I took Didsbury Son to a big sporting event last weekend.We left for the capital for big treats all around and high excitement.
I made 2 errors with profound effects. 1. I brought him a horn. 2. I brought him a horn four hours before the event started.
By the time the battle commenced the combination of constant horn honking, sugar rushes and overwhelm gave him an expression closer to Jack Nicholson just before he shouts “Here’s Johnny” than anyone I recognised.
As an experiment it was fascinating. As proof to me that I can zone out of any sound after a while it was interesting. As evidence that a honking horn can drive hard men to tears and drunken men to abusiveness it was conclusive.
By Half-Time he was so wired I honestly thought I would have to swap him before re-introducing him to Didsbury Wife later that night. I have tried this tack before with a goldfish and after the unfortunate incident when the kamikaze hamster, more suited to The Great Escape than the burbs leapt free from his cage straight down the throat of Didsbury Fat Cat.
It wouldn’t work. I used to get confused as to which one was Didsbury Son when he first started school. 20 odd 4 year olds launching at you in the same clothes is enough to confuse any dad, but mums know so I had to try something new, more sugar.
I was heartened by the overriding half-time sight of dozens of dads angrily trying to pacify overwrought and over-tired sons. Hapless pre-tens who were apeing the big men they saw around them, with hapless apemen trying to shout them back to calmness. I did what any sensible dad would do; plied him with Fanta and he got back to happily honking until an exasperated supersized Neanderthal begged me to get him to stop.
Six hours, 2 more hotdogs and a sleep in the car later we gratefully turned into M20. The sight of Cineworld heralding a a heroic return home. I half carried and poured Didsbury Son to bed, smiled at thoughts of our adventure, sipped my tea with Didsbury Wife and threw away the horn. He hasn’t noticed yet.