I did it folks. I lasted nearly FOUR hours at the football club's Family Fun Day. In the place of many-crossed ley lines and much home-woven tofu knickers. FOUR BLEEDIN' HOURS!!!!
'Don't forget the prize giving ceremony starts at 12.00' said the text.
'Under 10s - 3.30pm' said the list stuck to the wet marquee.
'Stop swearing.' said the kids.
£1 for five minutes on the bouncy castle. Each. OK. Choose your next two options very carefully. 50p for seven shots at wobbly coconuts. A much better idea. Let's do it again. Still have three hours and 20 minutes left to kill. 50p for four balls aimed at paddling pools.... oh you get sweets even if you miss. Sweets??? YESSS!!! Two please. That's lunch then. Right - let's put the coconuts in the car......
Ooh it's nice and warm in here.... SLAM!
Just three hours to go. And that's with my new phone not connecting to the internet as promised in the sales pitch a month ago. That little (paid for) perk lasted about two hours after I left the shop. I just had some paper and a biro to amuse myself. That would've been just dandy if it wasn't for small boys who wanted a running commentary on what I was doing.
'You're BOYS! Go and PLAY!'
'Girls play too. I want to stay with you.'
Some might consider that sweet.
I'm not some.
Just think of all those things you could do in three hours....... If you were at home.... Or anywhere ELSE......... Just think of all those grumpy chinny wrinkles you'd not have if you were ANYWHERE ELSE in the damned world.......
Get a grip. At least I don't look as old as HER! Ha! God she looks rough. And OLD!!!! Euughhhh!!!!! Ha ha haa!!!!
Yes you guessed it - I had dressed as a leopard-printed, fringed-shorted, jaunty-capped retard from the Planet Mutton. And yes I did have nearly up-to-the-brow shimmery green eye-shadow. I had to. It's my job to piss off the good people of Brownsville and I take my duties very seriously.
When we did eventually manage to drive away - (I tried my best not to screech the tyres - wouldn't want to attract attention now would I?) - we were down £10, an unearthed packet of squashed prawn cocktail crisps and several points on my soul but we were up 4 coconuts and a trophy for the football star. Thank the gods. If he hadn't come away with a trophy after being stuck for that long in the village of supersmugosity I'd've been forced to trample my baby blue brand-name trainer in someone's organic mung-bean cake.
This is perhaps a little unfair - there are only a few of these types in amongst the football crowd but it just seeps in this stuff. I know it would have only been a matter of time before I would have heard complaints about the gingerbread men on sale not being multi-racial or having to be re-labelled gingerbread persons and have the correct quota in wheelchairs.
But it's done for another year! Breathe out slowly.....
And my little dynamo Dog Boy got The Manager's Cup - for being fast, strong, having an excellent attitude and being brilliant, particularly in the last six months. That's what the man said.
The funniest bit was the trophy for top goal-scorer. It all went a bit quiet. I'd overheard another team's award-winner clasping his cup for scoring 49 goals - and it being quite a close run thing. Our team's top scorer had piled up a staggering.... six. Ah well.... There's always next season eh?
Somebody bring me a tissue...... and some eight inch patent red stilettos.