THE SECRET DIARY OF A 3 YEAR OLD

At the park.

I drop my ice cream.
Start crying.
Pick it up.
Lick it.
Get gravel in mouth.
Cry more.
Drop ice cream again.
Start screaming.
Try to pick it up again.
Some dog runs over.
He wolfs it down.
I’m inconsolable.
The world is a bastard.
Everyone in it is a bastard.
But this dog is a mega-bastard.
Dog gets ice cream headache.
I laugh at the prick.
Justice is sweet.
But dog hears me laughing.
Stops dead.
Slowly turns his head towards me.
Try to hide my glee.
But he catches me smirking.
I stop smirking.
Dog moves closer.
Tilting his head.
With fire in his eyes.
I panic and start whistling while checking my watch.
Acting all inconspicuous.
But I don’t wear a watch.
And I can’t whistle.
So the dog is onto me.
He starts growling.
Baring his teeth.
And inching still closer.
I shit myself.
Only metaphorically speaking.
If you don’t count the poo that I did.
In my shorts.
That dropped onto the gravel.
Like an anal grenade.
Forcing the dog to retreat.
Take that you foul beast!
Don’t mess with a toddler.
Who’s had a big lunch.
And isn’t potty trained.
Mummy cleans me.
And changes me.
Then buys me a new ice cream.
And everything is forgotten.

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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 waffle. I'm also heading b

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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