4354/17273
It might be one of the last times we ever get the chance to do this, but like a John Lennon and Yoko Ono without a cause (or loads of press in the room), my wife and I stayed in bed all day, making our own amusement. Which principally involved watching telly, reading and eating. Recently one or both of us has been too busy for such luxurious laziness, but my wife has just handed in her work and I have decided to bin my latest project, so we could take it easy.
And after February we probably won’t get a chance to do this for another 18 years (or if our child is as immature as me that might be more like 40 years). So these are the days that count. We’ve had a nice balanced weekend of leisure, getting out into the fresh air (and contemplating our own mortality) and then staying in and enjoying each other’s company. I wasted many days alone as a younger man, but there’s little better than wasting them with someone you love.
And maybe the real wasted days were the ones where I worked too hard and made no time for myself or the people around me.
Like a stranger at the door our baby was there to remind us of the chaos that is to come. It was kicking away persistently, still at the stage where this is fun, if a little weird, rather than painful for my wife. I mean, it’s still going to be fun for me even when it’s kicking organs and ribs. It was the future knocking. There’s still over three months until the appointed time where the door gets unlocked (as I understand it) and our sodden visitor finally gets to come into our home and treat it like a hotel. Though to be honest I have never looked forward more to welcoming a blood-soaked, effluent splurging, life-changing parasite. It’s a time bomb and not even the good kind that’s full of explosives and only has to be lucky once. The bad kind that is full of piss and shit and puke and that you have to look after and clean. It doesn’t even have the politeness to kill you.
None of it feels real yet. Come back in February where I think jt will seem real. Maybe real enough to mean that I don’t have time to write this stuff any more. Or that what I write won’t be worth the reading unless you’re interested in the adventures of a very tired man covered in baby faeces. Which to be fair, most of you probably are.
Slowly though, already priorities are changing and my life is being reassessed and I am having to make some decisions. Choosing to spend a weekend with the one and a half people that I love most in the world instead of furiously trying to hit a deadline with a script might be indicative of the way things are going to be. Though if I were more inclined to work then I’d be in a great position to work on a movie about a man who puts his work first, but in the end realises that his family is more important. And to realise that the people who write those kind of films have actually put their work first and don’t believe a thing that they’re telling you.
Another guest confirmed for RHLSTP. Joining Al Murray on 3rd November will be the always entertaining Richard Osman from off of Pointless. Buy your tickets for this show (and for Josh Widdecombe and Andy Zaltzman on 28th October) here.
