‘Twas The Blog Before Christmas (2017)

‘Twas the blog before Christmas, a third year completed

Forty-four more entries, to which you’ve been treated

And now that it’s customary, here’s my review

Of the last twelve months – lucky old you.





We started in January, with blog ninety-nine

New Year’s Resolutions – a problem of mine

I sought inspiration from a website

But their ten suggestions turned out to be shite

The following week, in entry one hundred

I explained how, for a while, I had wondered

Whether quitting this blog was the right thing to do

I love all my readers, but there’s only a few

My fanbase is tiny, the numbers are shit

But at the last second, I chose not to quit

If one blog goes viral, I’ll conquer the net

I remain ever hopeful (though it’s not happened yet)

I battled the weather on the morning commute

A full inch of snow caused a treacherous route

Then, as the month ended, more travelling hassle

As I struggled by train, up to Newcastle

I recounted each station, some desolate places

A pair of young lovers, the sucking of faces

The angriest man, who seemed quite unstable

Purely because I had sat at his table.





A look at your horoscope is where Feb began

Our future in stars? I’m not a big fan

Boring Pisceans, giving Librans a miss

(I hope you all saw I was taking the piss)

I then had a birthday, and provided detail

About all the parts of me starting to fail

Pissing too often, and receding hair

I wish I was older, so I didn’t care

Then – without warning – a change to be had

Re-branding to ‘Confessions of a Middle-Raged Dad’

A new Facebook page, my own website domain

(it was a pain in the arse, and won’t happen again)





As we moved into March, I hit the end of my tether

When the UK was ‘battered’ by terrible weather

And I posted a blog filled with terrible jokes

About how we name storms after elderly folks

Then a lifestyle change, my biggest this year

I started back running (to combat the beer)

A specialist shop where – thanks to my mate

I tried to run in my pants, so they could see my gait

A misunderstanding, and I looked rather silly

(turns out they weren’t keen on seeing my willy)

Then more awkwardness, as I explained how

I took a trip to my dentist – the sadistic cow

Before ending the month with the country’s worst drivers

And how, if I’m pushed, there will be no survivors.





At the beginning of April, I agreed like a fool

To give a talk to some students who are at my wife’s school

Then the following week, I gained a new niece

And thought it appropriate to write a quick piece

Offering advice for new fathers-to-be

About labour, push presents, and ‘shitastrophies’

We took the boys on a trip to CBeebies Land

Never mind that it cost the best part of a grand

We met very weird people – without doubt the best

Was the peculiar lady with a big hairy chest

Lastly came cooking, and why Masterchef

Would be far more appealing were I blind and deaf

This popular show has become a disgrace

Thanks to John Torode and his awful ‘sex face’





A weird start to May, as some of you read

About my odd thoughts and the ‘sperm’ in my head

Back-to-back birthdays, as Isaac turned three

And the absolute horror that was his party

Then Ollie turned seven – ‘Happy BlogDay, Son’

I explained about how he is second-to-none

While as May concluded, I got poorly sick

And struggled to control my unruly dick

In a bout of fierce coughing, with sore throat and nose

I went to the toilet and pissed on my toes





At the beginning of June, I had the nerve and the cheek

To write a blog entry in the middle of the week

A series of questions: just make your selection

Then decide how to vote in the general election

A short trip to Norwich and two things which haunt me

Playing sport with old people, and dips in the sea

Another poem followed in ‘The Blogs and The Bees’

When Ollie asked me how to make babies

I prepared a handy verse, in a desperate bid

To help you when explaining sex to a kid

While in ‘Cracking The Blogs’ I got rather irate

It was so bloody warm I could not concentrate

I gave several reasons why, believe it or not,

We pasty Brits aren’t designed to be hot

And as the month ended, a new kind of heat

With romantic messages in a packet of sweets

They’ve modernised Lovehearts, but I don’t think ‘Swipe Right’

Or ‘Cwtch Me’ is something middle-agers would write

Far more appropriate is ‘I have a headache’

Or ‘Don’t get excited, that orgasm was fake’




Run Fatboy Run

At the start of July was a James Bond-esque farce

About a bint in a Volvo trying to drive up my arse

She followed me daily – I’ve still no clue why

If it was meant to be stealth, she’s the worst fucking spy

Then back onto running with some marathon tips

Like ‘create a mantra’ and ‘grease up those nips’

But no amount of pain, or running through walls

Will see Vaseline slathered over my balls

In the middle of the month, my wife left us alone

So I uncharacteristically had a big moan

She flew off to Germany, on a trip with her school

And Isaac, naturally, behaved like a tool

But despite single-parenting being quite frantic

I forgave her, and the next blog was rather romantic

A poem to celebrate the love of my life

And the thirteen years that she’s been my wife





Our summer holiday comprised this month’s blogs

We spent a week in a caravan, confined with our sprogs

The first entry of three was hastily written

As I explained why it’s good to vacation in Britain

There followed a ‘doubler’ – in ‘Blog Cabin Part One’

I shared my diary from our holiday just gone

We had a great time, though I suspect that I swore

When describing the chavs in the ‘van next door

Two massive women, each the size of a tanker

Seven vile children and one ‘full kit wanker’

Then the conclusion, ‘Blog Cabin Part Two’

Some Evesham skanks and a trip to a zoo

The outdoor pool, where my body went numb

And it took me an hour to locate my scrotum





Just a few months back, you may all remember

Football club nicknames kicked us off in September

Then more of my running as I spent a Sunday

Taking part in my first (and last) Sandbach 10k

There were times when I struggled and though it sounds dumb

I distracted myself with the girl in front’s bum

Next, my law conference at a posh hotel

An attempt at networking that didn’t go well

Surrounded by show-offs and arrogant fuckers

(not to mention two girls who were most likely hookers)

But the month ended well, when our eldest lad

Was the mascot at County – one very proud Dad





More poetry next, as I’d had a bad week

But I tried to explain that when everything’s bleak

Embrace what you have and enjoy every day

Because sometimes ‘fuck it’ is the best thing to say

In ‘Ernst Stavro Blogfeld’, I wrote about Bond

(a subject on which I have always been fond)

Imagining him as if he were retired

Would he still be so loved and admired?

Volcano lairs, ‘Operation Grand Slam’

Replaced by an eye test and prostate exam

And as the month ended, I became the proud owner

Of two special tickets to watch Barcelona

There’s no doubt that our trip has made Ollie’s year

No Christmas present can hope to come near

It cost me a fortune, but the expense was worthwhile

Just to see my son’s face with the world’s biggest smile





I concluded our trip in ‘Blogelona – Part Two’

Enjoying a match at the massive Camp Nou

Sat with my boy, I’ll have to confess he

Brought a tear to my eye while grinning at Messi

Even some low-life stealing from me

Couldn’t spoil our trip, and the memory

Next up – sorry – more running content

As I described my latest fundraising event

Despite saying that 10k still fills me with fear

I’ll be running ten more through the course of next year

Next, for ‘Movember’, I repeated my post

From this time last year – about how it’s the most

Important thing for men to debunk

The myth that they don’t need to check out their junk

And lastly I wondered whether it’s right to get surly

At the mention of Christmas – is November too early?





In – ‘Bloggy Hell’ – I went for a run

In freezing cold weather, and when I was done

Because I was soaked, and badly unfit

I clung to a bin that was filled with dog shit

Then when I got home, I spent half an hour

Feeling sad for myself looking down in the shower

With E.T.’s red belly I wished I was skinny

But worse, my penis went ‘outy’ to ‘inny’

Finally, last week (with parental warning)

I wrote about the magic of each Christmas morning

The myth of dear Santa, the world’s greatest lie

A fat man with reindeer high up in the sky

So now as St. Nick prepares to take flight

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night




That my dear friend, brings us to now

So I’ll take my leave, say goodbye, take a bow

I wish you and your loved ones much festive cheer

And fear not, I’ll be back, with more bullshit next year.


Merry Christmas, and thanks for reading x







Writer’s Blog

You might be surprised to learn, that a great deal of thought goes into what I write about each week.

I know this blog may seem like the cobbled-together ramblings of a man who is slowly losing his grip on reality, thanks in no small part to the fact his children are taking it in turns to behave like fucking idiots, but in actual fact, I have developed a rigorous thought-process for sifting through all the random shit that ricochets around my head on a daily basis, so that only the finest ideas get published.

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, blog entries about school runs in the snow, weird people I met at Alton Towers, and why Masterchef sometimes pisses me off, really are the best ideas I have some weeks, but if you could only see the material that didn’t make the final cut, I’m sure you would understand.

So, whilst some readers may see what I write about as a ‘brain fart’ (I believe that’s the popular vernacular, that all the cool kids are using these days), by which I mean some entries could be construed as a sudden lapse of all conscious reason, with the result my thoughts are simply ‘farted’ onto the page, I prefer to see my finished entries as ‘brain sperm’, as only the very best make it through to fertilisation.


Yes, you read that correctly, my head is full of sperm, with millions of predominantly useless little ideas all happily swimming around, and only the strongest ever survive to claim the ultimate prize of creation.

Sometimes, a few of the little critters successfully make it to the creative egg in my brain (this is all a metaphor, by the way), but rather than publish multiple entries that week (like literary twins, or even triplets), I simply hold all but one idea back for later on.

In other weeks, however, it can be hard to see the wood for all the spermy little trees, and it can get rather distracting, having numerous random (and frequently obscure) thoughts dancing around my head.

Let me give you an example.

The other day, as I sat in traffic on my commute to work, my brain suddenly chose that precise moment in time, to cancel all other rational thought processes (with the exception of how to safely drive a car, I am pleased to report), to present me with this conundrum: when did we start putting an asterisk at either end of a word, to indicate that we are doing something? Like if you accidentally imagine Ann Widdecombe in a bikini *shudders* (come on, we’ve all done it), or if someone tells you the reason they voted for Brexit, was to ‘get our country back.’ *eye roll*

Have we always done this, and I just didn’t know about it until recently, or did someone suddenly decide to adopt the double-asterisk method, and it caught on? If so, I do hope they patented the idea, otherwise they will never get the credit they deserve.

Can you patent things like that though, or is patenting solely reserved for inventions? Because that’s not really an invention, is it? It’s just using an asterisk for a slightly different purpose that for what it was originally intended. Unless, that was always the original intention for the use of asterisks? Who even came up with the asterisk anyway, and did they patent that idea? Is it even patent? Perhaps it’s copyright, as you would always usually adopt them in print?…

At which point, I drove into the car in front of me.

Ok, I didn’t, but you can see how my mind often wanders off on a tangent, and my thoughts become embroiled in so much mental flotsam, that I am almost stuck in a trance of my own inherent weirdness.

Strangely, this often happens when my wife is talking to me. I will still be actively engaged in the discussion we are (she is) having, and I apparently provide actual responses, but I then have no recollection of the conversation taking place – or, more importantly, what I have agreed to – later on, when she brings the subject up again. She claims that I just don’t listen to her, but I think it’s because she simply doesn’t understand or appreciate my genius, and needs to recognise when I have achieved a higher state of cerebral consciousness, above and beyond the level her tiny human brain can comprehend.

Of course, I don’t say this to her. *eye roll*

Speaking of my wife (and she hates it when I do), when she suggests an evening of ‘Masterchef and chocolate’, why does this not mean the same as ‘Netflix and chill’? I’ve lost count of the number of times I have already got down to my underwear, and half-way up the stairs, before I realise that she actually just wants to watch Masterchef and eat chocolate.

See, I’ve done it again. Whilst it feels good to get some of these thoughts out into the open, they would never form the basis of an entire blog entry (unless it was a very short one), so I have to immediately dismiss them as ‘useless sperm’. And, just like actual sperm, the vast majority of my thoughts are exactly that – useless. I guess silly little ideas and musings, like the ones I often have, are what Twitter was ultimately designed for. Maybe I’ll tweet some of them later. In fact, I think I finally understand the purpose of Twitter: it’s a home for discarded sperm – the birth control of social media, if you will.

Of course, you might think that some of the ideas which have made it into one of my blog entries, were pretty useless to begin with, and should never have been fertilised at all, but they can’t all be winners. After all, how many actual fertilised sperm turn out to be a waste of human life? Without crap sperm accidentally making it to the finish line, we would have mostly empty prisons; the BNP, and ‘Britain First’ would have no followers whatsoever (and, in fact, would never have existed in the first place); and all Burnley matches would be attended by away fans only. Sadly, the reality is that shit sperm sometimes sneak through.

I also find that, since I started blogging, and now allow my more obscure thoughts greater attention than they probably deserve, one rogue sperm can lead me away from the egg. Then, once it has swum its course and expired, I have become so distracted that I immediately start following the path of a similar sperm. Ultimately, I end up so far away from the egg, that my brain has become over-crowded, and I need a complete sperm clear-out in order to start again (I realise, at this point, that the metaphor has become somewhat distasteful, and you have my apologies).

For example, when I thought about myself in just my underwear earlier (which is something I, and the vast majority of women, prefer not to do), that got me distracted thinking about clothing, so that once the original thought had passed, I started wondering about my socks.

About a year ago, I bought a pack of socks with seven pairs, each pair with a day of the week on, which I thought (quite rightly) would make it easier to match them after washing.


Naturally, I can only wear these socks on the correct days of the week (thanks to my OCD), and, largely speaking, I have worn them all equally ever since. Which begs the question, what the hell have I been doing on Mondays, to make that pair perish so much faster than the others?

And, while we’re on the topic of clothing, if you audibly tell a pair of jeans to ‘fuck off’ (rather than just think it), because one leg is inside out when you’re trying to put them on in a hurry, does this mean you have anger management issues? After all, the clothing cannot possibly be offended, so there is no actual victim, but does that excuse becoming so verbally aggressive towards denim?

Actually, forget that. I’m still thinking about the socks, and wondering whether it would be unnecessarily obsessive-compulsive of me to bin the remaining six (largely fully-functional) pairs, because I can’t bear the thought of having a day of the week missing.

Maybe I could use some of my birthday money to buy some, as I don’t know what else to spend it on, and my birthday was at the start of February, so it’s getting ridiculous now. How long after your birthday, can you legitimately spend ‘birthday money’, before you have to accept that it has simply been swallowed up by ‘shit I had to pay for’? And can you really justify spending birthday money, on something as monotonous and everyday as socks? It’s not like you could ever tell the person, that you spent their kind gift on something for your feet (that wasn’t shoes).

See, off I go again. Look, if you think it’s annoying, imagine having to live with this kind of crap flying around your head all day, stopping you from doing more important things like your job, or being an active part of a conversation with your wife.

So, that’s how my thought processes work, and an insight into how these blog entries come to fruition. To be honest, I’m just glad that I’m terrible at public speaking, because if I had to give a regular presentation about my experiences in life, just imagine all the useless sperm that would find themselves swimming around inside my mouth.



A Blog Is For Life, Not Just For Christmas

Happy New Year everyone!

Exactly one year ago today, I entered the world of blogging, and I have to say it is one of the best things I have ever done.

That doesn’t mean that I think my blog is great, far from it in fact, but it has certainly been one of the most enjoyable projects I have undertaken in my 35 (soon to be 36) years on this planet.

I’ve always loved writing, ever since school, and it remains one of my ambitions to one day write a book. Unfortunately, while I strongly believe that I have the determination and patience to see it through (and, in some respects, persevering with this blog for a year has proved me right), I currently have no clue what the book could be about.

Non-fiction is probably out of the question. The only subject I really know enough about is me and my life, and who in their right mind would want to read that? Ok, I know that’s essentially what this blog is, but it’s a big jump from getting a few people to read your weekly rants, to publishing an autobiography when you’re not famous.

So, fiction it is then. In particular, I’ve decided I would ideally like to write for children or young adults, but at the moment I am entirely bereft of any original and exciting ideas to help me get started. I’ve sat and thought about it quite a lot, but nothing is jumping out at me. In desperation, I recently turned to Ollie for guidance (as he currently enjoys reading the likes of Roald Dahl and David Walliams – whose style is very similar, if not quite as good), to see what he thought Daddy’s book should be about.

Sadly, his first suggestion, which was of a boy who wins a competition to go to a chocolate factory, rang some plagiaristic alarm bells in my head, and when I dismissed this idea and his next words were “Ok, there’s this school for wizards…..” I decided it was best to ignore his advice if I wanted to avoid any legal entanglements. Bless him though, he tried.

I’m determined to do it though. Just one good idea, and I’ll sit down and write a book. Even if, like this blog, the full audience doesn’t get past the hundreds, I would still have an enormous sense of achievement in having seen it through to completion.

For now, though, while that one brilliant idea continues to elude me, I’m more than happy to continue blogging.

I know I will eventually run out of stuff to write about, or start repeating myself as the senility sets in, but I would hope that I have the good sense to call it a day long before that happens. I did contemplate whether I should stop at the end of last year, in case it became tedious – both for me to put together, and for people to read – but if I ever get close to it becoming a chore, or literally no one is reading, I’ll call it a day.

It might be that I post less frequently in the future, but I still have some things I want to get off my chest, and life is always bound to throw something shitty in my direction, that I can have a little rant about in-between.


(3 weeks later)

Ok, I wrote those opening paragraphs on 15th December (yes, I know I said ‘Happy New Year’, but I was planning ahead, ok?), and when I referred to life throwing something ‘shitty’ my way, I didn’t for one second suspect it would be actual shit.

You see, I had every intention of finishing off this entry by explaining my plans, hopes and dreams for 2016, and even though I knew my first week back at work would be busy, I was confident of finding some spare time in my lunch breaks to put the finishing touches.

Unfortunately, this plan (and, indeed, the first half of my week) was thrown into disarray in the early hours of Monday morning, when I was paid a visit by the ‘brown rain’.

I won’t go into detail, as you might be eating whilst reading this, but suffice it to say that, at approximately 5am on Monday morning, I awoke with a terrible stomach ache. I had been fine when I had gone to bed shortly after midnight, but I was now in agony. Thinking I was going to be sick, I dashed to the bathroom and knelt in prayer to the porcelain king, begging his forgiveness.

However, I quickly realised (almost too late), that the contents of my stomach would be making their exit via an alternative route, and I managed to get from kneeling to sitting in the nick of time.

Indeed, such was the violent force and velocity with which my body carried out Operation ‘Evacuate Stomach’, I promptly passed out on the bathroom floor. New low.

Over the course of the next few hours, this routine was replayed numerous times, and it became abundantly clear that I would not be going into work that day – my first day back after Christmas.

I therefore spent most of Monday in bed, unable to eat anything and extremely weak, and although I was back at work on Tuesday, the additional backlog (poor choice of words in the circumstances) of post and e-mails, was even worse than normal, thanks to my unexpected extra day of ‘holiday’.

As such, I have been working through my lunch breaks to try and catch up, rather than enjoying a bit of light blogging over a sandwich or Greggs pasty, and I therefore have very little else to offer you this week.

Fear not, normal service should be resumed shortly, both in terms of blogging and my bowels (note to self: Blogging and Bowels as a possible idea for autobiography one day), and I appreciate your understanding at this time.