Skip to main content


My new hobby is shouting ‘WATCH ME!’ and then doing something inexplicable shit. Today I stood with my legs slightly apart and waved my hands. And the big people PRAISED me! Dickheads.

Started calling sliced kiwi fruits ‘hairy burgers’ in the shop. Mummy said I should call them something different. I asked her why she was laughing. She said she’d just remembered something funny from years ago. Strange woman.

Daddy reckons I need to be wiping my own shitter before I start school in September. Ha! Alright mate. Whatevs.

Was drinking from Daddy’s water bottle with my crisps. Left so many salt and vinegar floaties in the water his bottle looked like a cheap lava lamp. Daddy said I could have the rest. Result!

Caught Daddy sliding a piece of cheese into his mouth with his head in the fridge. I shouted ‘CHEESE! CHEESE!’ continuously to let him know he’d been spotted and that if he didn’t want this intel to go global then he needed to cut me a piece of the action.

My talking crocodile toy has gone missing. I loved that repetitive little bastard. It was so loud and green and annoying and it used to talk in the middle of the night like Barry White when it’s batteries were low, putting the shits up everyone. I searched EVERYWHERE for it. (As in, directly in front of where I was currently stood and precisely behind where I was stood. Like I say, literally everywhere.) Then Mummy casually told me it had broken so she’d been forced to bin it. Even though there’s no evidence, like when they killed Bin Laden. I tell you - I will not rest until I find that crocodile.

Went on a bouncy castle. Was living my best life until I fell awkwardly onto a bigger boy who was all elbows and arses. I was fine though so leapt straight up but Daddy had already pressed his own personal panic button and was leaping across the bouncy castle towards me like an overweight ninja wearing his fucking SHOES! Come on, pal - even I know you don’t do that! So he picked me up and I was trying to tell him I was okay and just wanted to get back to my explosive and unpredictable brand of bouncing but he wasn’t listening and then he tried to step off the bouncy castle whilst still holding me but his decrepid old ankle gave way and both of us smashed to the floor like a multi-generational sack of shit. Nice one, cockbreath. I’ll remember this when I’m choosing your care home.

To be continued...

Come see me live! A few dates remain on the Learner Parent tour and my brand new show for 2020 ‘TODDLERGEDDON’ is onsale now! 

If you enjoy my blogs then you’ll love my book ‘Confessions of a Learner Parent’


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

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

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