|
RIP TOMMY
I lost a friend last week. His name was Tommy. It was sudden and unexpected and devastating. I’m not yet ready to expand further, but I wanted to honour him in some way on this page, this week.
That’s me with Tommy in the photo. We went to a fancy-dress party. It was the last time I ever saw him. The theme was the letter ‘W’. I went as a camp avant garde warlock (I’d removed the Venetian mask by that stage and lost my trident); he went as the blue Wiggle. He looked so funny. It was an awesome night.
Tommy leaves behind his wife Brooke, a woman who is an absolute angel in every sense of the word, and two gorgeous boys, Billy and Tommy Jr. They’re twins, and they turn two in August.
Rest in peace, dear Tommy – and know that I will always be there for your boys in whatever way I can.
WIGGLES IN THE MORNING
I stayed with Brooke on Saturday night. We spent the night downing beer after beer, wine after wine, and finally vodka after vodka. She was exhausted, so I suggested that she sleep in and I would wake up with the boys.
I’m usually quite a heavy sleeper, and certainly not the world’s most sprightly morning person. But, knowing there were two volatile little creatures in the next room that I had to listen out for and eventually wake with at an hour that usually doesn’t exist to me on a Sunday morning unless I’m still on the dance floor, I seemed to instinctively sleep lighter.
And, sure enough, at 6.15am, the plaintive cries and gahs and goos stared to emanate loudly and confidently from the cots. I’m tempted to launch into a Rosemary’s Baby metaphor, but that would be unkind.
The boys settled themselves until about 7.15am, after which I could sense there was no going back (to sleep). I stumbled into their room in my underwear, and they were both standing in their cots ready to greet me, eyes wide like albino tigers clad in jump suits focusing on their prey, grinning with that you-were-never-going-to-win look.
I carried them both down stairs, navigating past the two baby-proof check points on the stairs. They were then plonked in front of The Wiggles. And let me tell you – I don’t care what any parent says, The Wiggles at 7.15 in the morning is INTENSE. It’s even more intense the next day when you started singing, rather audibly, ‘hot potato, hot potato…’.
Then it was nappy time! No poo from either of them – thank god for small mercies. But the nappies were absolutely FULL of urine – it looked like they were wearing floaties, not nappies. It’s a design miracle that the wee doesn’t leak from the sides. While there’s perhaps a time and a place for golden showers, in the nursery on a Sunday morning isn’t one of them.
Then it was time for outfits. Now, I fully accept that I’m quite vain and I enjoy fashion, but I didn’t think this would extend to selecting outfits for Tommy and Billy. But I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I agonised over their get-ups for at least half an hour, rifling through every drawer and every item. I initially selected navy blue corduroy cargo pants for Billy – but what goes with navy blue corduroy cargo pants? Nothing, I decided, so it was off with the fashion faux pas and back to the drawing board.
Finally both dressed, it was breakfast time! And I must say I was very impressed with the level of enthusiasm with which they devoured their delightfully tasty meal – Weetbix morphed into a brown stodge, not unlike the contents of their nappies the day before, by a bit of hot water and some milk. Yummy!
But I love the bucket-style bibs though – they’ve got these fabulous collector-trays for wayward food. I should carry one on me for when I drunkenly think a falafel roll is a good idea at 4 in the morning. Garlic sauce on black skinny jeans is never very sexy…
Then, thankfully, Brooke was up and the morning rush was over. Strong coffee, a cigarette, and I was ready to face the day.
GAY, BABY, YEAH?
As reported by Queerty, an interesting blind item appeared in Monday’s NY Daily News – “Which divorced comic superstar is exploring a groovy new real-life persona: that of an openly-gay man?”
Wow, subtle … The ‘groovy’ is surely a giveaway! Mike Myers, aka Austin Powers, divorced his wife last year and rumours have been circulating about him possibly coming out ever since.
Hmm ... A new recruit?
 |
Opinion 
Subscribe to this comment's feed