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It is International Wassocks’ Day and though I know by rights (and the terms of the routine I wrote in which this day was created) I was meant to spend the day replying to all the people who had tweeted “When’s International Men’s Day” with the phrase, “That’s right, there would never be one would there, because of political correctness gone mad. Well done for spotting that and you’re the only person who ever noticed it too.” But I was too tired. I am not sure I have the energy to celebrate International Non-Wassocks’ Day tomorrow, which is a day for all non-wassocks (hopefully I qualify) and invented solely as an answer to any idiot man asking when International Non-Wassocks' Day was during International Wassocks’ Day.
This year the November 19th campaign seemed to make more impact than last, never something I was angling for.
But I made the Telegraph for the second week in a row. Last week I had upset a woman and this week I had largely made women happy, though a few were understandably aggrieved that the papers were giving more coverage to my stubbornness than to the achievements of women. Like I say, I hope that by doing this, we can make the International Women’s Day naysayers look so stupid that they will disappear and the day can be entirely what it’s meant to be. There is room for both. But yes that’s a bit of an ironic outcome. For most though, it seems to be something funny and weirdly admirable to have done. Whilst there is one prick left in the world who thinks it’s worth asking when International Men’s Day is on International Women’s Day then my work will not be done. So I guess I am going to be busy on March 8th from now until I die and (then in bot form) long after.
Thanks to everyone who has appreciated the stubbornness and thanks to the man who hoped that I would die of AIDS for letting people know the date of International Men’s Day- with current medicine I should have several decades to go and be able to live a normal life. If he’d hated me he would surely have wished me a disease or death that was instant and highly painful. But then he seemed convinced that I’d been married before and had an ex-wife, so I think he might have got me mixed up with someone else anyway. It’s amazing the things that make people angry. Almost as amazing as their inability to see what their anger reveals about them.
Is it really a month since my wife went into labour? Admittedly it’s a short month, but that’s whizzed by amazingly fast. Especially given how slowly the weeks before the birth went. It still doesn’t feel like this baby is really ours to keep, but we’re getting to a stage where we half know what we’re doing and can manage to live our lives a bit as well. Tomorrow we attempt our first night out as a couple since the birth. You won’t believe where we’re going. If you’re going to have a date night then make it an impressive one. Stay tuned.
