The Secret Diary of a 2 Year Old

MONDAY

Was sick everywhere so kept shouting I’VE BEEN SICK I’VE BEEN SICK just in case Mummy (who was now covered in my sick) hadn’t realised.

TUESDAY

Nork-chopped Mummy during a mild banter session that got out of hand. She raised her voice and told me I shouldn’t hit. I calmly explained that I really enjoyed hitting her and that life was for living. She said I shouldn’t hit anyone, even if I did enjoy it, again with a slightly louder voice than was really necessary for the occasion. I reasonably argued that it was quite the jape to slap your mother across the bazongas when she was least expecting it and that anyone who disagreed must be dead inside. She disagreed.

WEDNESDAY

Couldn’t find my mask. Lost my shit. Looked everywhere. Daddy pointed out it was on my head. Didn’t even get embarrassed. Just pulled it down and cracked on. I love Sainsburys.

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THURSDAY

Was put on the naughty step for repeatedly tit-walloping (Daddy this time - bigger target) so ingeniously moved myself up to the second step, which technically isn’t the naughty step, and thus avoided my punishment. Fuck the police.

FRIDAY

Worked out if I pretend to be really shit at something The Bastards keep doing it for me. Made a note to use this tactic for the next two decades.

SATURDAY

Tried to tickle Mummy on the top of the stairs. She said not to mess about on the stairs and that I could tickle her downstairs. Old droopy bollocks then shouted to Mummy from the bog that he’d like to tickle her downstairs too. Hey, fuckface - there’s a queue here. Join it.

SUNDAY

Went to a kids birthday party. Had a jam sandwich. Blew my mind. Could feel the doors of perception swing open to reveal a hidden level of consciousness and a realisation that all life is energy, joy is eternal and we are all one being connected through love. Plus it was on white bread which is fucking lovely innit?

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Sam x

Comments

The Time I Screamed at my Kids

Before my kids arrived I swore I’d never shout at them. But choosing how to approach parenthood before your kids are born is like a caterpillar deciding what kind of butterfly they’re gonna be while they’re still building the cocoon. ‘I’ll still do loads of charity work, of course. And I’ll be REALLY nice to moths too, even though they’ll probably hate me because I’ll be so bloody gorgeous.’ Theory and reality are like sugar and shit. I’ve raised my voice to my kids more times than I can count. Often just to shout ‘STOP SHOUTING!’ which I’m aware doesn’t set a great example. ‘You should NEVER shout at your kids.’ And that’s fine. In theory. Because everything’s fine in theory. The Slimfast diet is a piece of piss until day two when you’ve had three hours sleep and someone offers you a Wagon Wheel. Of course, I never WANT to shout at them. I love them more than words can describe. But those you love are also the ones blessed with the innate ability to boil your piss q...

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Ladies and gentlemen - some news! One recipient of my newsletter is now the 'lucky' (ahem) winner of an exclusive gig from me IN THEIR HOUSE! And that person is... Lyn Morter! Well done, Lyn! (Btw, if anyone from Ofcom is reading, you can check the legitimacy of this result via the Facebook Live video I did last week.) When I informed Lyn that she'd won she simply said, 'I've never heard of you' and 'How did you get my phone number?' so I'm sure that will be a great gig for everyone. (Only joking. She was thrilled.) Thanks to all of you for entering. But what now, Sam? I hear you screaming at your smartphones. Well, I'll be taking things a wee bit easier through August, spending some much needed time with my family after all the touring. But just like that former Governor of California of Austrian descent, I'LL BE BACK (sorry) in September with more blogs, videos and general waf...

The Time I Smeared Shit on the Duvet

My wife and I developed our parenting systems through trial and error. One of the earliest rules we’d introduced was that if it was after 5am and one of the babies became unsettled, we wouldn’t waste our time trying to get them back down in their cot - we’d just bring them in with us. After a nice cuddle in our bed, they’d normally settle back down, barring the occasional impromptu fanny gouge or affable bollock kick. (Babies are the most violent sleepers on the planet, easily capable of committing GBH in the middle of reaching for their dummy.) Our twins were six months old. I was fast asleep. At least, the deepest sleep you can get once your kids arrive. My pre-kids sleep used to be the nocturnal equivalent of deep sea diving. Nowadays I’m lucky if I can submerge my toes in a puddle. Early on, my sleep was lighter than a Ryvita biscuit who’d been having it off with a helium canister they’d met on Tinder. Everything woke me up. Some nights I’d just lie there, bewi...

Sam Avery

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