On traumatizing your children
The recent revelation that I am now officially old, coupled with the discovery of a book entitled "Let the Snogfest Begin" in the bedroom of my previously sweet and innocent 13-year-old daughter Scaryduckling leads me to believe that the next episode in our family life cannot be far off. That being The First Boyfriend.
I, for one, cannot wait for the day that the first victim ...err... charming young man crosses the threshold, into our humble abode, for I shall be ready for him.
Ready for him with beer, the wrestling channel and the shameless scratching of bodily parts.
And in my best Grunt Mitchell out of EastEnders voice, made all the more threatening through the daily gargling of a handful of gravel:
"You hurt my pwincess, I'll bweak your fackin' legs."
"Shat it you shlaaaag!"
I can almost hear Scaryduckling now: "I hate you, dad."