I have a natural ability to be able to smash my funny bone off each and every door frame I pass through. It’s no exaggeration to say that even when out in a shopping centre with 20ft wide entrances, I will still find myself inexplicably attracted to those hard as feck, steel shutter door frames like a fly to shit. And true to form, one fateful Saturday morning was to be no different.
We’d followed the usual drill of mum dropping him off asleep so he wakes with her completely removed from postcode, let alone sight. I eventually heard a moan and rushed to get him out of his buggy before the little cherub brought a world of snotty, crying pain to my life, twatted my funny bone off the door frame – as per my life rules – and let out an almighty “FOR FUCK SAKE!”
Unfortunately for me (and his parents), this dude was most certainly a parrot in a past life. Although on this occasion he remained tight lipped, leading me into a false sense of security that he had somehow missed it.
The sneaky fecker had bigger plans for me.
For Fuck Sake David!
We’ll go for a mooch around Altrincham, I thought.
All was going well, he’d not asked for mama once so far, didn’t volley me in the face when I changed his nappy, and he seemed to be in a fairly pleasant mood. I marched off with confidence, after being forced to promise that Penny (the family dog), who hasn’t stayed here once, was indeed in the shelf on the bottom of the buggy.
Mr Spock would have a heart attack dealing with this kind of logic.
In my naivety I assumed first stop, Wilkos. You know, because mathematically it’s the nearest shop I need as you walk in? Bothered loads, first stop in Spud’s mind was anywhere selling sausage rolls, there were absolutely no fucks given for cleaning products to be seen here, “I get sausage roll? David, I get sausage roll? HEY! DAVID! I get sausage roll?
“Yeah man, in a minute, just let me nip in here first”
“FOR FUCK SAKE DAVID!”
I hit legs like Linford Christie to Greggs in the hope that this would be the last profanity we would be hearing today, in public at the very least – oh, you stupid, stupid fool.
For fuck sake David was here to stay. Not just stay, it was on loop – FOR FUCK SAKE DAVID! – even I was saying it to myself under my breath.
I’ve lived in Altrincham for 5 years, and this day I found streets I’d never walked before. Or, to be completely accurate, I searched frantically for empty streets for dear life to avoid anybody coming into contact with baby Bernard Manning.
For fuck sake David, why won’t he stop saying “For fuck sake David?”
For fuck sake David had now been going for three hours strong with absolutely no signs of waning. At 3pm in the middle of Altrincham I was up shit creek without a paddle.
He’s blonde, has big, bright blue eyes with eyelashes every woman dreams of, is blessed with being all round cute AF and attracts female attention for fun. It’s impossible to avoid women when we are out. He’s a goddamn magnet.
I lost count of how many times I insisted he said “Where is Jake, David?” and estimate 98.4% of the people I suggested it to knew I was lying through my teeth.
After verbally throwing the best part of the Oxford Dictionary at him in a desperate attempt to eradicate the words from his memory, I admitted defeat and took the foul mouthed, unreasonable git home. Paul eventually returned from work and he quickly forgot I’d ever existed.
Timperley’s first ever crown green bowling hooligan is born
Just like his uncle Paul and nana Martina before him, Spud loves the pub. Especially if there’s plenty of space for him to run around doing his fat dad shuffle.
The Quarry Bank provides this opportunity, yet Sunday had brought an unexpected trauma to his life with the discovery that a bowling match was in full swing.
It soon became apparent that Spud had no regard for the sacred rules whatsoever, and was utterly disgusted when he was informed, on this occasion, access was restricted to his favourite stomping ground by a bowling club that came 50 years before him.
Undeterred by my explanation, he dodged me like a gazelle and headed for the entrance. Luckily I dedicated most of my time in the early 90s into training to be a ninja turtle, so I’m extremely capable in the art of apprehending criminals.
If you’re not familiar with crown green bowling, it isn’t the most rowdiest of sports. It’s completely void of cheering and histeria, and in most circumstances you could hear a pin drop. There’s nothing quite like a good ol’ FOR FUCK SAKE DAVID to break that particular silence.
Spud was clearly not done with me yet. I swiftly waved the white flag and almost broke the speed of sound as I exited the premises.