Get Out Your Lazy Bed

Getting my daughters out of the house for school in the morning is a bit like being a news reader on a twenty four hour news channel. It’s a painful struggle, you use the same words over and over again, and you end up looking haggard and exhausted while feeling relieved that only a couple of people were watching you.

Every morning as the moment of departure approaches, I use a script that goes something like “It’s eight o’clock. Stop looking in the mirror and start looking at the garden gates.” Then, “it’s five past eight, you’re late and you’ll wear that mirror out.” I follow this with “it’s ten past eight now, it’s really late, and I’m going to break that blooming mirror.” Then, “it’s quarter past. Do you think you’re Simon Cowell?”

This morning I thought Katherine Jenkins had slept over at our house as my oldest daughter appeared looking like she had been experimenting with a clown’s make up box a little bit early for Halloween. My pleas that she is too young to wear mascara and lippy to school were met with ridicule of course and expressions that suggested I belonged in a home dunking biscuits in my Horlicks and keeping an eye out for thieves stealing my teeth from the bedside table.

I was on the receiving end of similar pity when I watched the MOBO awards with her a few nights ago. These are awards for Music Of Black Origin and go to musicians who make garage, r’n’b, and black pop hits. The organisers decided to have the awards this year in Glasgow and I made the mistake of laughing out loud as the poor, out of their depth, presenters desperately repeated to a bored audience
“are you ready to party?”, over and over again.

Being born in Glasgow I could have told them that to get the crowd going they should have forgotten the party bit and just changed one letter, shouting instead “are you ready to pastry?”. Since Glasgow is not renowned for being a city with a large black population, a sticky bun would have been understood and appreciated much, much better.

I made the mistake of saying this out loud and daughter number one tutted and shook her head with sympathy as if looking at road kill. Apparently, when I can talk knowingly about whether Tinchy Strider or Dappy are more crucial to the success of NDubz, and where Taio Cruz’s sunglasses fit in to today’s musical style movement then, and only then, will I be entitled to voice an opinion. I rushed for my dictionary.

It only seems like yesterday when Teletubbies were role models for my kids, hoovering up any mess and getting to bed early ready for adventures on their scooters the next day. Sadly, the big sun in the sky baby that smiled and giggled on that show is probably now a student at university giggling in the beer bar and hoovering up illegal substances and rolling her own.

This week Tesco have announced they’re bringing back Action Man, a toy from an era when Dappy was in a nappy and kids grew up at a normal rate. The soldier was pensioned off and put in civvies years ago but thanks to the media reporting daily from conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq kids want the pensioner back, so now the old timer is heading for stores with all guns, or should that be gums, blazing.

Of course he’s changed and his off duty clothing will now probably include a hoodie, lots of bling, and a pouch for keeping his asbo safe. Unlike real soldiers he is getting an update to his kit and it creates an interesting scenario for Tesco as it doesn’t matter if his battery operated laser guided missiles or the walkie talkies don’t work. Take them back for a refund and the girl on the Customer Service desk can say “but they’re not supposed to work. They’re authentic.”

I still have my Action Man from the first time around and I was discussing with him how kids grow up too quickly. Well I say discussing… it’s pretty much a one way conversation but he has a cord in his back that I pull and he says something like “let’s kick some butt”. He’s been a bit indecipherable since I washed him in my bath when I was ten.

But, as I said to him, in some ways kids today don’t grow up quickly enough. Thinking about my morning rant at my daughters to get them off to school, I wondered when they will eventually grow up enough to get to the stage of actually being able to tell the time unaided by a foghorn timecheck from dad, and also knowing instinctively to avoid mirrors because of the disappointment of what they’ll see.

It will make mornings in our house so much quicker and quieter and I, for one, can’t wait.