Juvenilia, Part 4

Happy chocolate egg-themed spring fertility/rebirth event everyone!

To celebrate the seasonal cycle caused by the tilting of the earth on its axis as it orbits the sun, which our ancestors symbolised as the death and resurrection of the natural world - which in turn has been metaphorically embodied over time in the various figures of Ishtar, Horus, Mithras, Dionysus and of course Attis (who chopped off his own cock and balls) - here is a photo of me when I was five years old, delighted on a trip to the zoo at seeing a seagull.

I don’t want to spend too much of your time poking fun at the self-appointed culture warriors whining about the removal of the word “easter”from egg hunts – which didn’t even happen – but it is particularly ironic that the derivation of the very word in question comes from the pagan festival of Eostre... 

Anyone who isn't an idiot knows that nothing is "pure" and everything is the product of syncretism. Which makes a lot of people either insincere or idiots. 

Anyway, on the subject of idiocy...

Going through my old school books again, I came across this story “The Nutter” – illuminated with the author’s own illustrations, in the manner of William Blake - which I would like to submit for analysis in its entirety.

Are you bored of this yet? Well I don’t care.

“The Nutter” concerns a boy named Terry, who we are told is very “dim and stupid”. The story relates the less-than-hilarious consequences of (i) Terry being given a budgie (ie he loses it) and (ii) Terry buying a model battleship (ie he loses that as well).

The only thing I can really see that Terry does wrong in the story is taking the budgie home on top of his head. His mother’s suggestion – that the correct way to carry a bird is “in a paper bag” – sounds, if anything, worse.

When he buys the battleship and puts it in a bag in his pocket, but nevertheless, loses the bits when they drop out, this just sounds like bad luck. However, his mum decrees “no more pocket money for you”.

I particularly enjoyed the epilogue – “so Terry could not go out and make a mess again”.

On reflection, I think this piece tells us not only about attitudes towards mental health in the early 1980s, but it also leads us astray. We are all Terry. The real “Nutter” is of course Terry’s mum, who thinks birds should be transported in paper bags, which is even for the imagination of a 7-year-old, stupid.

Anyway, the teacher – as you can see – thought it was “very good”.

It’s Party Time

Who you gonna call? HE MAN

When I am finally kicked out of my current job, I will have to give serious consideration to the idea of becoming a children’s entertainer.

You may assume that this is because all I really want in life is to bring laughter to the bright little faces of boys and girls, and yet have found myself – tragically – counting someone else’s shitty money for a living.

Not at all.

It is because, through some mysterious, ineffable quality, I find myself being uncharacteristically good at it. I am good at it without actually trying – which is by far the best way to be good at anything.

Don’t ask me why, but children find me effortlessly charming, delightful and invigorating in a way I can only dream of being viewed by fellow adults. It is equally mystifying to my wife, Katie...errr...I mean Elvira of Castille, as it is to me. I am also fully CRB-checked.

So this weekend, I found myself Master of Ceremonies at the birthday celebrations of my elder child (Roger Jr). In this capacity, I was responsible for the amusement and safety of approximately 40 children aged 4 to 7, equipped only with a 15-song musical playlist, two jars of sweets, some balloons and an oversized cardboard Minecraft head.

Those who know me only from my pre-parental life may regard this as a scenario akin to handing a chimpanzee a loaded machine gun and a bottle of scotch and solemnly asking it not to cause any trouble.

Well, I have changed a lot in seven years...

My objectives were clear -which I find to be an indispensible element of any successful undertaking:

• Wear these children out enough that they would sit through an hour-long magic show without going Lord of the Flies on the magician (who, I should add, kicked off his act in style with a sincere threat to walk out if he was booed).
• Ensure everyone survives until the food is ready.
• To the extent that it is compatible with objectives 1 and 2, permit fun to occur.  

I don’t really know how or why, but my series of “games” proved a great success. Nobody won, nobody lost. While the states “in” and “out” formally existed, there was no practical distinction between the two. The only real difference between each game was whether I was bellowing the order to “run over there” with or without a musical accompaniment.

It is an intoxicating experience, having an audience hanging on your every word and obeying your every command. I can assure you, the feeling of power and possibility is only marginally diminished by having several members of your otherwise rapt congregation smacking you over the head with a balloon while you deliver your proclamations. The Pope, Hitler and Martin Luther King never had that to contend with. 

This is what it's like

It would be wrong to say that my audience was under my control. A surfer who rides a giant wave only gives the appearance of having mastery over the unstoppable force which could overtake him and drag him under at any moment. If you hesitate or show any fear or doubt, you’re finished. You can only know what it’s like if you’ve been there.

Even my own kids (the aforementioned Roger Jr and four-year-old Tancred) were largely swept away in the madness of the crowd, and played the games along with the others for almost a full two thirds of my allocated slot.

It is practically unheard-of that so much time (20 minutes) should pass before the irresistible temptation to commandeer a monopoly of Daddy’s attention kicks in.

Of course, each son was only responding to an “amber alert” in their own scale of priorities – amber being parental attention focused on any person other than themselves. A red alert, of course, is invoked only if that other person is their brother. At this point the doctrine of struggle by any means necessary through to victory at any cost is immediately put into action. Fortunately, the crisis never escalated to that level from which – as you know – there can be no turning back.

So my stint as a children’s entertainer ended with Tancred sitting on my knee, demanding to be bounced up and down and Roger Jr attempting to prise the iPad out of my hands to play “What Does The Fox Say” for yet another unsolicited encore.

But in terms of the goals I set out to achieve, I have no hesitation in declaring in the whole experience an unalloyed triumph.

We all have our talents – some more valuable, dignified and lucrative than others. I seem to be good at keeping the attention of primary school children for short periods of time.

However, I am fully booked for the upcoming months and therefore not available for your child’s party. Maybe next year.