Diary Of A Bad Dad

There are so many great things about having kids – their smiles, their laughter, their achievements... and, best of all, the fact that you can blame them for stuff.

It is particularly helpful if you have a boy child.

This means when the house police (Mrs T) is on patrol most things become deniable and I can use the words of that great philosopher Shaggy... “it wasn’t me!’’

Who left the toilet seat

up/down? It wasn’t me!

Who spilt a drink on the carpet? It wasn’t me! (How helpful that unless you employ CSI, Ribena and Rioja are indistinquishable). Who deleted the recording of Call The Midwife? It wasn’t me!

You might think blaming the kids, in particularly T2, for my misdeamenours is pretty mean-spirited, but he gives as good as he gets. With his butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth look he tells his mummy I’m the one who left his pyjamas on the floor.

And he has a big advantage – Mrs T likes him!

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