The week after the week that was...

So after our exertions in Blackpool the wee man and I are having a quiet week.


Do you want to go out?

No.

Fancy going to the movies, I ask him. I’m a wee bit huffed that he went to see The A-Team with his mum and trying to hide it.

Nope.

How about we go down the beach?

NO.

He’s now wearing a face that suggests I’m an idiot several points north of his village.

Dad, when will you people realise I’m happy to just hang out at home?

You people? That would be me and your mum?

Yes.

Are you going to get out of those pyjamas any time soon?

What time is it?

Three pm.

Cool, he grins, I’ve always wanted to have a day in my p.j’s.



This, to be fair works well with my cunning plan. Keep him entertained in a way that allows me to catch up on some writing. Nice one.

So yesterday I got torn into my latest book. It’s crime. It’s low-down, dirty and nasty and I’m loving it.

The wee fella came over to see what I was doing. And of course, on a page full of words he happened to see the one that spelled out F-U-C-K.

Daaad, I can’t believe you’re swearing in front of me.

That’s not me swearing, I say, it’s one of my characters.

He just looks at me - And who puts the words in their mouths?

That would be me, yes. But in this occasion his friend has been attacked and the swearing is justified.

So if I come home from school and my pal has been bullied I can say the f-word?

Not a chance, buddy, I say thinking, here we go another hour’s debate about swearing.

But you just did it, dad.

That wasn’t me...

I get it, it was your – he makes the speech comma sign with his fingers in the air – character.

Oh look, I point at the TV, Kim Kardashian’s not wearing very many clothes.

Oh – he says, she’s hot.

And I’m momentarily off the hook.