Kicking it with the kids

I have been CRB’ed in the last 12 months. In that time I have not been inappropriate with any children. Promise.

I was inappropriate with a child once though. I was 15, and he was 5. I babysat him and his older sister Claire.

They were good kids, and Jack was very funny, with a big massive cheeky grin and a blunt fringe accompanied by a crazy freeform mullet. He, like me, liked lizards. In short, he was quite the little clown and we were buddies. We watched the Young Ones most days together during my five year tenancy. One day when he was misbehaving, I told him do a circuit of the house with his pants around his ankles. In the end I think he was having so much fun with his wang out he started to play up just for a chance to do it all over again. That exercise lasted a day at best. 

I imagine I probably graduated to locking him in a cupboard and goading him with chocolate in between me lying on the couch and sleeping off puberty.

Ah pubes.

The day the pubes hit most junior pubers become joyless, confused, spotty, greasy, hairy, freaks who blame their parents for putting them through feeling like the most minging minger in the world who everyone is staring at, and then – bam - suddenly you’re not able to run around the house naked anymore.

After about the age of 9, you can no longer get in the paddling pool in just your knickers. I don’t have a paddling pool currently, but I’m keen to pursue knicker sitting in paddling pools at some point before I meet my predicted expiration via a harpoon.

"I don’t care what the neighbours think, Norman. We’ve been swinging with them for 7 years!!!"

(It was Norman, he harpoons me in the paddling pool)

I bet people with tall conifers in their gardens sit in their paddling pools in their pants all the time.

Whoever invented conformity can eat my dust. Whoever told old people they must only wear beige i hate you people, whoever told us not to dance in the street - a high kick of joy, whoever said wearing underwear was a must can go and pick their crackers out of their wedge. This is my brief manifesto.

At the moment, as a mature student I’m knocking about with 18/19/20 year olds. 20 year olds are ace. They’ve still got silliness, and lots of hope before having it totally kicked out of them by an office job where they have a budget for emotional eating as a way of ‘calming’ the workers. 

I once had a job where they endlessly supplied a buffet of fat and sugar. One day we had a party because it was a Tuesday. Happy Birthday every bloody day of the week.

Keeping the fun in the workplace, and life, is essential to productivity, inclusivity and providing people with hopes, dreams and expression, so next time the boss demands you drop you pants and run around the office naked - go for it, you'll get the laughs and a new sense of 'look at my balls'. Sod the promotion. 


Please hold the line, I have a perineal itch.