Free At Last?

I am now sans wife, who’s off to do important work-related things in a far-off land, and sans stepson, who’s away for the week on a school trip.

Bizarrely I was looking forward to this time on my own as it meant I could indulge all my worst habits such as eating with my mouth open, biting my nails and dressing the cats up as PoWs and chasing them around the house while dressed in a Nazi uniform shouting ‘Schnell! Schnell!’ (I made that last one up). Then my family would return and I would revert to someone with basic social graces.

But now I realise I will get home and the house will be empty, the bed will be too big and I won’t have a sarcastic teenager telling me I’m an idiot when I ask questions such as ‘Is Dirty Ol Bastard that rapper’s real name then?’ when I try to touch base with young folk.

Faced with this situation of relationship freedom several years ago (before settling down to life of domestic bliss) a little neon sign would have gone on in my head that read ‘Party time!’ and my brain would already be bopping to the beat of whatever folk singer or goth band I was listening to. It would have been an orgy of excess the likes of which would have made Charles Bukowski look like a monk and would have put Oliver Reed (RIP) and Alex Higgins to shame. But these days, of course, it’s an entirely different matter...

So rather than party like it’s 1999 as Mr Prince or Mr Symbol or Mr Whatever-his-bloody-name-is-these-days would say I am contemplating the following: (a) attending an extra martial arts class, (b) doing some gardening during the evening and (c) spending an evening writing bits of a new stage stage play.

And the worst thing about this is that I’m actually LOOKING FORWARD TO DOING THESE THINGS rather than heading on out and letting rip.

I will confess to one indulgence during this time, though, and that will be watching the excellent House Of Tiny Terrors on BBC 3. This programme follows a child behaviour expert who shows troubled parents the errors of their ways when it comes to raising toddlers. It’s real-life TV without the schlock that treats its participants and its viewers as though they have some intelligence and don’t need to watch fights, nudity or celebs every five minutes. Its presenter Dr Tanya Bryer is a real star in the making and resembles Kat Moon from EastEnders but without the pillow face, the orange skin and the wardrobe of a prostitute. Tanya is great and so is the show. Enjoy...