‘Twas The Blog Before Christmas (2019)

‘Twas the blog before Christmas, two-thousand-nineteen

Thirty-six further entries, published and seen

For the fifth year running, here’s my audit

Of a year’s worth of blogging (and most of it’s shit)

 

JANUARY

 

To kick off the year, the Christmas just past

With my family and kids the hilarious cast

A stain on the carpet, a book about cock

A visit to Stockport when I got quite a shock

A woman out shopping, living the dream

Wearing her dressing gown and drinking cream

Then in ‘Blog Habits’, I set out a year

of novelty months (the reasons weren’t clear)

And following that, for a little fun

I wrote a play all about our school run

 Both boys pushing me nearer my grave

When all I wanted was a shower and shave

To finish the month, my appraisal at work

(I re-wrote the questions because I’m a jerk)

 

FEBRUARY

 

To kick start month two, we gave up the chocs

Even the boys went full-on detox

Isaac especially became rather quiet

(because chocolate comprises most of his diet)

I then wrote an entry about my hometown

And described how our ‘shared space’ was built by a clown

Pedestrians and cars must give way to all

And every day there’s a crash or a brawl

 

MARCH

 

In a break from driving me around the bend

At the start of March, the boys got girlfriends

But just as my respect for each of them grew

It transpired that neither of the girls knew

Then ‘I’ll Have A P Please, Blog’, I went to a quiz

With colleagues, my boss and some friends of his

But, unfortunately, the place where we sat

Was next to a table of four stuck-up twats

Next it was ‘BrewBlog’, where beer got tasted

Out with my mate, and the two of us wasted

The ‘hyper’ Tallulah our annoying host

(but it was beer mixed with cheese which upset me the most)

Then over to Hastings, my useless insurer

Their service honestly could not have been poorer

And ending the month, it was entry two hundred

‘How the fuck’s he got this far?’ everyone wondered

But in my ‘Blogcentennial’, it seemed rather apt

To have four years of entries succinctly recapped.

 

APRIL

 

Three blog posts in April was all you would get

The first one a list of celebs I have met

To anyone reading I made it quite clear

I’d like to meet someone A-List this year (I haven’t)

I explained how my anger is out of control

(if you didn’t like that one, then you’re an arsehole)

To finish the month, we thought for a lark

We’d go on an Easter Hunt ‘round Tatton Park

But it ended in shouting and tears instead

When Isaac fell from a tree onto his head

 

MAY

 

I started with footy as we moved into May

My team were promoted and later that day

I treated young Ollie to the club’s gala dinner

(If there’s a Dad of the Year Award I must be a winner)

In ‘Blog of the Dump’ Isaac turned five

And a kid at his party scared me alive

The weird little rat-girl (who wasn’t a guest)

Tried to steal all his presents, the vile little pest

A trip then to York for a nice little break

Where Isaac was feral and mostly ate cake

Before I wrote ‘bout the phone system I have in my car

It sends pre-programmed texts, but I took it too far

By suggesting my own, like ‘I should go by train’

and ‘I’m stuck behind a fucking tractor again’

Lastly, I wrote about ‘Biff, Chip and Kipper’

And the books that I read back when I was a nipper.

 

JUNE

 

Just three entries in June, with Sports Day to start

Typically, Isaac refused to take part

Eventually persuaded, he ran in four races

Two golds and two silvers, his collection of places

Our trip to the circus was a bit of a farce

It was no ‘Greatest Showman’ (and no Zendaya’s arse)

But Isaac had fun watching acrobats fly

Then the clown sprayed his face, which of course made him cry

 

JULY

 

If you thought June was sparse, then July’s count was two

So, I tried to make both extra special for you

The first was all about Ollie’s first gig

A festival in Yorkshire (I thought I’d go big)

Stood right at the front in his massive band shirt

The crowd formed a barrier, so he didn’t get hurt

His class then cooked lunch for their parents at school

An ‘Italian Café’ which was pretty cool

The main course was pizza, which was nice but I gotta

Say that I preferred his dessert panna cotta

 

AUGUST

 

I then tried out something I’d not done before

My first ever threesome I thought I’d explore

Don’t jump to conclusions though, I need you to note

The only ‘entries’ were the ones that I wrote

A trilogy, in fact, about our glamping trip

Stuck in a lodge, not getting much kip

‘Don’t Let The Bed Blogs Bite’, Parts 1 to 3

Carnivorous insects tried to eat me

Our hosts were straight out of Deliverance

(I think they’d have killed us if given the chance)

But both boys had fun, so I shouldn’t complain

Although, I doubt I’ll ever go glamping again

 

SEPTEMBER

 

More outdoor fun as we moved to September

‘The Twiggles and Bloggles’ you might just remember

A trip to ‘Bewilderwood’, climbing up trees

(I got myself lost when I went for a wee)

Then ‘Blog to School’, an entry which featured

Putting my foot in it with Isaac’s new teacher

Following that, Isaac’s YouTube obsession

A girl group who fill me with rage and aggression

A family of sisters singing terrible songs

Everything about them is so fucking wrong

 

OCTOBER

 

I then published ‘Another Blog In The Wall’

Going to parents’ evening in the school hall

My wife was away, so I went on my own

I might have refused, if only I’d known

I’d embarrass myself and book the wrong times

(to mention just two of my most heinous crimes)

Remaining with school, in ‘Blogz In The Hood’

I explained how this month I thought it would

Be nice to go drinking with my two oldest mates

Though one got accosted outside our school gates

Lastly I wrote about Ollie’s foul mood

He was grumpy, and sulky, and just downright rude

Then one of the mums scared the life out of me

By explaining he’s probably near puberty.

 

NOVEMBER

 

I wrote in November about how I look

My body is shoddy, but I don’t give a fuck

If you’re healthy and happy, then really who cares?

(though I’d still add some length to the fella downstairs)

In ‘Mary’s Blog Child’ just a few weeks ago

We ended the month thinking reindeer and snow

For once it’s December it’s no longer absurd

If anyone mentions the dreaded C-Word

(No, Christmas)

 

DECEMBER

 

Just two final entries to finish the year

(so my round-up is ending, and I’m off for a beer)

The first of the two was called ‘BlogDay Cards’

And I wrote about I found it quite hard

To get famous people to send to our house

Signed birthday cards addressed to my spouse

So thanks Norwich City and especially Dan Snow

(whereas John Barrowman knows where he can go)

And ending the year, as I fill up my cup

The ‘Blog Before Christmas’ – this poetic round-up

Another year done folks, and you know I adore

Each of you readers, so to you and yours

I raise up my glass and give festive cheer

Merry Christmas you rabble, and Happy New Year!

Thank you all, as ever, for reading. I hope each and every one of my followers has a fantastic Christmas and thank you for humouring me for another twelve months. You have no idea how much writing this blog and posting random garbage on my Facebook page keeps me sane at times, so thank you.

Merry Christmas x

 

 

 

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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

 

 

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

Don’t Let The Bed Blogs Bite

I lie there in waiting

Alert on your stairs

A vast black body

Antennae with hairs

To the naked eye

I may well be dead

But I’m patiently sat

‘Til it’s your time for bed

Then as you approach

And squint in the light

I’ll flutter one wing

To give you a fright

Then I’m still once again

Like a miniature bat

As you lean in to look

“What the fuck is that?”

A creature of darkness

An insect-shaped goth

A prince of the night time

I’m the world’s biggest moth

I patiently wait

While you search for a book

Take your best shot, pal

I don’t give a fuck

You think you’ve surprised me

Caught me unawares

As the book crashes down

There’s a smudge on the stairs

I lay flat and look squashed

It’s part of my game

While you get a tissue

To gather my frame

You carry me off

Throw my ‘corpse’ in the bin

But as I land in your trash

I stifle a grin

As the lid closes down

I crawl, like a sloth

To wait for my moment

I’m the world’s biggest moth

The very next day

The bin opens once more

You’ve forgotten me now

Think your house is secure

With that first crack of light

I dart through the space

And the next thing you know

I’m there IN YOUR FACE

I flutter; you splutter

You shout, yelp and swear

Your mind wanders back

To that stain on the stair

You thought I was dead

You fell for my trick

Now you’re waving your arms

And you look like a dick

You grab for a weapon

Locate a dishcloth

But when you turn back I’ve gone

I’m the world’s biggest moth

I flew near the window

Of that you are certain

But where am I now?

Is that me on the curtain?

I’m the master of stealth

The king of disguise

My huge body vanished

In front of your eyes.

I smile to myself

As you strike what you think

Is me near the window

While I’m sat by the sink

You swing, and you swear

Then you sigh and give up

As I skip cross your bowl

Wipe my arse on your cup

My gigantic frame

Like a winged behemoth

I don’t give a shit

I’m the world’s biggest moth

You head to the lounge

Plunge the room into dark

While I busy myself

By leaving my mark

It’s fun flying round

But my ultimate goal

Is to scare you again

Near the washing up bowl

I rest on the edge

Give myself time to think

But then lose my footing

And fall in the sink

I flap, start to panic

Must escape, but then…. Fuck

I’m too far from the side

I can’t swim, and I’m stuck

I’m trapped in the water

Surrounded by froth

Could this be the end

Of the world’s biggest moth?

When you wake the next morning

And go to your sink

To fill up the kettle

And make your first drink

Your tired eyes glance down

Can’t believe what they see

In among all the bubbles

That right pal, it’s me.

The master of evasion

Has finally been found

Because I got over cocky

And ended up drowned

So, as you scoop me out

Dump me back in the bin

That’s it: ‘Game Over’

I lose and you win

The dinosaurs, the dodo

The woolly mammoth

I too am no more

The world’s biggest moth

Alone in the darkness

My last resting place

Never again

Will I fly at your face…

… but as the bin closed

Did you see my wing twitch?

I was really dead, right?

Sleep well, bitch.