Skip to main content

The Secret Diary of a 3 Year Old

MONDAY
Did a stand up wee for the first time. Felt very grown up. Shame it was on the bookcase.

TUESDAY
Must stop giggling when I’m up to no good. It alerts the authorities.

WEDNESDAY
Managed to bolt out the front door and leg it halfway down the street completely bollocko. Felt like the whole world was chasing me. The big people shouted my name as the cool night air caressed my jiggling junk. Never felt so alive.

THURSDAY
Daddy put my shoes on the wrong feet and took me to nursery. What chance have I got riddled with the genes of this fuckwit?

FRIDAY
Invented a new game in the garden that combined the traditional elements of Association Football alongside the mindless and unforgiving violence of an inner city riot. Mummy refused to play with me because I was ‘kicking the fence’ even though, if she’d listened properly, she’d know that was clearly within the rules.

SATURDAY
Ran away while daddy was wiping my arse. The miserable git didn’t offer a smile even though it was clearly the most hilarious thing in the history of things. He just got stressed and started chasing me with loads of loo paper in both hands like some toilet-based cheerleader, imploring me not to sit down because my weeping bumhole would ruin the carpet. If anything, he only planted the idea in my head to rub my rusty hoop on as much of the floor as I could so it’s entirely his fault that our landing now looks like a Jackson Pollock.

SUNDAY
It’s been made aware to me that a very small selection of adults would prefer these diaries without the swearing. They believe that it’s not appropriate for a child of my age to use the language that I do. Even though I’m fictional. Knob off, bellwipes.

UK TOUR 2018/19: for dates and tickets click hereALDERSHOT, BRIDGWATER, BRIGHTON, BRISTOL, BIRMINGHAM, BORDON, CAMBRIDGE, COLCHESTER, DIDCOT, EDINBURGH, EPSOM, FAREHAM, FARNHAM, FLINTSHIRE, GLOUCESTER, HAVANT, LEEDS, LIVERPOOL, LONDON, NEWCASTLE, NEWBURY, OTLEY, SALFORD, SELBY, SOUTHEND & SOUTHPORT

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

We Have a Winner!

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