What started out as a novel marketing ploy for my television series has taken a surprising turn, and now it seems I am staring fatherhood in the face. I have no idea how to be a dad unless it involves smoking heavily and being a bit of a prick. Can you help?
A girl in my class, Olivia Faulks-Pastor, has two lesbian mothers, and she reckons she doesn’t need a dad, because men are only useful for the first bit (whatever that is – we find out in biology next year). But what I want to know is, which of her mums has made the effort to teach themselves to dance at weddings like a total div? It’s hard to leave your dignity behind like that, and such a deep level of idiocy can’t simply be learned, it must be innate. And as far as I can see, Olivia’s two mums are both cool and buy all their clothes from Diesel and Ted Baker. That’s fine, but in order to give Olivia exposure to the essential dad experience, one of them is going to have to start getting jumpers and slacks from Marks and Spencer’s Blue Harbour range. The male role in child rearing may well be under threat in these modern times, but nothing can erase that specific and dreadful aroma that occurs after a dad has spent 20 minutes in the toilet.
Hope that helps!