World Book Day…sucks

The day is coming again whereby the supermarkets and fancy dress suppliers are the only ones that gain from yet another wanky dress up day. I’ am not a complete arse that does not realise the importance of reading but the need to have to dress-up as your favourite book character that is the wanky part.

Its fun’ hear you squeal along with ‘it encourages children to read’

I can only reply with ‘Oh do fuckoff’ to both of the above

My child thinks it is fun to write on the walls. I am still looking at that bastard crayon expression of creativity that is more withstanding than hardwearing wall paint I removed trying to get off. It did not encourage his writing skills on the unlimited supply of paper.

Tip: If you going to be so shattered from lack of sleep make sure, there are no pens, felts or crayons when you accidently nod off for about two minutes. I am not even going to mention the nail varnish incident that was in their sibling’s bedroom in a drawer but your be pleased to know that it does eventually come off young child’s legs, arms, hands and face also a nice rug brings out the ambience of a bedroom even with a newly laid carpet.    Oh another tip, if your child wants to watch that fucking dvd for the millionth time, let them, it prevents said young child finding a bastard felt-tip even though you previously locked them away!  from drawing a map going all the way up the stairs,  along the landing to all the way around there bedroom and drawing a unhappy portrait of

Back to wanky world book day, I shall be the parent that raids the dressing up box again if I can still squeeze them into the Spider-man or Thor costume they  will be going as, if not then face-paints although I have found my eldest eyeliner has more staying power.   They have never read spider-man or any other super hero book, I have never read a cook they are merely decorate purpose book but I still cook.

So it is just another wanky time that brings out those jam-makers (see school run mum blog post) to feel superior for little Tarquin to shine, parents stressing over another expense, or another thing to argue with your child about and there is always that parent who just didn’t get the memo doing the walk of shame into the playground.  By the way it is not the walk of shame that has bothered me many times, it  is when my child looks at me through the tears that say you disappoint yet again, more that the present Father Christmas did not get me.

This is my second time around at practising my parental skills so I have done all the sowing etc bollocks. I can tell you now it is not special fucking bonding time either. Yipee my eldest has learnt to sow but they was taught in the same manner my parents did me in using a power drill, hammer, tape-measure, paint brush and even mixing up cement.

Another tip: No Nails Glue : – Utter bollocks and don’t be fooled by the advertisement that shows is can hold even a elephant because when my child decide to practise their spider-man powers of swinging from the bedroom curtains, that fucking no nails took the curtain pole, support rail, nails and half the fucking plaster off the wall.

If anyone has a cub or child lion outfit to accompany the above book give me a shout but I need it before World Book Day!! 



2 thoughts on “World Book Day…sucks

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  1. Its approaching too quick! The scrabbling of an old white shirt and old school trousers i have to cut and using shoe polish on bright red ho ho ho braces to conclude!!
    Oliver the twist !! Shit run out of shoe polish the quick squeezy one not real old fashioned shoe polish!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh if only I could teleport you my ‘old fashioned shoe polish’ that I refuse to pay £3 for accompanying brush for. I have just needed to pour a vodka before I can explain to Ms.Sherlock why it is not appropriate for Pip Squeak to take our garden folk with a stuff dog stuck to it whilst been handed me the Dog in the night-time book of there’s. In between the lecture of why I have left it so late and pictures of things I could make with cardboard.


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