Mary’s Blog Child

On Sunday, it’s December

Which means it’s nearly time

To start discussing Christmas

Without it being a crime


Guy Fawkes has been cremated

The fireworks have gone boom

It’s time to get your tree up

And decorate the room


Put on that wacky jumper,

novelty socks and, heck

While we’re fucking at it

Shove a mince pie down yer neck


For the first-time since last Christmas

It’s all right to drink sherry

In fact, have what you like, mate

Whatever makes you merry


That’s the best thing ’bout Christmas

The joy of festive cheer

It’s eating, drinking, doing stuff

You wouldn’t dare throughout the year


You wouldn’t eat sprouts in April

Have ‘one more choc’ when full

A dry turkey stuffing sandwich?

(“Nah, turkey’s fucking dull”)


If you heard Mariah in August

You’d want to punch her in the throat

But once we reach December

I’ll try to reach each note


I swear old Shakin’ Stevens

Must hibernate all year

And it won’t be long ’til Noddy

and Wizzard will appear


That first door on the Advent

First jingle of sleigh bell

“Would you like some sprouts, Sir?”

“Oh go on, what the hell.”


Look, sprouts are fucking awful

There’s little else I hate

But sitting down on Christmas Day

I’ll heap them on my plate


That first visit from the big man

When the Rotary come round

(We all know it’s just ‘Fat Tony’

but the kids are still spellbound)


It’s cold and wet and windy

But it’s ok, ’cause we know

If it’s cold and wet and windy

It might just turn to snow


Sat watching school nativities

When no parent will admit

They’ve lost all feeling in their arse

and the acting has been shit


The office Christmas Party

‘Dad Dancing’ with aplomb

Getting Janice from Accounts

To down a Jagerbomb


Now we’ve reached December

It’s the magic of Yuletide

When common sense and decency

Are quickly cast aside


You can eat until you’re queasy

and drink until you’re pissed

It’s your one chance to go mental

So why try to resist?


Make the most of next month, folks

For soon it will be gone

I wish you all much festive cheer

Merry Christmas everyone x







Noblog Laureate


‘IF’ by Rudyard Kipling

ft. The Middle-Raged Dad (and probably Justin Bieber)

(2019 Remix)


If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing their shit and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when everyone else tells you it’s chocolate, but you know better,

But make allowance for their doubting, and give it a quick sniff anyway;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, even though you’re really fucking tired all the time,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, unless it’s that one about Father Christmas, or the Tooth Fairy, because those are good lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, even when Isaac is being a cock again,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise. Because, let’s face it, you DON’T look good these days, and you haven’t made sense in weeks:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master, it means you’ve had more than two hours consecutive sleep, which is a win,

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim – when you are not sat on the toilet,

If you can answer your wife, when she asks ‘what are you doing in the kitchen?’, with the reply ‘marinating my chicken’, yet still not snigger like a child,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster (or Ollie and Isaac, as you prefer to call them),

And treat those two impostors just the same (except you don’t, because at any given time you have a favourite);

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken (because she’s bound to repeat it when you least expect it)

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or a den for the kids,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken – like the house, the car, your left foot on that fucking piece of lego….

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools (assuming you can even find your tools, because the tool box went missing months ago, and the last time you needed to put a picture up you had to use a shoe as a hammer):

If you can make one heap of all your winnings (or, if not, a giant mountain of laundry),

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, rock-paper-scissors, or even ‘pull my finger’,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings (or at least pre-children),

And never breathe a word about your loss, because other parents may judge you;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, and occasionally your right hip if it will only stop clicking for five fucking minutes,

To serve your turn long after they are gone to school,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you (because the kids ate the last of the cereal),

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

But they ignore you and do it anyway.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or at least master sleeping with your eyes open

‘Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, but a swift kick to the trouser-clams makes you want to vomit and cry at the same time,

If all men count with you, but none too much, because they too are fathers and have their own shit to deal with;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, because sixty seconds is all you can manage these days (and we’re not just talking about running anymore, are we?);

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Middle-Raged Dad, my son!

Thanks for reading x


My Blogcentennial



A little over four years ago

I sat in my office and stared at the snow

Looked down at my files, and, feeling forlorn

I started to write, and this blog was born


I work as a lawyer, as most of you know

But wish that I didn’t, it’s got me quite low

So, thinking about my one true passion

A weekly blog, I started to fashion


In truth, at first, looking back with reflection

My writing was random, no sense of direction

Part autobiography, part family tree

I focused on the stuff that was personal to me


I decided to call my blog ‘Sandbach Chatter’

But I wrote about things which don’t really matter

And soon I realised the more favoured releases

Were about our boys, and the ‘ranting’ style pieces




So, with public opinion suitably gauged

I realised I was becoming more middle-raged

I changed to ‘Confessions of a Middle-Raged Dad’

Which turned out to be the best idea I’ve had




The rather dry posts about my childhood days

The films that I like, computer games played

Were increasingly swapped for harsh diatribe

As that seemed to get more folks to subscribe


I gathered more followers, and after a while

Developed my own unique writing style

At first apprehensive, and a little bit wary

I grew in confidence and got rather sweary




And even though I have no fame or money

I love writing about what I find funny

The only thing better is when you guys laugh too

For that I’m eternally grateful to you.


There’s been rants about cars (especially Ford)

Elton John’s lyrics and flying abroad

Building a Wendy house, getting stuck in Ikea

(I barely survived, it’s my one greatest fear)




The beach, the weather, nursery rhymes

The show ‘Take Me Out’, social media crimes

World domination – I set out my plan

While explaining I’m hardly the manliest man




A flight to Norwich, a UK road trip

I then started running and fucked up my hip

I visited my local osteopath

But she said I was ‘stiff’ and I started to laugh


I’ve played rounders with work, badminton with some friends

Spent hours at ‘soft play’ on countless weekends

The lands of CBeebies, that bitch Peppa Pig

And then Euro Disney (it’s so fucking big)




A trip to the dentist, an awkward position

That time I collapsed when I saw my optician

I’m not much a swimmer, and can’t really dance

I pass out quite a bit, I’m no good at romance


Speaking of which, gave ‘Love Island’ a try

But within fifteen minutes was left asking why?

The phrases on Love Hearts, they’re just as bad

‘Cwtch Me’, in particular, got me quite mad


I discussed Valentine’s, and displays of affection

Then mocked the US Presidential Election

I gave the Super Bowl a genuine go

But fell asleep before the big half-time show


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I tried public speaking, and astrology

I re-wrote the Christmas nativity

I’ve admitted my fondness for Eurovision

And my hatred of Hastings after last year’s collision




A weekend entertaining Ollie’s class bear

(his name’s also Isaac, but he has shorter hair)

And speaking of which, I have to admit

I’m jealous of Isaac not giving a shit




People laugh at his hair, they think he’s a she

But I’d give my left arm to be half as pretty

When he started school, I had a good laugh

Though the blog which I wrote got passed ‘round the staff




A caravan holiday, camping at school

Misplacing my balls in a cold outdoor pool

A ferry to Ireland, to see an old friend

His surprise birthday party was fun to attend


Ollie’s visit to Barca a resounding success, he

toured round the Camp Nou and got to see Messi

While back here in England, wind started to blow

Roads ground to a halt with a dusting of snow


I re-wrote the two-year development checks

And a poem for Ollie when he asked about sex

A new royal baby, press camped on the roof

Kate Middleton pushing a prince out her foof




I tried to diet, when I noticed weight gain

Compared my ideas to the ‘sperm in my brain’

I’ve criticised Barclays, slagged off Facebook

Become the tooth fairy (that was a good look)




I tried single-parenting when my wife went away

She left Monday morning, I gave up by Tuesday

Isaac’s first disco, our boys got girlfriends

Had a row at a quiz with a team of bellends


Compared all my clients to the Mr. Men

Had the same work appraisal again and again

Had a fight with a moth, criticised Halloween

Got chased by a Volvo like a James Bond chase scene


I’ve visited BrewDog to sample some beer

Ran ten 10k races in the space of a year

Collapsed at Whitchurch and as my reward

Was rushed to hospital, spent the night on a ward




My ‘team’ of old men really gave me a fright

When I didn’t think they would all last through the night

I’ve given up chocolate, I’ve started to cook

Explained why I swear (but I don’t give a fuck)


That’s why I love writing, the freedom I have

To post what I want, and make people laugh

If you all stopped reading, I think I’d still write

But I’d have much less fun and it wouldn’t feel right


So, thanks for the likes, the comments and shares

It gives me a tingle in the fella downstairs

Another two hundred though? Well, we shall see

For now, I’ll just wish Happy Blogday to me!


Thanks for reading – cheers x



‘Twas The Blog Before Christmas (2018)

‘Twas the Blog before Christmas, two thousand eighteen

Another year writing things rude and obscene

So, as is tradition, here’s my year in review

Twelve months of bollocks for you to sift through




‘The Twelve Blogs of Christmas’ kick started our year

My talents with Photoshop instantly clear

To all, that is, apart from my wife

Who said ‘Eight Maids a Milking’ will haunt her for life

Then in ‘Bloggy Useless’ I expressed some concern

At trying to fill out my tax return

Just logging-in requires a degree

So my password is now ‘fuckyou123’

While in ‘Goldiblogs and the Three Bears’

I wrote about Isaac and his lovely long hair

How Daddy bear put up with all of his shite

Because he insisted that everything must be ‘just right’

To round off the month, my first 10k run

In wintry conditions would not have been fun

But the organisers decided that it would be smart

To cancel the run with us stood at the start



In February my training suffered a blip

When I started to notice a crunch in my hip

And since it persisted, despite a long bath

A friend recommended his osteopath

The problem, however, is for most of my life

I’ve enjoyed innuendo and here it was rife

But the lady who treated me sighed and just smiled

When she said I was stiff and I laughed like a child

In the next instalment I thought I’d endeavour

To watch a Superbowl for the first time ever

Despite being late, I gave it a go

And tried to at least see the half-time show

But I got quite confused and fell asleep for a bit

(at least Janet Jackson didn’t pop out a tit)

Which leads us nicely to ‘Airblogs as Standard’

Where Fords of Winsford were borderline slandered

For once again lying ‘bout my car’s valuation

I hope their engineer suffers castration



Poynton 10k Clare

We drove down to Norwich for our half-term break

Met a kid called Starsky (I mean, for fuck’s sake)

Ollie was poorly, lay on the settee

While Isaac turned Dutch when his bum was ‘schwetty’

My 10k challenge then got off the mark

When I ran in the cold around Oulton Park

And in ‘Best of Bloggish’, a long list was written

As some experts determined the finest in Britain

Their own A-Z for a new coin collection

(although I’m not sure why oak trees gave them such an erection)

In ‘The Fresh Prince of Blog-Air’ I mused about how

Events in my life got me where I am now

I went off to Uni, met my perfect match

And we both settled down to a life in Sandbach

The month then concluded on a grueling Sunday

As I ran around Poynton for my second 10k




As we moved into April, a fairy appeared

Isaac’s dummies were gathered and then they were cleared

But if you stare very closely, you might just agree

That the Dummy Fairy looks a little like me

I then did more running, when I went to Whitchurch

But as I got to the line, with a stumble and lurch

I collapsed on the ground, was dragged ‘cross the line

They didn’t believe me when I said I was fine

In truth, for a while, everything had gone black

And they started talking about heart attacks

So, in the end, I had to agree

To go via ambulance to A&E

A day spent in Telford, then Leighton (near Crewe)

Where, throughout the night, I gave my review

Of my elderly roommates, all wizened and curled

Each of them poorly, not long for this world

I met George and Freddie, Joseph and Roy

Not to mention old Robert, bereft of all joy

I became ‘squadron leader’; I led the fight

Determined my ‘boys’ would get through the night

Each one of them made it, and I’ll say it again

It was truly an honour to spend time with these men

Then something lighter, as I published my verses

About Princess Kate, surrounded by nurses

Swearing her way through delivering a child

A third royal baby – the press had gone wild

But as she lay there, all painful and tender

Did she threaten to put William’s dick in a blender?




More car trouble in May, as I suffered a crash

When a prick in a van got too close and then smash

My wing mirror destroyed, and to rub in some salt

The lobotomised gibbon now holds me at fault

My insurers were crap, took an age with my car

Were about as supportive as a wet paper bra

The Tatton 10k was next on my list

But I ran far too slowly, my target was missed

Then ‘Some Like it Blog’ explained with some wit

The ten simple reasons why summer is shit

Sunglasses and hayfever among my picks

(plus don’t forget wasps, the vile little pricks)

And if that was depressing, I bid May goodbye

With a cheerful poem about how I might die

The message was clear though – make the most of each day

Because none of us know when we’re going away




In ‘Blogs and Girls’ I discussed Isaac’s hair

How he plays with his dolls and has dresses he’ll wear

But why shouldn’t boys like princesses in pink?

I’m pleased he ignores what some people think

Then, as a test, I gave Love Island a try

But felt my brain cells wither and die

Just one episode in I had to give up

And turned my attention to this summer’s world cup

Gave my own unique run down for each of the teams

Heading to Russia with their own hopes and dreams

Next, Colshaw Hall, a 10k to complete

But despite an injury to one of my feet,

A cobbled path and one hell of a climb

I completed the course in respectable time

Lastly, I tried my best to be nice

By offering Mark Zuckerberg some advice

On how Facebook might be improved

(he hasn’t replied, so I assume that he’s moved)




First up in July, another 10k

In Alderley Edge, on the year’s hottest day

I crossed the line sweating, but I didn’t care

As I’d beaten my target with seconds to spare

The following week, I tried to cheer up

As England crashed out of another World Cup

Then ending the month, I wrote ‘Mr Blog’

Describing my clients in coarse dialogue

Some of them rude, most of them needy

I’m compared them to Messrs Nosey and Greedy




July was cut short, as we went away

So I gave an account of our holiday

Each day of our trip, a witty postcard

On visits to Evesham, and the home of the Bard

Then travels once more as we had to contend

With a ferry to Ireland to see an old friend

A busy four days with no time to rest

I took photos of girls like a rampant sex pest

I thought it was nice to offer a pic

But their mum was behind me and I looked a dick

In ‘Vocablogary’ I thought it a gas

To mispronounced words, like Fadge-It-Ass

Or Modge-Itt-Oh and Jal-App-Ah-Noss

(try it yourself and watch people get cross)

Then, yet again, I ran through the pain

Completing the Birchwood 10k in the rain

Struggled back home to a nice warm tipple

And soothing cream to nurse my sore nipple




A busy September, with an entry that you’ll

No doubt remember, as Isaac starts school

It turns out that entry was read by some staff

But they all seemed to like it and it gave them a laugh

Then to our eldest, and I was delighted

To have Ollie sign up for Sandbach United

Just a shame their away strip is like Burnley’s kit

It’s hard to support him in colours that shit

Then back to running, no time for a rest

But the Sandbach 10k was a personal best

(if we discount Whitchurch, but I think that’s fine

as I was technically carried across the line)

Some father-son camping, on Ollie’s school field

But my brand-new tent was not much of a shield

To the rain which came down, and the strong winds that blew

I chose to get pissed, while sat piss-wet through

Then trying to sleep, a crash by our tent

As some dickhead went flying and my tent peg got bent

Not to mention our ‘porch’ getting covered in beer

I’m not sure we’ll bother if they run it next year.




Another short month, and it starts with an app

For mobile banking, which was frankly crap

It turns out Barclays are useless at tech

(all I wanted was to pay in a cheque)

Followed by ‘Don’t Let The Bed Blogs Bite’

Where a moth terrorised me all through the night

Hairy and black, this thing was obscene

It was the largest moth the world’s ever seen

Then moving on from a massive insect

While staying with terror, ‘The Blog Witch Project’

Outlined why Halloween is so very shit

Delinquent children and grown-up outfits

Terrible tricks, and even worse treats

Pumpkin carving and cheap crappy sweets



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A healthy month next, where I watched what I ate

And MyFitnessPal helped me lose weight

Not to mention more running, my final two runs

Cheered on by my wife and both of my sons

First Arley Hall and later Wilmslow

All in the name of raising some dough

A fantastic amount, my challenge was done

(and until next year, no need to run)

Healthier eating, and cutting back beers

I could see my penis for the first time in years

Then, for a change, I spoke to the youth

Wrote about bullying and told them the truth

Whether you’re black or white; straight, bi or gay

We’re all amazing in our own unique way

Just look at me, I’m gangly with specs

But I’m married with kids, which proves I’ve had sex




To end the year, we looked at Christmas

Mariah Carey and brussel sprout gas

All of the things that are suddenly fine

Including eggnog, and fucking hot wine

Then this time last week, we’d packed up our bags

Spent a night at the theatre, surrounded by slags

The women behind us were slaughtered and rough

One had her legs spread, to cool down her chuff.




And that, dear reader, brings us to date

Twelve months of rants, the things that I hate

Forty-six entries, another year done

Thank you for reading, I hope we had fun


But don’t get upset, and don’t shed a tear

I’ll be back with more bollocks early next year

May your glasses be full, may your Christmas be white

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!




Blog-Blog-Bloggin’ On Heaven’s Door

What if today were my last day?

What if tonight, that was it?

Would I look back on my life fondly?

Or would I sigh and think ‘well, that was shit’?

Because I may live to see treble figures

Or thirty-eight could be my last age

I might have many more chapters

Or this could be my final page


My death may be perfectly normal

Or an occurrence frankly bizarre

I may simply drift off to sleep

Or a plane could crash into my car

I may be hit by a bus in the morning

A roof could collapse on my head

My wife may decide that enough is enough

And smother me as I lie there in bed


I may fall in the back of a bin truck

The dentist could slip with her drill

My soup might be laced with rat poison

Or my drink could be spiked with a pill

I may go in spectacular fashion

When a tiger escapes from the zoo

Or I die all alone just like Elvis

As I push too hard having a poo



I may slip and fall in a mincer

And end up diced into chunks

Or I wade too far in the ocean

And something nasty swims up my trunks

I might be attacked by a pack of wild dogs

I could be sliced into two by some wire

Maybe blown up in a household explosion

Due to a badly installed tumble dryer



I could get lost in the desert and starve

Or trapped up a mountain and freeze

My head might spontaneously combust

As I try to hold in a big sneeze

I may slip while I’m trying to shower

Get discovered all naked and wet

Or choke to death dining al fresco

On a piece of pork pie or baguette

Family having picnic.


I may plummet from a hot air balloon ride

Or fall down the stairs while at home

There may be errors within my genetics

Killed by a shit chromosome

I’d hate to be murdered by seagulls

Finished by thousands of pecks

Although no means of death is ideal

(except perhaps during wild sex)



Look, I don’t intend to be morbid

And I hope I’m around for a while

But I guess what I mean is be happy

And whenever you can try to smile

Because none of us can see the future

And whatever the next day might bring

We can’t predict that last moment

When the fat lady will start to sing


So please make the most of each moment

Look after your family and friends

Don’t wish your time away quickly

And only live for weekends

If you love someone, why not just tell them?

Remember, you’re great and unique

And unless anything terrible happens

I’ll hopefully see you next week


Thanks for reading x



The Fresh Prince of Blog-Air

Fresh Prince 2

Now, this is a story all about how

My life got flipped-turned upside down

And I’d like to take a minute

There is no catch

I’ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Sandbach

In East Cheshire, Poynton, I was born and raised

On Deva fields was where I spent most of my days

Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool

And playing some football when outside of school

When a couple of guys wearing ridiculous hats

Started making trouble and acting like twats

I got in one little fight and because I was puny

My mum said ‘Enough, get your arse off to Uni’

Because my A-levels took a while to master

I fucked up my grades and ended up in Lancaster

But it turned out to be the best fail of my life

As I met a girl there who ended up as my wife

No plans after Uni; and so, like a fool

I followed my class mates and went to Law School

My girlfriend seemed keen, but I thought I would test her

By fucking off for a year, and living in Chester

When I graduated there, I phoned up, tried to reach her

But it turned out she fancied becoming a teacher

So as soon as I moved back and explained my needs

She bid me farewell, and pissed off to Leeds.

By that point, however, I’d got down on one knee

And asked if she thought she’d do better than me

She decided she couldn’t, so just like Beyoncé

I put a ring firmly on it, and got a fiancé

Just one year later, we were together at last

And all of this is now a thing of the past

She applied for some jobs, of which there were two

And before long she got one, and then we both knew

We’d be moving ‘cross Cheshire to buy our first house

I was settling down with my soon-to-be spouse

Because we were young, and not very rich

We bought a semi-detached house, in Middlewich

Then, after a while, we decided to move on

To be nearer her job, and with that we were gone

I hired a van and when it came near

The license plate fell off and it had mould in the mirror

If anything I could say that this van was rare

But by that point I frankly didn’t fucking care

We pulled up to our house about seven or eight

And I yelled to the neighbours ‘We’re the people you’ll hate’

I looked at my kingdom, I was in my new patch

To sit on my throne as the Prince of Sandbach

Fresh Prince



It’s a Blog’s Life



Sometimes it’s one of those weeks

Sometimes nothing goes right

Sometimes the world is against you

Sometimes you’re losing the fight


Sometimes the weather turns freezing

Sometimes your drive home gets dark

Sometimes each part of you aches

Sometimes you’re missing that spark


Sometimes your children are feral

Sometimes they leave you in bits

Sometimes you’re constantly shouting

When they take it in turns to be shits


Sometimes your job becomes manic

Sometimes you can’t see an end

Sometimes you crave time alone

Sometimes you can’t face your friends


Sometimes your house is a pigsty

Sometimes you just want to nap

Sometimes the kitchen gets ruined

And all that you cook turns out crap


Sometimes your hair looks appalling

Sometimes your suit starts to rip

Sometimes you plan something special

Then an airline fucks up your trip


Sometimes your car is plain filthy

Sometimes you scrub off the grime

Sometimes it rains shortly after

So the whole thing was a waste of time


Sometimes your car starts to smell bad

Sometimes you’re ashamed that it’s yours

Sometimes you buy an air freshener

But it smells like an old lady’s drawers


Sometimes your car hits a pothole

Sometimes you wish you’d got rid

Sometimes you need two new tyres

That cost over two hundred quid


Sometimes your headache lasts ages

Sometimes it hurts just to stand

Sometimes you sneeze while you’re driving

And you get it all over your hand.


Sometimes your football team hates you

Sometimes they’re especially bad

Sometimes you wish you could dump them

Because they make you so angry and sad


Sometimes you miss your grandparents

Sometimes you miss your old dog

Sometimes it helps to share feelings

(Well, there was bugger all else for this blog)


Sometimes you think no one’s reading

Sometimes the words will not flow

Sometimes you think about stopping

Because surely no one would know?


Sometimes everything’s rubbish

Sometimes you slump and ask ‘why?’

Sometimes it hurts just to think straight

When it’s all you can do not to cry…..


… But sometimes there are terrorists shooting

Sometimes an island’s destroyed

Sometimes there are massacres and hurricanes

That kill men, women, young girls and boys


Sometimes you need some perspective

Sometimes you need a deep breath

Sometimes life could be worse

When there’s hunger, starvation and death


Sometimes that trip is just money

Sometimes the car doesn’t matter

Sometimes your team may improve

Come what may, you’ll still be a Hatter


Sometimes the house can stay messy

Sometimes ‘fuck it’ is the best thing to say

Sometimes just look at your children

Be glad they’re healthy and happy each day


Sometimes when life gets you down

Sometimes when your outlook seems bleak

Sometimes just forget all life’s worries

Because one day, there’ll be no ‘next week’…




Happy BlogDay, Son

On Monday, we celebrated seven years since

The day when (with rather more than a wince)

My wife gave birth to our eldest son

Her oven pushed forth a small wrinkly bun


It’s fair to say we expected a girl

But everything happened in so much of a whirl

It took me a while to realise with joy

That our first ever baby, was actually a boy

My wife is a teacher at an all-boys school

And during her pregnancy set a strict rule

To avoid the names of some kids who she taught

Which made it quite tough, but after some thought

There was one we agreed on, so we told the midwives

That Oliver Martin had entered our lives

He was cleaned and weighed, an outfit arranged

Then I had my first cuddle, and everything changed


I cried like a girl, I’ll gladly admit

Overcome with emotion, and scared half to shit

I was now responsible (along with my wife)

For the safety and wellbeing of this tiny life

As I sat there, proudly holding my lad

All I could think was “Fuck me, I’m a Dad!”

I’m sure that I speak for my wife and I, when

I say that it’s been quite the whirlwind since then

There’s been feeding, and screaming, and teething, and naps

Not to mention all manner and colour of craps

He learned to crawl, and then stand, and then walk, and then run

And before we knew it he’d gone and turned one


Now here we are six more years along

It’s fair to say that I’ve got some things wrong

But I try the very best to do what I can

To raise a polite, well-mannered and respectful young man

He’s handsome and clever; he’s wacky and fun

I couldn’t be prouder to call him my son

He supports Stockport County, just like his Dad

But this particular Hatter, is especially mad


There is honestly no feeling that I enjoy more

Than seeing his face light up when County score

We’ve shared joy and elation, disappointment and tears

(He even ignores all the swearing he hears)

I know that his childhood won’t always last

But it’s sad to think how he’s growing up fast

It’s his last year in Infants; done his first SATs exam

Match of the Day is his favourite programme

He’s learning guitar, and just lost his first tooth

I wish life could slow down, to tell you the truth

But for now, I’ll just watch him, and try to enjoy

The years we have left while he’s my little boy

It might seem quite soppy, but I’m just trying to say

How proud I am of him (in my own unique way)

Oliver Martin, you are second-to-none

So, this blog is for you…

Happy Birthday, son.




Every Blog Has His Day

Last Sunday, as I am sure you are already aware, was Father’s Day. If you weren’t already aware, then it’s probably too late to get him a card now, and you’ve got some making up to do.

Like Mother’s Day, this has become an opportunity for card manufacturers to cash in, so I was especially chuffed to see that my boys had in fact made their own cards for me. This meant a lot more to me than a purchased sentiment about how awesome I am. I mean, I am fucking awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I would rather they told me that in their own words (without swearing like their old man, naturally).

Having said that, I don’t think Father’s Day is as commercial as Mother’s Day. Ok, the card manufacturers still rub their hands together with glee for both occasions, but the florists and chocolatiers aren’t quite as enthused about the Dads. Whereas Mother’s Day is all about the bouquets, afternoon teas and boxes of chocolates, Father’s Day is much more simple: pub and an afternoon nap. Sorted.

Now, my wife would argue there is nothing special about a trip to the pub and an afternoon nap, bearing in mind this is my masterplan for most Sundays, but there is one subtle difference on Father’s Day – she isn’t allowed to complain about it. Not that she ever does anyway, but it’s nice to know I have the fall-back position of relying on my ‘get out of jail free’ card, if she does start to grumble about the fact my ‘nap’ has now entered its third hour – which is more sleep than she usually gets all night: it’s my special day, so I should be able to do what I want.

Father’s Day is a time for remembering the menfolk of the world, including those Dads and Grandads who are sadly no longer with us. I don’t think any of us would dare to suggest we have it harder than the mums, but that doesn’t mean we have it easy either. Being a Dad can be a tough job, and I sometimes wish that the naff greetings cards the likes of Clintons churn out would reflect that.

So, with that in mind, I’ve had a go at writing my own poem about being a Dad. Enjoy.


Being a Dad can be tricky

Being a Dad can be tough

You’re supposed to stop swearing and farting

And walking around in the buff


That first ever cuddle is amazing

I cried like a girl, I’ll admit

But the novelty starts to wear off

When you’re up to your elbows in shit


Babies only come with three settings

There’s ‘sleep’ and then ‘crap’ and then ‘cry’

And you’ll never predict which one’s coming

No matter how hard you might try


The stuff babies need is astounding

I must have spent thousands of pounds

And believe me when I say that a ‘breast pump’

Is not nearly as sexy as it sounds


It all starts with the changing of nappies

Cleaning bottoms of numerous poos

Then before you know it they’re walking

And you’re spending a fortune on shoes


Their first word is a magical moment

That first ‘Daddy’ will make you choke up

But wait ‘til a month or so later

And you’ll be wishing they’d shut the fuck up


You’ll know every ‘Peppa Pig’ character

Want to tear Nanny Plum limb from limb

If you’re lucky you’ll avoid Justin Fletcher

(there’s something seriously not right about him)


Before you know it, you’re having another

“Maybe this time we’ll get it right?”

Only later, you realise that’s bollocks

As you cry yourself to sleep every night


Child number two is a nightmare

Doesn’t sleep, likes to fight, is a pain

And you make a promise with your partner

There’s no way that you’ll do this again


Kiss goodbye to relaxing holidays

A night out? That’s a thing of the past

The house you were once so proud of

Now resembles a nuclear blast


You’ll be knackered and struggle to function

Find it tricky to even converse

As you pray that brown stain is just chocolate

And not something so very worse


But for every night with no sleep

There’s a day when they just melt your heart

There’s a giggle, a hug and a kiss

For each scream and explosive fart


Each shirt ruined by vomit or wee spray

Is paid for by a wonderful smile

Getting handmade cards from your boys

Makes the whole bloody thing so worthwhile


Show your kids just how much you adore them

Don’t waste time being grumpy or sad

Ok, it’s not the easiest job ever

But it’s the best damn job I’ve ever had.