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Friday 6th January 2017

Friday 6th January 2017

5156/18076

My daughter sometimes doesn’t do the things I suggest she might want to do. It’s almost like she doesn’t get that I am trying to do what is best for her, or failing that what is easiest for me. But what is a bit weird (and mildly worrying) is that if I whisper a suggestion to her, she pretty much always does it. I just whisper, “Phoebe, Phoebe” and then she comes over and I whisper “Go and tickle mummy” and she will do exactly that. Because she’s instinctively picked up that when something is whispered it’s secret and slightly naughty. And that’s worrying that she’s so keen to be naughty that she forgets that she doesn’t want to do what I say. 

At 7 this morning, she had woken up, sung a little song and then called for her mummy. I had come in and she’d been disappointed and lay face down saying “No” and “Mummy”, like mummy is somehow better than daddy (idiot). She wouldn’t stand up so that I could put her on the potty and take her downstairs for milk. But then I whispered “Phoebe, Phoebe… stand up” and she smiled and got to her feet, like she was now in some kind of joke on someone. But the joke was on her. I had used my power to make her do what I wanted her to do. I am slightly worried that she thinks the whisper voice isn’t actually me, but some kind of invisible evil spirit who she is in thrall to. But hey, if it makes my life easier then I am all for using it.

And Phoebe is now a mummy herself. She has a few toy favourites, but her newest obsession is a truly hideous little plastic doll - it’s really hard and no fun to cuddle- and is dressed up in a sort of bizarre pink ladybird or insect fairy costume. She calls the doll “Baby” and insists on having it with her almost all the time now. She chose it herself when she was out shopping the other day. Apparently there were much nicer dolls on display but she chose “Baby”. She’s a good mum to Baby, although she does quite like to put her in the microwave of her toy kitchen, so I should probably report her to the authorities. It’s such a strange relationship and my first grand-daughter is super weird and I don’t think I like her. But we’d misplaced her today so I spent five minutes looking round the house for a tiny rock hard bit of plastic dressed as a pink insect. But this, it turns out, is now my job.

Having said that I made good progress with episode one of Relativity (though it is quite an easy one to write as I am adapting a previous script) and had some thoughts about next week’s AIOTM (though not one word of it is written yet). I am feeling very positive about writing and enjoying it very much and was much better at applying myself today.

It’s a New Year so my arse it temporarily in gear with the diet and exercising going well and I am also trying to sort out some odd jobs. Though as I am me,that means getting someone round to do them for me. But a nice and slightly eccentric Bulgarian man called Petar came to replace the extractor fan in my bathroom. He was a jolly man and we had some fun working out how he could reach the broken fan which is right above the bath. He stood on the bath to begin with, but it made a weird creak. So then we put the step ladder up so it was inside the bath, which was OK as long as I held it for him. We chatted about Brexit and my planned move to the countryside and another job he’d had working on a big extractor fan in an industrial kitchen. He criticised the person who’d put the fan in my bathroom, but that’s more or less de rigeur for tradesmen and then he saw my bathroom scales and asked me to get on them to see how much I weighed. It was an odd request from a stranger, but he was such good fun that I went along with it. He was a similar stature to me and as horrendously high as my weight was, he broke the 100kg barrier and explained he used to be a body builder but had let it slide.

The new extractor fan works well though and is quieter than the last one. So there we go.

And then this afternoon another European man (and God knows who will fix my stuff or clean my house once Theresa May has sent all the immigrants home) from  Handyman Services London came round to fix the door on my dishwasher that had fallen off (just the wooden bit that hides the dishwasher away - the machine itself was fine). It’s nice to recommend something rather than complain, but this guy was great: efficient, polite and helpful and he didn’t even think to ask me how much I weighed. He was paid by the hour, but worked quickly and while the wood glue was drying on the door he  fixed a couple of other loose shelves and used his silicon gun to properly affix the extractor fan (Petar didn’t have one, but told me it was easy and I could do it myself - but he overestimated me). 

They’re right. Brexit is going to hit the useless liberal elite very hard. 

The price was very reasonable too.

And I am not completely useless either. Yesterday I fixed the broken toilet door lock that fell apart about a year ago (we had a system that if the door was shut then you didn’t go in). Admittedly fixing it involved buying a complete new set of handles with integrated lock, realising it was going to be a bit of palaver to fit that, then when checking the new lock would fit in the hole and work with the existing mechanism noticing that I could just install that bit of the new handle and everything would be fine. Admittedly the old handle was brass coloured and the new lock mechanism is silver. But I don’t care. We can now lock our toilet door. And not a single immigrant helped me. We’re going to be fine, UK. We’re going to be a mismatched toilet door lock. Always set to locked. Perfect metaphor.



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My new stand up show, The Best is touring from September 2016 to May 2017 All details here.
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