My brush with fame was to take place at the Exeter offices of BBC Devon. From these far from exotic surroundings (sat in a glorified cupboard) I was to link in with show. It was only when I was seated, mic'd and framed for the piece that my stomach sank. I spent the next 30 minutes, looking at 4 monitors each displaying my features as we waiting for the allotted time. Under the harsh lighting (without makeup) I looked like crap. There's no other way of looking at it, I looked like someone who'd just completed a sleep deprivation marathon. I have never seen myself look so old, tired or haggard.
I firmly believe that we, as a society, need to find new role models for our boys and young men. We need to do this quickly. Traditionally, we've expected boys to look up to movie stars, sportsmen, musicians, politicians and the business elite. Yet, the starry ensemble has repeatedly shown itself unworthy of this honour.
In the meantime we parents, who have enough on their plate, are beaten with (metaphorical) sticks. Trending hashtags, focusing on parenting perfection, tell us we’re doing it all wrong. Instagram images of perfectly dressed, puke free, angelic children make the rest of us sick to the stomach as we battle to dress our toddlers without WW3 breaking out. Linked-in profiles that show parents simultaneously looking after kids, pursuing an amazing career, charity work, an interesting hobby and maintaining great hair – make the rest of us feel like crap.
I briefly considered trying to wrestle the pouch from the woman, but quickly dismissed the idea. One of the issues of being a large man is that, if discovered fighting with a Miss Marple look-a-like in the Co-op, few people are likely to believe that you didn’t start it.
The only logical conclusion that any sane (and stable) person could possibly come to, when faced with this behaviour, is the president isn’t really the president at all. Don’t you see? Clearly the president is actually a 12-year-old boy, who wished to be ‘a grown-up’ using the Zoltar Fortune Teller Machine - previously seen in the hit 1988 Tom Hank’s movie ‘BIG’.
Limit yourself to just one argument on Christmas day. Your row could be about anything: Brexit, doing the washing up or even who’s better Ant or Dec, it really doesn't matter. Expect the argument, enjoy it and move on.
Back then Halloween was a genuinely scary experience, not because of ghosts and goblins. The fear came with the concern that, dressed like an idiot, you might bump into someone you knew!
I Have Poo Tinnitus. It's true. Everywhere I go I can smell a gentle whiff of poo. Where it's coming from I can't tell you. It may be that changing a multitude of nappies has made me especially sensitive to the aroma of fecal matter?
I do think that there is often a lot of over-thinking that takes place around babies. Parents are expected to give answers to questions that really don't matter and act as if they do.
It's a strange thing feeding another human being. Even stranger when a fussy eater is feeding their non-fussy eater child. I spend long periods of time faking smiles and satisfied noises about food I wouldn't dream of eating myself.