7. Humilation.

The other week I was stood in a corner at Blondie’s fifth birthday party, with a glowing fairy wand in my hand. I’d been roped into a game where children had to run to their favourite superhero, or fairy. Not a single child ran to stand with me, until Mummy Cool persuaded Blondie. The organisers could have let me be a superhero, but alas it’s one of the duties of a father to look ridiculous at the drop of a hat. While standing there, waving this multi-coloured wand in a camp manner, it got me thinking about the various ridiculous situations I’ve found myself in for the purpose of entertaining Blondie.

I once had an alias, called Granny Goggins. Now, I’ve nobody to blame but myself for this one. I seem to recall mucking about with Blondie one day, and there was a tea towel nearby. I wrapped it round my head and began speaking in a terrible high-pitched Scottish accent, and Goggins was born. Unfortunately, she proved so popular that Blondie asked me to be her time and time again. It got so bad that there was a brief phase where she would only go up to bed if I became Granny Goggins. If you’re knackered and not in the mood, dressing up as an old crone isn’t top of the list of things you want to do, but needs must.

Dads often have to create and develop characters for their children, like the late great David Bowie did with his music, only with far shitter results. Just after Blondie started school, I found myself having to be Bowie himself on the school run. She loves Bowie (great taste) so I did a fourth-rate impression for a laugh, but it got out of hand and she insisted I continue with it until we reached our destination. Thank God I managed to persuade her to drop it before we were around other families.

Blondie has a recurring game each summer in which she owns a pebble shop, and I have to play various characters that enter the shop. This involves her sitting on a tiny chair in a large area of pebbles, while I go in and ask about the wonderful ‘products’ on offer. But for some reason, every character I’m asked to play is a WOMAN. I’m hoping this summer that she’s become a bit too sophisticated for this particular game.

Blondie seems to particularly enjoy me being a woman. She’s not stupid, she’s clearly hell-bent on me looking as ridiculous as possible. She recently performed a Caesarian on me, reassuring me beforehand with a series of diagrams that involved sawing at my guts. So it was actually quite similar to the way she and Red were born.

You want to laugh at me more? Well…

• Several times I have found myself running down the street with my arms outstretched like Superman, as “Megaman and Megagirl” (thankfully I’m blessed to be the man in this game) face another perilous adventure.
• I have patted a panting, barking Blondie in front of strangers at the park, while having to say “Well done Mossydog!”
• I have had to run around the pretend beach at Centre Parcs shouting “Come here you naughty duck, you’re going in prison!”
• I have pranced around the living room with a tutu on, alongside Blondie.
• My imagination hit rock bottom during a weekend in which we were all hit with a stomach bug, and I found myself putting a nappy on my head and both children too, and declaring we were the “Nappy Gang”. I still have no idea what the Nappy Gang stand for, rules etc.

The list is endless really, I could spend a year chronicling my humiliation, and just when I think “Ah great, now she’s at school she can play these weird games with her friends!”, Red’s now reached the stage where I find myself regularly making animal noises at her, so before long I may end up being Granny Goggins again. Truth be told though, Mummy Cool is a bit envious I get to be the fun one, so I’m sure I’ll miss all this when they’re older. So if anyone sees me wandering round the village in years to come with a nappy on my head, take pity, I’m just missing being “Daddy”.

DADDY UNCOOL: Parent Blog has been written by a local East Riding dad, check him out on Twitter @Daddyuncoolblog and daddyuncool on Facebook