Pas­tures new for mod­ern par­ents and their stupid f***ing mead­ows

Midweek Sport - - NEWS -

A DI­VI­SION of Sin­ga­pore Air­lines has started of­fer­ing fly­ers the chance to pay a lit­tle ex­tra to sit in a cabin with no chil­dren.

For a ten­ner, pas­sen­gers fly­ing on Scoot have the op­tion to travel “in peace and quiet” – as un­der 12s will be “else­where”.

This is the best idea since sliced bread.

I sub­scribe to the rule of thumb that your own kids are fan­tas­tic but ev­ery­one else’s are just a tre­men­dous pain in the arse.

Fly­ing is stress­ful enough without hav­ing a young­ster wrig­gling around in the seat next to you while its par­ent does pre­cisely bug­ger-all to shut it up.

This “no kids zone” idea should be ex­tended to trains, too.

I once had the mis­for­tune to be trav­el­ling back from Lon­don Eus­ton along­side the em­bod­i­ment of Viz magazine’s Mod­ern Par­ents.

Tarquin and Jemima were dressed in hemp and be­fore we’d even left the sta­tion their or­ganic pic­nic was be­ing un­leashed upon their two lit­tle ’uns, who clearly didn’t want any of it.

As the train fi­nally moved, so the cry­ing be­gan. And so did Tarquin’s par­ent­ing skills.

And they con­sisted en­tirely of him singing, “One man went to mow, went to mow a meadow, one man, two man, and his dog, went to mow a mea-dow…”

Fol­lowed an even louder “KNOCK” as he play­fully tapped the child’s head.

“One man, two man, three man, four…” ALL the way to Liver­pool. Re­ally. I think we man­aged to get up into the f***ing thou­sands of f***ing men go­ing to mow the f***ing meadow by the time we reached Lime Street.

As we alighted I was ready to bite things. Prefer­ably a man’s throat. Al­though I be­lieve there are laws against these things so I de­cided to play it safe.

But what bi­o­log­i­cal mis­take hap­pens to some par­ents who gen­uinely be­lieve their off­spring are the sin­gle most en­ter­tain­ing thing on the planet?

No mat­ter how many men went to mow that bas­tard meadow, it made not a sin­gle jot of dif­fer­ence. The kid cried the whole way.

Just like with so-called dan­ger­ous dogs, you can’t blame the kids. They’re bored and rest­less.

In­stead of giv­ing them rice crack­ers and wheat germ cook­ies, give the lit­tle c**ts cho­co­late and Wot­sits and save the rest of us from lis­ten­ing to them. THERE are very good rea­sons for not send­ing Bri­tish troops into war-torn Syria – namely Libya, Iraq and Afghanistan.

That said, ruler Bashar al-As­sad’s use of chem­i­cal war­fare against his own peo­ple is dis­grace­ful.

The Min­istry of De­fence costs us £37 bil­lion a year. Can’t we af­ford just one bul­let for him?

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