Daddy Dazed

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Like a stampede of wildebeest, I hear them before I see them. I look up and they are upon me a screaming multi-headed multi-limbed mass of amped up, sugar high kids.
From my experience, on the whole in the real world kids are polite and defer to adults and wouldn’t push past you. But this is their world. Their kingdom. And adults will be crushed.

The Soft Play Safari in Holloway is no place for men.

It is at that moment, just before I am trampled on by a barrage of tiny feet, that I vow to get myself life insurance.

It had started nice enough – myself and my daughter were playing together amongst the coloured balls. But then she wanted to explore. So I let her clamber around the soft plastic structures as I enjoyed lying in the sea of balls, thinking I was on some early nineties chill out room comedown.

I am snapped back from my reverie by my daughter’s cries.

“Daddy, Daddeeeeee, Help”

She is two levels above me and is standing trembling by a plastic rope bridge. How did she get up there so quickly?

“Hold on darling, daddy’s coming”

I climb up a padded log ramp and promptly slide down. This is trickier than it looks. Feeling like I’m in an episode of Total Wipeout, I climb again and get to the top, only to be confronted by two large foam rollers with a ridiculously small gap between them. How am I going to get through that?

I try and squeeze my body and beer gut through and fail miserably. This is where I would normally not bother trying again. I am big fan of Homer’s philosophy, ”If it at first you don’t succeed, give up.”. Thats Homer, as in Homer Simpson. But I can’t give up, a crying child needs me. So, going head first, I take a deep breath and push again. The other side of the rollers is a comedy distorted mirror. I can see my bright red face poking through the bright pink padded labia and realise this is what childbirth looks and feels like.

When my whole body is through the padded pussy, I drag myself puffing and wheezing to the next padded room where I have to climb through a tunnel. By now I am hot, sweaty and exhausted, but I can see my daughter, “Daddy” she shouts and waves to me from behind the netting on the next level up. All I need to do is clamber up the slippery slope and I’m there. Its just then that I am hit by the stampede of kids.
I am knocked to the floor. I am crushed under a barrage of little feet as they head towards the yellow tunnel. All I can do is curl into a ball and wait for the assault to pass.

I need to get out of here fast before I receive any more damage.

I pick myself and run to the rope bridge and scoop up M. I rush across the rope bridge so quickly that I have no time to contemplate my vertigo, hold her tight as we tackle the bumpy slide and then rebirth myself again through another set of padded vagina.
Finally we are free.

Never again will I visit the soft play, well at least not until I have searched for life insurance quotes online.

Tiny is our apartment block’s caretaker. Lovely bloke. Bit wide. Proper East End. Not just wide he’s huge too, like a bloody gorilla. Hence his name. See what they did there? East Enders are so funny ain’t they ?
‘Namaste Michael,’ he says.
Tiny has a bit of the tie-dye in him. He told me he found spirituality when he was in Thailand sorting out a drug deal.
Tiny is smoking.
‘Want a fag?’ he asks.
‘I’m trying to stop smoking.’
‘Good lad. Terrible habit.’
‘It’s hard giving up.’
‘I’ll have you quitting smoking like that – boom,’ he clicks his fingers loudly. ‘Hypnosis! It’s all in the mind.’
‘I didn’t know you were a hypnotist.’
‘Man of many talents. Learnt it when I was inside. They ran a course on it. Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll sort you out.’
‘But Tiny you smoke.’
‘Smoking is mind over matter. It’s just my mind is so powerful I can’t train it,’ he says.
‘What the ….’
I look where he is looking. An old lady’s dog is cocking its leg on the pavement post outside our flats.
‘OY!’
And he’s off. For a big man he can move surprisingly fast.

Against my better judgement the next day I go and see Tiny for a hypnosis session. The Nicorette gum and patches are helping but it’s a struggle, so what harm can it do?
He’s standing outside his office. He sees me, takes one last drag on his cigarette and stubs it out. I look at the crushed cigarette and look at him.
‘Do what I say. NOT what I do Mike. Do what I say.’
He takes me into his office. When I say office its really a glorified cupboard, stacked full of cleaning products and a table for the apartment block’s post and parcels. There is just enough room for a desk and two chairs.
‘Sit down Michael. Shantaram.’
He presses play on a small ghetto blaster.
‘The sound of dolphins.’ he says.
We listen to the high-pitched squeaking.
‘Beautiful’ he says.
‘Now Michael what I am about to do is pretty powerful so don’t be alarmed. You are in the hands of a professional. Well not exactly a professional, I never actually finished the course, got put in solitary for nutting someone, but I do know what I am doing. Anyway I digress.’
Why did I think this was a good idea?
‘Now first. Here is some paper. On it Michael please write down five things you love about cigarettes.’
I start to write. ‘They calm me down’.
What else? They taste nice. Well no, not really. They ….they.
Why do I love cigarettes?
I stare at the wall.
I can’t think of anything.
Wow. He’s good.
‘You struggling?’
‘Yeah’
‘How about ‘they are great with a beer?’’
‘Oh yes. You are right. I’ll write that down’.
‘They are great after a shag.’
‘Yep.’
‘Mixed with a bit of the old pot they makes a great spliff.’
‘That’s very true.’
‘Nothing like starting the day with a coffee and a fag.’
‘Nice.’
Yeah he’s right. Ciggys are great. I love cigarettes. I forgot how much they mean to me.
Hold on. What’s going on here?
‘OK fold up the paper and lets leave it over here. Now Michael I am going to hypnotise you. Close your eyes and listen to the dolphins.’
I do as he says.
‘Imagine you are getting into a lift. This lift is going down. Down into the basement. Deep down into the basement of your subconscious. Minus 10, minus 9, you are feeling sleepy.’
I’m not.
‘Minus 8, minus 7 minus 6. Your eyelids are heavy.’
Not really
‘Minus 5 minus 4. You are very tired.’
Um no.
I’m not fighting it. I’m just not feeling it.
‘Minus 3, minus 2 minus 1 and you are under. You are hypnotised.’
Am I? Not sure I am.
‘You are so sleepy and your lids so heavy you cannot open your eyes.’
I open my eyes. It’s easy.
But Tiny is right in my face. And gives me a stare so intense and scary that it sends a shiver down my spine.
‘CLOSE YOUR EYES. YOU ARE HYPNOTISED’
I do. Quickly.
‘YOU DON’T WANT THE FAGS, YOU DON’T NEED ‘EM!’ he shouts. ‘Do you understand?’
‘I don’t want the fags’ I say in my best monotone voice.
‘You don’t need ‘em. ‘He is whispering in my ear. ‘I catch you smoking a fag – I’ll rip your legs off. I smell a fag on you – I’ll piss in your throat. If I as much as hear you’ve had a sneaky puff on your balcony I will poke your eyes out with a red hot stick.’
I am shitting myself. I really think he means it. His voice is full of menace.
With intimidation like that I am surprised the jury found him guilty.
‘And on the count of three you will emerge from your trance. 1,2,3 -
Tiny clicks his fingers. I open my eyes.
‘Shantaram Michael. Shantaram. ‘
He is smiling. He is nice.
‘Do you feel ok?’
I nod.
‘Do you remember anything?’
‘I didn’t see a thing. Honest’ I say quickly. ‘I mean, no. What happened?’
‘Don’t you worry Michael its all working away in there. Now lets stick your list in the bin. Here, take the matches and set light to it. Set fire to your addictions.’
I do as he says.
‘Watch them burn! That smoke is the smoke of your freedom.’
The bin is soon spewing great clouds of white smoke.
‘Freedom from the chains of your addiction!’
The fire alarm goes off.
‘Right better get out’
I head for the door as Tiny grabs an extinguisher. As I exit he shouts.
‘I’m watching you! I got my eyes and ears everywhere. Av’ a fag and you needn’t worry about cancer because I’ll be on you worse than cancer.’

When I was kid I used to love going to Butlins in Bognor Regis. It was our family’s Disneyland – less “American” (which was my Dad’s dismissive phrase for all things gaudy), and a lot cheaper as we could get there by bus from Brighton. So the other day when I was looking for family may bank holiday breaks and I stumbled across Butlins. I yelped Hi De Hi!

Our daughter wants a place with playgrounds, swings, sand pits, loud pop music and new friends to play with and Butlins fits the bill perfectly. They have three UK locations: at Bogor Regis on the South Coast, Skegness on the East Coast and Minehead on the West. And I reckon they offer some of the best short breaks in the UK.
I am keen on the Bognor Regis one, with its traditional fairground and Splash Waterworld. It will also give me a chance to relive my childhood. Wifey growing up in Malaysia has no knowledge of Red Coats and British family breaks and as an adult she likes quiet 5 star hotels with spas and “calming” new age music (thats new age as in rhymes with sewage). So, this week Toddler M and I launched a concerted campaign to take a short break at Butlins. I gave my rational arguments and M backed me up with a barrage of “Pleeeese mummy”s.

Wifey was soon warming to the idea when she saw the cool art deco hotel and apartments, and the Brian Turner restaurant. And she was almost there when she realised that they had an Ocean Spa. But what sealed the deal was the live daily shows – where TV characters like Barney the dinosaur and Bob the Builder, and Thomas the Tank Engine are brought to life. When wifey learn that one of the shows features her favourite penguin Pingu then she was all in! Despite her pseudo sophistications, she, like me, is a kid at heart.

What do Jenson Button and my child have in common? They both ride in vehicles made by McLaren. At least thats what I thought until I discovered this week that the manufacturer of my baby’s pushchair and Formula One cars are two unrelated companies with similar names. The racing car manufacturer is McLaren and the baby buggy manufacturer is Maclaren.

But now a baby pushchair made by a car manufacturer has hit the high street – Aston Martin have launched a pram, and it costs a staggering £2000.

According to the blurb, the Silver Cross Surf Aston Martin Edition is “designed to perfection with every detail considered”, down to the leather which is an exact match to that used in their cars. Other Aston Martin touches include the Alcantara lined seat pad – a high quality and expensive suede manufactured in Italy – and the super soft leather-trimmed handle and bumper bar. The pram also has an air-ride suspension system that apparently guarantees a smooth ride on all terrains, and the design of the aluminium alloy wheels are based on the Aston Martin One-77, which sells for £1.2 million.

The pushchair is made in partnership with British pram manufacturer Silver Cross. It is surely the worlds most expensive pushchair and a bling pram strictly for pop star spawn and oligarch offspring.

But if you are a normal parent looking to buy a baby buggy, why not try these pushchairs from Britax.

The Silver Cross Surf Aston Martin Edition. Only 800 of these bling prams will ever be made, ensuring it remains the ‘ultimate in exclusivity.’