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Louise had booked sledging for our first activity and the boys were bouncing with anticipation. I was in similarly high spirits until I realised I'd neglected to pack my coat/any form of warm clothing for myself. As we entered the snow slope alongside other families who were head-to-toe in hats, gloves, and some (a bit keen) in full skiwear including sunglasses, I stood, shivering in my paper-thin jumper and began to appreciate why Louise deemed it necessary to organize her own birthday.
Our first stop was Joshua’s tennis class at the university - a 9 a.m. start which is exactly one hour too early. We dropped Louise off at the gym on the way and, in the car, she politely informed me that I “stink of beer and need a shower” which was rather demoralizing given I had already had one.
While Joshua is playing tennis, Jacob and I usually kick a ball around or go on an “adventure” which involves me turning into a monster while he runs along benches pretending the floor is lava. On this particular Saturday, I brought the iPad.
“I don’t like Frozen anymore, Daddy,” Jacob declared less than a week before his 100% Frozen-themed 4th birthday party.
“But you’ve loved it for the past year? Could you not just hang in there for a bit longer, buddy?”
“It’s boring. I only like animals now.”
“Can you not like Frozen and animals?”
“Don’t be so silly, Daddy.”
As if this revelation wasn’t enough of a headache, the day before the party, I was handed a shopping list so complex it felt like I was participating in a task on The Apprentice.
With the boys’ birthdays falling on either side of Christmas, life becomes a relentless stream of delivery men from November to January. Aside from one chap who I like – he calls me “my guy” and makes me feel young again – I will be glad when this period is over, and I can work from home without having to leave meetings to answer the door to men dropping off Lion King tepees.
On Friday morning, the boys burst into our bedroom, shouting, and within approximately 12 seconds, Joshua had located the advent calendars I had hidden behind an armchair.
‘They were meant to be a surprise for later,’ I said glumly as he stuffed a chocolate into his face and Jacob started tearing numerous windows open.
‘What are you doing, Jacob? It’s one day at a time. You know this.’
‘No, I don’t!’ he shouted, then had the audacity to shove a second chocolate into his mouth before starting to cry.
I struggled to open our lockers with my electrical wristband for slightly too long and started to lose my rag/did lose my rag.
‘Why is life so complicated these days? There was nothing wrong with the £1 locker system.’
Louise took my wristband from me, immediately opened the door, and looked, for a few seconds, like she no longer loved me.
We went camping near Castle Howard in North Yorkshire recently. I am not yet convinced by camping - it seems an awful lot of hassle to make yourself voluntarily homeless - but Louise spent her bonus on all the gear anyone would ever need (from a man on Facebook) and will be damned if we don’t make the most of it.
As someone who settled down pre-Tinder, an Eastern European woman complimenting the colour scheme in our living room online is as close as I will ever come to the endorphin rush of a match.
I boarded my flight, eyes drooping, and prepared a white noise playlist. Seconds later, however, a middle-aged woman clattered down the aisle with several bags and asked me to “scootch up.”
“Alright, love,” she said. “I’ve had eight drinks already. How many have you had?”
I opted not to tell her that my only fluid had been a can of San Pellegrino, part of an underwhelming Boots Meal Deal.
“We’re on a 40th. We’re from Warrington. Are you?”
“From Warrington? Or 40? Neither I’m afraid.”
We spent the May half-term in Cheshire with Louise’s mum and sister. I like this part of the country and, when I was 18, came close to starting a teacher training course at Chester University. In truth, this was less about genuine aspirations to inspire the next generation and more about being a Hollyoaks fan; Lee and Bombhead appeared to spend most of their time in the students' union, drinking snakebites while flirting with implausibly attractive women over the pool table and it looked terrific
Our next stop was the Jardin des Sports where Louise ordered a pair of espresso martinis. This seemed a wildly inappropriate drink given we were surrounded by badminton courts and a roller-skating class. I was also surprised as she is becoming increasingly cautious with her caffeine consumption; when I made a latte for her at 2 pm recently, she looked livid.
“I’m not drinking coffee at this time, Andy! Have you gone mad?”
A friend of mine told me that installing a roof rack on his car was the moment when it really struck him that he is a dad.
“More so than the birth of your daughter?”
“Yes.”
I cannot fully vouch for his claim as I paid extra at Halfords for a teenage lad who was, I think, stoned, to install ours while I sat in Starbucks, sipping a latte, but I can see his point; a roof rack confirms your youth is over.
There were no spaces at The Deep, so we had to pull in at a nearby business car park. I couldn’t figure out how to use the temperamental ticket machine and a queue formed behind me, ramping up the pressure. When a middle-aged man audibly sighed, I felt my heart pounding and considered just taking the £35 hit.
The queue to get inside was enormous with excited children bouncing around and parents exchanging flat smiles. Now Joshua has started school, we are tied to weekends and school holidays for the next 15 years, which is a difficult pill to swallow/hell. Gone are the carefree days of going to Piglet’s Farm and not having to queue up for a Tractor Ride. It’s over.
Louise and I have been threatening to go on a vineyard tour for a decade, but it has never quite materialised. I once bought a voucher for her birthday, but it expired before I booked it so, that year, I effectively got her nothing. She occasionally brings this up. On our honeymoon, we went to Lake Garda intending to spend the week drinking fancy wine in the Italian sunshine. However, our life timeline was slightly skewed (Louise was 12 weeks pregnant) and we visited zero vineyards. She did, at least, have the pleasure of watching me polish off a complimentary bottle of Prosecco at the hotel.
“Will you slow down, Andy? You’re becoming loud and annoying.”
I took the boys for their Royal Armouries debut a few weeks ago. It had been one of those Saturdays where we’d seemingly watched every episode of Blippi, built a den out of sofas (Louise’s least favourite activity), and had an ill-fated attempt at some crafts, but it was still, incredibly, only 9.30 am, and the tension was palpable. After Joshua emptied a box of tiny sequins onto the carpet, it became clear that if we spent a minute longer in the house, somebody was going to do something they’d regret.
We arrived at York station at 10 am where a group of teenage girls disembarked, glugging large bottles of WKD and shouting “York! York! York!”
“Do you think they are going to have a better day than us?” I asked Louise.
“No, definitely not,” Louise said, struggling for signal on her phone to find directions to the Railway museum.
I didn’t answer my own question.
I found myself in an unexpectedly deep conversation with the lady twisting balloons.
“Are you English?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“I was an au pair in England a few years ago,” she said while expertly crafting a balloon sword for Joshua. “The family were very dysfunctional. The dad was an alcoholic, and the mother was having an affair.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering if I’d just teleported back to work.
By the time she’d finished making a flower for Jacob, I had enough information for a social services referral. As we walked off, my head spinning, Joshua swiped his sword on a palm tree, and it popped. Tears.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make another!” the lady shouted after us.
“So,” she said as I pulled up a chair. “You’ll never guess what the grandmother was up to…”
I’d had exactly one too many drinks. Therefore, Jacob was onto me and at 5.30 am, he started shouting, “Daddy! Daddy! Where are you?”
With bleary eyes, a thick head, and concerns I may have cricked my neck, I rolled out of my drawer, got him from his cot, and brought him in with me. I’d ambitiously hoped he might go back to sleep but, instead, he looked me straight in the eyes, then headbutted me.
“Ow!” I shouted, eyes streaming, checking my nose for blood.
“Shhh, Andy!” Louise snapped.
“Was that really funny, Daddy?” Jacob asked, looking delighted.
“No, Jacob, it was not.”
We were on an early morning flight meaning 3.30 am alarms to peel two sleeping children out of their beds and bundle them into an Uber. Ordinarily, there is nothing good about being in a twilight taxi aged 35 but this was our first trip abroad since 2017 and I was feeling jovial. Sadly, this was quelled as we arrived at Leeds Bradford Airport to see an unfathomably long, snaking queue to security. Joining us at the back, a man in a Lambretta tracksuit was livid, swearing quite a lot, and saying he was willing to pay “up to £35” to jump to the front which seemed an oddly specific limit. He then stormed off, presumably to find a Jet 2 employee to haggle with.
“What did he expect?” Louise said, shaking her head. “Has he not been watching the news?”
“I know, how ridiculous,” I replied.
I had not been watching the news and I was not expecting this.
