Catch the soapy pig

Catch the soapy pig

Catch the soapy pig – Blog one.

So, seeing as having a vasectomy means I’m definitely not going to have any more children, it seems a good point to start this ‘Journey’ from, although from time to time, recollections, reminiscing, reviewing previous situations and other words that begin with ‘R’ will undoubtedly crop up.

Saying, ‘A journey’ makes me sound like I’m one of those tattooed, big-haired twonks on X-factor that weep constantly in to the camera. No, with me, I’m normally just weeping quietly to myself whilst sat in the toilet listening to two small children making a noise louder than an Airbus A380.

Am I the only man in the world that makes those trips to the toilet take waaaaay longer than they need to, simply to get a break from either telling one child not to take things from the other, or standing on a bit of Lego, or wiping up dribble, am I? Sometimes I know I should hurry it up, go out there and stop Isabelle taking knives out of the knife block, but something stops me. Something keeps my arse rooted to the porcelain until one or both are in tears….or worse….It goes silent.

All parents know that silence is NOT golden. Apart from when they’re asleep, Silence means worry, even panic. At best it means you’ll have to clean something up. Worse than that, you’ll have to buy something to replace what they’ve scribbled on. Or worse still, you find what they’re doing is deeply disturbing, meaning you’re going to have to reprimand them, but you can’t, because it’s also incredibly funny!

For example, just last week Isabelle had gone quiet for what I suddenly realised had been about ten minutes. Toby was busy smashing a wooden stick against another wooden stick, which despite making an irritating noise, I’d blocked out completely. I strolled in to Isabelle’s bedroom to discover she’d taken all her clothes off (something she likes doing a lot – are all children are naturists?) and completely covered herself in bottom butter. As most parents will know, this is a rich, soft yellowy cream that spreads a loooong way. Very minimal amounts are needed for applications to baby ‘La-la’s’ and ‘Giggle berries’. Therefore, imagine if you will, what a three year old girls looks like covered in the stuff!

I’m going to digress here, but stick with me: I did A-level Sport Studies at college and part of the course was learning about the origins of sport, sport in pre-industrial Britain, etc. Well, I remember laughing with a mate at the fact that one popular sport in Britain in the 17th century was ‘Catch the soapy pig’. Well I think Isabelle had just invented the 21st century version of this village idiot game! The conversation went something like:

Me: “What the hell have you done that for”?

Her: (Looking sheepish) “I don’t know”.

Me: “What do you mean ‘I don’t know’!? You can’t do something that has clearly taken you quite a while to do and yet ‘Not know’ you’re doing it!? What were you planning to do, slip under a door or something!? And while we’re at it, I may as well ask; Why haven’t you put any on your actual bottom? That’s the one bloody place it’s supposed to go!”

Her: “I didn’t want to get any on the carpet. I thought you’d get annoyed”.

Me: “So you thought you smear it over every other part of your body though?”

Her: “I also ate a bit and now I feel a bit sick”

Me: “Oh for ffffffu… Right, you’re going straight in the bath”.

When she realised that her arm or indeed any part of her was physically impossible to grab, a whole new game ensued. Do you think I could ‘Catch the soapy pig’? Could I ****! As she sped off down the hall and in to the lounge with her arms waving in the air, stark naked, yelling, “Can’t catch me”, Toby started screaming in excitement at the sight of a fourteen stone man failing to stop a two stone three year old. The cat (You’ll learn more about how mental she is another time) then decided to jump up from the bean bag and ‘Get involved’.

So, picture the scene: I’m playing ‘Catch the soapy pig’. I’m losing. Toby is cheering from the side lines like a demented loon, the cat now has bottom butter smeared down her tail, which she’s spinning round trying to lick off, when the chaos is broken by a knock at the door.

It’s a deaf Polish man selling charcoal drawings ‘he’s’ done to ‘fund his extra tuition’ (I’ve put that in inverted comas because I’m a miserable sceptic when it comes to stuff like that). I try to explain that now isn’t a good time, which is difficult because he’s deaf, can’t talk, and I can’t do sign language. However, what he then sees appear next to me is a naked three year old with a fringe like Cameron Diaz in ‘There’s something about Mary’, covered in yellow cream, who then proceeds to do sign language at him!!

It is the single strangest thing I have ever seen!

For a brief moment the chaos stopped while the deaf guy (who had a blonde mohican!?) looked down at the ‘Soapy pig’, who did some sign language at him*, which made him smile, sign ‘Thank you’ at her, which she reciprocated, then looked at me, smiled and nodded and then walked away.


*More on Isabelle and Toby learning to sign at a later date


Food tip of the week:

Read the ingredients and nutrition list on packs of cereal. You’ll be horrified. Now, we all expect things like sugar puffs and coco-flakes to be really bad for you, but I’m talking about things that you thought were ‘healthy’. There’s a box of bran flakes in my cupboard here. 20% of it is sugar. Twenty percent!!! If a bowl is approximately 40 grams, weigh out 8 grams of sugar and you’ll be unpleasantly surprised. And for any of you out there that sprinkle sugar on top of your ‘healthy’ bran flakes…!


Fact(s) of the week:

Google was originally known as ‘BackRub’(!), and when some core Google services went down recently for just 5 minutes it caused worldwide internet traffic to drop off by an amazing 40 per cent!