to jail he was naughty but we’re good so we’re safe.
Me: Yes sweetheart.
I’m not sure he was doing anything wrong at all. But he was unshaven. Which will not do when my children are present.
We get to the reception-type place of the science centre.
Quite Fit Woman: Can I help?
Me: I believe I’m on a VIP list of some sort? It’s Mr.Dad.
QFW: [checks] And who are you the guest of?
Me: Em. Under invite of Makepeace in Human Resources.
QFW: That’s right.
Me: Um. I know.
I am issued with much paraphernalia to indicate that I have a right to be there and will not be bombing anyone or anything. And that I don’t have to pay for anything at all. Ever. Well. Today. Not even lunch. Today.
I am told that we have to be at a specific point in the exhibition centre at a specific time. At the time the next prime minister will arrive.
Which is where we are now.
FD: Daddy!
Favourite Son: Owww!
He’s ten minutes late now. This won’t do. If he can’t keep a simple appointment I don’t know how he expects to run the country. Christ. I’m never late for anything. Maybe I should get the job. Anyway. Doesn’t he know who I am? I write a blog that gets literally tens of hits every MONTH. I bet his doesn’t.
On the gangway above us lots of the short-hair big-hand men begin approaching. All the television people around us get quite animated. I see our next Prime Minister who doesn’t even have a blog and even if he did it would be rubbish compared to mine heading this way.
My eyes and brain do that weird ‘ooh I recognize you but from tele-vision so it’s a bit odd seeing you without a tele-vision in front of me’ thing.
FD: Daddy! I want to see the monsters!
Me: Two seconds sweetheart. Look. That’s the man who is going to be the boss of the whole country.
FD: Which one?
Me: Him.
FD: Oh.
She looks at a man in a suit. She’s seen one before. This is not an event.
FS: Owww.
Me: Oh you buffoon.
Our next Prime Minister begins to head down the stairs toward us.
48 hours previously. I am on my way home from work. I share the car with sister-in-law Makepeace. I say share. I sit in the passenger seat and offer money from time to time. It is never accepted. I do not push the matter.
Makepeace: Strange request for you.
Me: Oh?
Makepeace: Gordon Brown’s visiting our place. Some sort of meet-and-greet thing. It’s just. We’ve had a call and he wants plenty of children there. For him to be seen with. It’s his thing. Only photogenic ones though. He wants to be seen chatting to them. What do you think?
Me: Do I have to pay anything?
Makepeace: No. You’ll have to security vetted, but otherwise it’s a free day out.
Me: Fill your boots.
Makepeace: I’ll put your name down.
Me: Great. And I don’t have to pay anything?
Makepeace: Not even lunch.
Me: Great. Although I’m not the biggest fan of Dave Cameron.
Makepeace: It’s Gordon Brown.
Me: Mmm?
Anyway. He’s heading down the stairs toward us.
FD: Daddy!
Me: He’s coming now sweetheart.
FS: Owww!
Me: Silly sod.
FD: Daddy! I want to see the monsters!
Apparently it’s a very good exhibition. Life-sized models of mythical creatures.
He looks shorter than on the tele-vision. But also bulkier. He gives the impression that he is made of very dense Lego.
FD: Daddy!
In fairness we’ve been waiting fucking ages.
FD: Monsters!
There’s a dragon I’m told. I’m quite anxious to see it myself. Animatronic. Apparently there’s real smoke. It’s supposed to be huge.
Our next Prime Minister heads our way. But is distracted by a family consisting of slightly-less-attractive-than-my-own children.
FD: Daddy!
Do you know what? Fuck it. I want to see the fucking dragon as well.
Me: Come on you.
FD: Yaayy!
FS: Owww.
We walk off. He had his chance.
And there was real smoke and everything. Favourite Son was terrified. Favourite Daughter was ‘middle-scared’. It was brilliant.
posted by Tired Dad at
10:06 pm
24 Comments:
If only GB had brought Mrs GB, then you could have met BG and FD could have seen a dragon at the same time.
I would not have waited for him past 5 minutes - and what is that thing he does with his mouth, looks like he's sucking in air and his bottom lip is so floppy it gets sucked in as well.
Hope the kids enjoyed the free lunch.
Boris
Want pictures. Of the dragon.
This comment has been removed by the author.
I agree. Where are the photographs of these mythical beasts?
You are so funny, this post made me LOL...several times.
You were VIPs who went AWOL from a MnG with the PM(iW)? You're on the fucking List for sure now.
You might as well have played Jilted John on an oversized ghettoblaster.
What IS it with these people! Bloody Harriet Harman came to our college before the last election, kept me and my hand-picked photogenic female students waiting two hours. When she did finally arrive with her massive entourage, she walked away from one of my "gals" whilst she was still speaking to her. Rude cow.
If I could've said "Fuck it" and left, I would have.
And you're right; Gordy's blog IS shit.
Bloody-minded persistence over animatronic monsters trumps second-hand prime ministership any day.
Strangely comforting.
but gordon brown IS a monster.
Loved it, tired, Loved it!
"Although does make one appear as though one is attempting to fuck a pushchair" classic!
Kids, the straightest set of priorities you'll ever see.
Fair cop I'd say. Even future PMs need to realise that if they want photographic opportunities with photogenic small children then there is a very small window of opportunity.
Give him time, he'll learn.
In the meantime, you might get some more cool trips...
Mr. T.D.
You are so funny, I think you should publish your blog.Also blog more often! :o)
Ta
dp
( that is tha only 1 ur gattin that is spell checked ;D
Boris: They ate all of it. And it's 'children' not 'kids'. Don't know where the term came from and I dislike it.
Farty: It's not That Sort Of Blog.
R: Hello again. See above.
DJ Chap: Many thanks.
Pie: Welcome back. Well. It's not as if we flicked our v's or anything. But honestly. 15 mins is too long to look surprised.
Missy: Fuck. That was a joke. He actually has one?
M_G: Why dost thou glide? And yes, it made me feel that all was right with the world.
Eliza: Maybe, maybe not, but children were non-plussed which may mean he is just a man.
T&C: Too kind.
Kerri: It sounds as though you speak of experience. And welcome.
A: They are the greatest leveller ever.
LG: Who knows.
Pup: Christ! I understand you! After all this time! Many thanks. I would love to blog more often, but my plate is rather full with real life stuff at the minute. And anyone who would want to publish this shit needs their head looking at. Hope you're doing ok.
Gordon Brown wasn't the monster then?
TD: It's a handle tinged with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
A 'handle'indeed. My, aren't we down wit tha yoot.
No, the 'yoof' (as Janet Street-Porter would have it) are down with me.
Actually, that sounds bad. Forget I said anything.
I'm glad that FD and FS weren't forced to play nice with the dude in the suit - especially after his late arrival. Monsters are MUCH better than PMs. (PMS too!)
you should have fed the fucker to the dragon and done us all a favour. You'd have got maced live on TV then as well. Opportunity lost.
Very funny. And i can think of nothing witty to say. Sorry.
I am glad you had a fun day, eventually
oh. I thought of something (not witty, but) what did you have for lunch?
M_G: Forgotten.
Jali: Hello again. Indeed.
Dinners: I wasn't thinking. Drat.
Me: Hello twice. Um. Nothing interesting actually. Oh weel. IT WAS FREE.
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