How’s your day? (Picture: Dave Anderson for Metro.co.uk)

When the clouds finally part and the mercury rises, we long-suffering breeders at last get a chance to gloat.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: having kids is a pain in the arse.

Think of the broken sleep, the tantrums, and the daily hell of potty training. Ye gods, potty training is vile.

Teaching my kid good manners is really f****** boring

Plus, it gets lonely.


As the sole stay-at-home dad among my inner circle of friends, I confess I’ve fantasised several times about having my old life back.

The hurly-burly of a busy workplace, the intoxicating thrum of industry, the camaraderie of close-knit colleagues battling nightmarish deadlines.



There’s near-the-knuckle banter, a cheeky lunchtime pint, occasional low-key flirting.

The best we domesticated schmucks usually manage is bland small talk at the swings, mediocre coffee at ‘mummy group’ and gruelling re-runs of Octonauts.

But today, with the sun shining and nary a cloud in the sky, that dynamic has very much flipped on its head.

To wit: LOL, it sucks to be you, wage slave.

Goals (Picture: Getty)

First thing this morning, as you were crammed into that sweltering capsule of stench and resentment, I was fixing Toby’s Marmite on toast with a certain elan, swagger even; a spring in my spread, if you will.

The radio was blasting feel-good hits, several notches louder than was strictly necessary.

Our kitchen window was open, enticing a joyous cacophony of birdsong into the flat, affirming – yes lads – that today is, without doubt, going to be an absolute bloody scorcher.

Wait, one sec; is that your desk phone I hear?

You don’t wanna miss that bollocking from the Telford office!

I’ll wait.

Cool, where were we?

Oh yeah, so I’m stuffing my tote bag with as much fun as it can handle – frisbee, bucket and spade, football.

Couple of books.

Juice box, teddy bear, Tangfastics.

Suntan lotion, obvs.

Did I mention it’s sunny out?

Anyway, while you’re pissing around with spreadsheets (or whatever the f*** it is you do), we’re arriving at the play park.

Oddly quiet here today – oh yeah, it’s a weekday. LOL.

I spread out a picnic blanket so I can watch my beautiful boy frolic on the slide as I leaf through a magazine, and perhaps tackle a handful of emails.

Nothing too stressful – just giving my clients the impression I’m hard at it.

Hey look, an ice-cream van!

Rude not to (Picture: Getty)

Don’t mind if I do.

At the sandpit, hanging out with a gripe of young mums – yes, I just invented a collective noun – everyone agrees having sod-all to do but scoff Cornettos in the company of happy children is the absolute tits.

You guys’ll probably catch some rays too, I guess, through the window of Pret or whatever.



And I’m genuinely sorry that bitch who sits across from you is hogging the air conditioning controller again.

But even as you accomplish stuff today, maybe, like earning a crust and (crucially) paying enough tax to subsidise my boy’s free nursery place next year (cheers for that), don’t begrudge us.

Days like these are among the few perks we weary, vomit-stained broodmares are entitled to.

It’s metaphorically – as well as literally – our time in the sun.

Anyway, stop pissing around on the internet.

Your boss is watching.

Sorry not sorry (Picture: Getty)

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