5690/18710
But what a thrill to once again be able to flick through hundreds of channels to find that there was fuck all on. But without this ability I would never get to see partial episodes of Two and a Half Men (the one where Ashton took over) or The Big Bang Theory (the one where the Indian nerd gets a girlfriend - I think, I got a bit bored and irritated by it and turned over. You can only have so much of the joke “I am an adult†followed by someone behaving childishly - as fans of my work know). Both shows have excellent theme tunes though. Increasingly I think mainstream success is mainly down to this. If there is something that is that enjoyable and familiar at the start then you’re in a good enough mood to sustain 25 minutes of the same joke you’re already seen.
I even saw a bit of Hollyoaks (the one where some people from Chester shouted at each other). Wow, it’s a long time since I’ve dipped into Hollyoaks. I didn’t recognise anyone, though I think one of them might have been Cindy. Where was Jambo. Or the girl who looked attractive from certain angles. The characters from those early series might now be the grandparents of the ones in this one. So different. And yet so reassuringly exactly the same. I hope that Dan Tetsell is back in it soon. In ghost form if that is what it takes.
My wife was out for the afternoon and evening, working - how dare she leave me on her own whilst she gallivants off being funny. I’d never do that to her. Or to my audiences.
I am, to be fair, slowly catching up on the child care that I missed out on when I was off living the high life, staying in Premier Inns and missing out on my children’s developments. I got them dinner, bathed them and got them to sleep all on my own. It’s no mean feat. I had a couple of beers to help me through it. And admitted as much on Twitter. As long as one of them got through alive then no one could judge me. Or use my Twitter feed in evidence against me. Perhaps this blog may one day be used in court to prove how weak a father I am. Can I just say, in my defence, your honour, I am a fucking superb dad and this is me being self-deprecating and amusing.
But did you or did you not get drunk in sole care of your children?
I move to strike that question from the record, your honour. The defendant is leading the defendant.
Luckily tonight my son played ball and fell asleep straight as soon as I’d put him in the cot. Juggling the bath times is the hardest bit. You can’t leave one in the bath whilst you put the other one in bed, because apparently they can drown or something, so I did Ernie first and then, when miraculously he fell straight asleep. I might have slipped him half a beer to help him on the way. Don’t tell my wife. She’d be upset to hear that he couldn’t manage a whole bottle.
Your honour, this was again a joke.
My daughter was only mildly naughty. I think she knows in her heart that I have no control over her and can make her life Hell. But she just kept me talking on the monitor for five minutes after lights out before letting me off the hook.
And then it was terrestrial and Freeview TV for me for the rest of the night. Plus more beer. And a pudding made out of ice cream and salted caramel vodka. You don’t have to be drunk to cope with solo parenting, but I always have been so far and no one has sent me to prison yet.
I half watched the football and was sad to see Nigeria go out, but it seemed to make Maradonna happy and that’s enough for me. Football is mainly luck. Which should give you some hope. Because your team might actually win a competition. Unless you support York City.
