Dad Diaries: A Plane, A Honeymoon, and Autism

My son Frank and I are sat on a plane, about to experience our first take off together. A shared aeronautic adventure across the skies; the stuff of memories and bonding experiences, right? No. No it’s not. We are actually both terrified. 

Not, it has to be said, of the flight itself. Yes, we are ostensibly launching ourselves thousands of feet in the air in a tiny pressurised tin comprised of wings and duty-free beauty products But my father-in-law, who builds these things for a living, is sat across from me and owns a pair of Unflappable Eyebrows that inspire great confidence. Nor am I terrified because the UK’s terror threat level was raised to “severe” just 72 hours before; or in other words on our wedding day. Statistically speaking, fireworks are more dangerous than a terrorist attack. I'm 10 times more likely to die from an accidental fire in my home than from a terrorist attack (this is particularly illuminating in a year where I have set a hoover, a toaster and my second microwave on fire). 

No, we’re not terrified for any of these reasons. Frank; almost three years old with autism, is terrified of the seat straps holding him down.  These straps are unfamiliar; they restrict his view, his movement, and is subsequently hulking out with the equivalent magnitude of an atom bomb. We’re talking full-on eyes bulging meltdown. The engines are firing to the tune of 200mph, and it’s at this point I realise Frank has Houdini’ed the straps entirely, and is writhing and thrashing out of his seat. Me? I'm terrified that I'm on a plane with him.

Daniel Craig’s Bond 60% More Likely To Sexually Transmit Death By Henchmen

To celebrate the DVD/Blu Ray release of Skyfall, and the 45^th anniversary of Daniel Craig’s eviction from the womb, I take a look at the current state of James Bond.

If you watched 2008’s Quantum of Sony Product Placement, you witnessed the ageing James Bond franchise lose its battle with Alzheimer’s- finally forgetting everything that makes a Bond film a Bond film. His sense of humour was the first thing to go, quickly followed by many staples of our semi-centennial spy’s heritage; the gun barrel intro, Moneypenny banter, Q gadgetry, coherently directed action, dodgy double entendre.  In this gritty post 9/11 era where no one can have any fun ever, Bond constantly struggled to stay relevant.

Though Casino Royale was his first decent film in years, he couldn’t say hand on heart it was a proper Bond film. He lurched around Quantum in a confused state, every judiciously edited action sequence a perfect reflection of his fractured psyche. In his final days, answering only to the name “Jason Bourne”, he kept mumbling some bilge about jetpacks, cello skiing, space skirmishes and tsunami surfing.  He lived long enough to see his previous adventures bestowed more politically correct titles like Dr No Smoking, Live And Let's Diet, Never Say N***er Again and The World Is Not Diverse Enough. The traditional post-credits “James Bond Will Return” seemed more like a misjudged epitaph, rather than a promise.

Then Skyfall was released, to the tune of $1 billion worldwide box office and laden with superlative reviews. Critical acclaim is frankly something new; like the family dog with occasional bouts of faecal chafing, Bond has always been beloved, but never really respected. I’m surprised that general audiences twigged Skyfall was a Bond film at all, being that the title is uniquely comprised of two syllables and doesn’t have violent verbs like ‘Die’ or ‘Kill’ in it. Thankfully Adele cleared up any outstanding confusion by crooning the word ‘Skyfall’ at least thirty times in her Oscar-winning theme song.   

In Which Thomas the Tank Engine Is Brutally Raped and Porky Pig Fails to Buy Insurance

A single, blood-curdling scream rings through the flat. I follow the distressing sound into the lounge. What on earth is the matter? Has Frank hurt himself? Has Sara burnt her omelette again? Are we out of tea bags? With a trembling finger pointed at the TV, Sara stands stock still, mouth agape.  I watch the screen for a few moments, but my brain struggles to keep up with the audio-visual nightmare playing before me. I slowly realise the situation is much, much worse.

What the f*ck is this?

It’s Thomas the Tank Engine, our poor dear Thomas, taken from behind, and being made completely CGI.

With every vicious thrust his attacker systematically removes every shred of Thomas’s decency and charm; stripping away his regional Liverpudlian accent, his toy model railway chic, deliberate sense of pacing and his down-to-earth storytelling. Sara and I remain speechless, witness to this most heinous of crimes. After it’s over, Thomas limps off the TV gang-legged and bloody; not to his signature theme tune, but to a flaccid sing a long track intoned by an uninterested choir.  He’s barely recognisable amidst the cheap computer graphics. No wonder his new-found voice is tediously high pitched after an ordeal like that.

The initial sensation of helpless ennui quickly escalates to anger. Why would they do this?

“We did this” says the current producer of Thomas the Tank Engine “Because the majority of children's television shows need to be computer generated to appeal to youngsters brought up on computers and videogames. CGI is aspirational for them.” So with a whiff of self-fulfilling prophecy, Thomas the Tank Engine joins Fireman Sam, The Magic Roundabout, Noddy, Bob the Builder and the rest in all looking the bloody same. You can’t shift the blame onto pre-school sponges for enjoying the very food you’ve force-fed them, it’s like a French pate manufacturer berating geese for being gluttons.

Press Admits Disappointment That More People Didn’t Die In London Helicopter Crash

A helicopter crashed into a crane on top of one of Europe's tallest residential blocks on Wednesday, killing only two people. ‘It’s a miracle no one else was hurt, quite disappointingly so’- says one Sky News correspondent.

An investigation is now under way into exactly why the helicopter hit the crane in foggy conditions at St George Wharf, in South Lambeth. So far analysts state it occurred because the helicopter hit the crane in foggy conditions.  ‘Annoyingly, there seems to nothing to link it to terrorism’ remarks one BBC reporter, ‘We had high hopes when we learnt the crash site was less than a mile away from the Houses of Parliament, MI6 and the new U.S Embassy. Frankly, we feel cheated’.

 Wreckage was strewn across roads close to Vauxhall train station, a major transport hub near the south bank of the River Thames, which was packed with rush hour commuters. ‘Potentially thousands could have died; it could have had a real massacre, but it wasn’t’ says Deputy Editor of the Daily Mail, before expressing regret that the helicopter crash wasn’t more like the film Die Hard. ‘That’s why we initially covered the story is as much detail as we did- we love fireballs and stuff exploding’. The Daily Mirror called the event a ‘Fireball Miracle’- not, of course, for the two men (Pete Barnes, the pilot, and pedestrian Matthew Wood) who lost their lives, but the potential victims that could have died.

The Tiger Who Came to Tea Uninvited and Was Shot- and other Instructional Children’s Books

I’m beginning to think that the time has come to write off this current generation of young people as completely un-fixable and focus our energies on preventing the next batch of sprogs from following in their path.

In support of this notion, I’ve written a series of instructional pre-school books designed to answer important questions and set our little ones down a road of decency, morality and proper values.

The Borrowers Lose Their Hands (Islamic Version)

The price for all that ‘borrowing’ is the left hand being cut off. I’ve heard that’s what they do over there. I saw it in Disney’s Aladdin.

The Tiger Who Came to Tea Uninvited and Was Shot.

A tiger enters the home of little Sophie, and her Mum inexplicably welcomes the tiger to tea. This is problematic for several reasons. The tiger proceeds to eat all the sandwiches, buns, biscuits, all the cake, Sophie’s Mum, and Sophie. Police later hunt down and kill the tiger. Children should fully appreciate the dangers of exotic cat visitations that to do not take place in a zoo, or cereal adverts. This point will be emphasised with several splash pages of Sophie’s house covered in giblets and gore.

The ABCs of Respectable Middle Class Values

“C is for conformity which keeps us all the same / D is for the decency that shields us all from shame”

It’s never too early to start beating notions of morality into the heads of young people and reminding them that in addition to standing for Cat, “C” also stands for Capitalism!

This pragmatic early-reader brings home the concepts of decent middle class values using light verse and heavy messaging. A must for any rambunctious child with a stubborn streak and a strong imagination.

“M is for the marriage that must last until you die / N is for normality, a trait for which we strive”

Open Letter to Very Young Teenage Cretins Wanting Babies

No.

Just ... no.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? Have you ever even met a baby? Because most of them are arseholes (literally, that’s all they have to offer the world for ages)- they’re the only variety of people even more inexplicably moody and cranky than god-awful teenagers (whoops, that's you I guess).

Look, I know. I know you want a baby because you feel alone and you want someone who will love you and need you. I get that. And that’s why you should go get a puppy. Puppies are really glad when you come home from school to see them. Babies on the other hand aren't there when you come home from school because they’ve been taken away by child protective services because you can’t just leave babies on the floor while you run to class. This is just one of the many differences between puppies and babies.  

I only write now this because the other day a whole bunch of you were cooing over my son in his admittedly adorable ride-along car, and some of you went several steps too far and said you really wanted a baby. At least by seventeen, one of you said. Is it because you're a sponge for all those deplorable TV shows like Teen Mom, 16 and Pregnant, and I Was Evicted From The Womb The Other Day and Now Want My Own Baby? I implore you- get a puppy instead.

Other differences between puppies and babies:

Puppies will piss on your rug for a few weeks until they’re trained.

Babies will piss on your rug, your clothes, and (on several occasions if you have a boy) your open mouth. FOR YEARS. Puppies almost never piss in your mouth, unless trained (for some reason).

Puppies occasionally shit on the carpet.

Babies occasionally pull the shit out of their nappies to create a mural on the wall, which you will then have to clean off. Puppies almost never make you clean human faeces off walls.

Puppies come from animal shelters. You have to pay for them with a credit card. Babies come from your uterus. You have to push them out of your vagina. Sure there’s no APR to worry about, but your traumatised genitalia will have the same approximate diameter and depth as the Sarlacc Pit from Star Wars.Puppies love you. So do babies. That one’s a tie.

Puppies love you even if you aren't perfect. Babies would kill you with their minds if they could simply because you aren't fast enough at reading their minds. Instead they’ll just scream their heads off. Puppies almost never scream their heads off. Unless you beat them (I imagine).

If a puppy can’t sleep you can put it outside. If you do that with a baby you go to prison.

When your puppy finally does sleep you can curl up next to him and he’ll snuggle against you and you can nap. When your baby finally falls asleep you’ll try to take the first shower you've taken in days but then you’ll wake up the baby by thinking too loudly. Nice try! Back to work.

Your puppy needs clean water, food, and a few toys. Your baby needs so much shit that you’ll need to take out a loan for just the basics. Six months after buying it, everything you bought will either be recalled for safety issues or be expendable and hopelessly dated.

You don’t have to hire a babysitter, tutor, or nanny for a puppy. Puppies never want designer jeans and tongue piercings. Puppies never ask where babies come from. Puppies chew up your Mummy’s new purse. Babies throw up in Mummy’s new purse. In fact, they do it so much that you don’t even get all that grossed out when you have to clean it up. That’s just how used to vomit you are.

Puppies are best enjoyed at any age. Babies are best enjoyed when you are responsible, out of school, and economically independent. 

That’s why, teenagers, I say to you now ... get thyself a puppy. And then when your parents get all pissed off that you got a puppy just say, "I’m pregnant." Once you calm them down and they see that you’re really just carrying around a puppy instead of a foetus they’re much more likely to think reasonably and will probably be fine with a puppy. It’s all about perspective really.

Hugs,

Liam

PS. Condoms are your friends. So are chew toys. Don't confuse the two.

He does look pretty adorable though

Terrible Parenting Idioms and the Unsolicited But Inevitable Judgement of You

Becoming a parent subjects you to a whirlwind of new and strange emotions and can leave you feeling more vulnerable than you have ever been in your life.  It is at this exact moment that you will find yourself set upon by strangers intent on telling you exactly how terrible you are as a parent.

Here’s some kernels of wisdom from that most reliable of sources, the Internet.

Life affords no greater responsibility, no greater privilege, than the raising of the next generation. Which means you just took a lifelong job with no chance of promotion or advancement. Worst. Job. Ever

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The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants. Or maybe you should clean your room when God tells you to.

If you want your children to improve, let them overhear the nice things you say about them to others. Because raising an eavesdropper is always the way to go.

What a child doesn't receive, he can seldom later give. Like affection. Or gonorrhoea.

Live so that when your children think of fairness and integrity, they think of you. Because apparently the best thing you can teach your child is how narcissistic you are.

To be in your children’s memories tomorrow, you have to be in their lives today. Or yesterday. Or really, anytime in the future. This is how memories work.

Kids spell love T-I-M-E. And that’s why you need to have them tested for learning disorders.

Affirming words from moms and dads are like light switches. Speak a word of affirmation at the right moment in a child’s life and it’s like lighting up a whole roomful of possibilities. Or you could just switch on the lights. Most kids enjoy electricity.

The best inheritance a parent can give his children is a few minutes of his time each day. Because who the hell needs to go to university?

Parents need to fill a child’s bucket of self-esteem so high that the rest of the world can’t poke enough holes to drain it dry. Because that’s the best thing you can bequeath to your child. A big, holey bucket.

Let parents bequeath to their children not riches, but the spirit of reverence. Or maybe life insurance. Life insurance can be very handy for bequeathment. Also, why are so many of these about death? It’s sort of morbid.

A happy family is but an earlier heaven. Which means that having children equates to an early death. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

A baby is born with a need to be loved -- and never outgrows it. Unlike their shoes, which they seem to outgrow every two hours. If we could make shoes out of the same stuff that “a need to be loved” is made out of, we’d be millionaires.

I don't think children's inner feelings have changed. They still want a mother and father in the very same house; they want places to play. They also want ponies that poop cupcakes and eat homework. So maybe children shouldn't be trusted so terribly much.