A long day at work for me. I drove home on autopilot forgetting any manoeuvres that I might actually have made, looking forward to seeing the wife and the little man. The Wife answers the door looking understandably tired; the little guy has Gastroenteritis which is causing him to blow out of both ends with impressive enthusiasm. He is creating scenes which make Hacksaw Ridge look like a 5* hotel. Anywho, she’s tired, as am I after being stuck behind car after car in the ‘rush hour’ (Slow down everyone! It’s not a race!). Much to my surprise, Babachops is curled up asleep on the sofa (he is sleeping a tonne with him being ill). The Wife asks me about my day. She is being treated to my usual grumblings about the wonderful world of education when I hear commentary on the TV.
Now this peaks my interest. I’m a PE Teacher, I like my sport. The Wife, however, not one for sport on the box. She couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff about sport. Then I realise she has Channel 4 racing on. What’s this she’s watching? She tried to fob me off with a tale that she was watching something on the planner and that must have been on before. Aye right! Here’s me grafting my bollocks off at work and she’s sat at home with the horses on! I know the bairn (baby) is hard work but come on love. Get Bet365 off the laptop. Who do you think you are? John McCririck? If she’s spurning the fucking mortgage on SausagedogCannonball cause he’s 7/1 in the 4.30 at Cheltenham then I’m going to go Bananas!
Seriously though, a 6-month old projectile vomiting like Lionel Ritchie (All Night Long) coupled with some pretty impressive poonamis makes for some very tired parentals.