The naughty step is only as powerful as the child allows it to be. I once sent my son there and 20 seconds later he came racing through the living room on his fucking bike.   I briefly tried to return him to his pleasantly carpeted penitentiary but I was far too busy giggling.    On another occasion, my lad wouldn’t go to bed and instead plonked himself down on the bottom of the stairs in defiance. I started to threaten him with a trip to the dreaded step of naughtiness.   ‘IF YOU DON’T GET TO BED RIGHT NOW, I’ll, erm….’   I tailed off as I realised he was already sitting on the effing naughty step and my threat now made less sense than Welsh hip-hop.   I could see on his little face, he’d worked this out too.   He threw me a smirk that said, ‘You’ll do what, knobhead?’   I felt it crucial not to back down.   So I continued:   ‘I’LL PUT YOU ON THE NAUGHTY STEP, YOUNG MAN!’   ‘But I’m already on it!’ he snorted.   My brain turned to scrambled egg.   ‘WELL THEN!’   I had nothing.   Bu...
 

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