EWAN’S BLOG – ALMOST 3 Years old- PANTOMIME BARRED!
Hi, Ewan here.
Now, as you all know I am not one to bitch, complain, or negative but this week I am making an exception.
You make one stand, do you not, and it is held against you for life. Grandad did warn me that that was the case.
You remember a few weeks ago I was forced into going to the pantomime. No one asked if I wanted to go or if I minded going with them. It was coat on bundled into the car and I was there. It felt like a kidnapping more than a day out.
So I protested. Wouldn’t you?
Someone had to take me out and miss the pantomime, to look after me. Big deal. Mamma much prefers to be with me any way and Uncle ColCol was sensible enough to go to the pub whilst everyone else went to the pantomime.
To be honest the real reason I objected was because of the quality of the show. If they expected me to sit through that junk I was worried as to the effect it would have on my cultural development, being exposed to such crap for a long length of time at my tender age.
So you make a stand and you are penalised. You get marked for life. “Ewan doesn’t like pantomimes.”
No! Wrong! I didn’t like that one. I may like others. Let me be the judge. I’m old enough to make up my own mind.
But due to that one little tantrum of safeguarding my cultural development I am sentenced, in my absence, to be the stay at home kid if any pantomimes come round.
On Wednesday evening – yes I know it’s a school day and nursery day and we are not allowed to do fun things on those days, especially after dark. Curfew time. School, nursery and bed or the bogey man or even worse, the Big Bad Mouse from the Gruffalo will come and get you – Mum, Grandad and Mamma took Rory to the pantomime and I was sent to bed. All because I had stood up to protect my cultural development.
Now, I wasn’t supposed to know this. Mum packed Rory’s bag and said he was going to school. The doorbell rang, there was no one there. But I knew it was Grandad. He has a very distinctive ring of our doorbell.
Oh yeah, NIGHT SCHOOL? It sounds like something from Grandad’s day. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.
On top of that I heard Mum say on the telephone: “On Wednesday evening, we are going to the Palace Theatre at Mansfield for 7.15pm to see the pantomime Cinderella performed by the Mansfield Hospitals Theatre Troupe. They’ve been putting on a pantomime since 1980, you know.”
I tell a lie – my Mum never ever talks to anyone on the phone any more. She texts or What’sapps or Facebooks so I must have heard her tell someone. I can only read if there is a picture with the words.
So Mum if you are reading this your undercover stuff didn’t work. I’m too sharp. I make it my duty to know what’s going on.
She got the tickets a while ago. You have to, it’s Mansfield Hospitals Theatre Troupe with some doctors, obviously, and you want to see any doctors you have to book at least three weeks in advance.
That left me and Dad home alone, as usual.
Now I have nothing against being home alone with my Dad. He’s a not bad guy. To be honest there’s no one I’d rather be bonding with. But he’s a bit over pedantic. There is no way he will let me stay up. He insist I go to bed. It’s worse than having Mum at home. You expect it of Mum but you’d have thought Dad being a fellow bloke would allow me to stay up, eat a few goodies, watch a bit of footie, Highway Rat or/and Madagascar 3.
But no chance. He’s lived with Mum too long, and to be honest a bit scared of her and daren’t deviate from her instructions.
He (and Mum) are so misguided on childcare. At night when I am relaxing after a hard day at nursery and I’m wide awake, loving life and enjoying what I’m doing they insist I go to bed. When I’m tired out and fast asleep in the morning they insist on waking me up and send me to nursery. Where’s the sense in that? Crazy people!
Grandad says that’s a very old Grandad Joke. Believe me it’s no joke when it’s happening to you. It is very real.
So Dad and me did a bit of Father/Son bonding, watched a bit of TV, had a bottle (or two), a choc-choc bear, we had a bit of a knock about (I won until Dad cheated and picked me up with my ankles – I shall remember that and one day I will be bigger than him and get him back and do that to him). Then, we had a couple of stories. I always try to get more on the grounds of my literature development, but really it is to put off going to sleep. But my Dad has a Maths Degree from Loughborough University so he sees through that.
I saw my brother Rory’s empty bed and cried myself to sleep.
But next morning, as if by magic he was there as my parents forced us to wake up. (See told you.)
And it was really by magic. Brother Rory said the Fairy godmother in the pantomime had waved her magic wand and magiced him from the pantomime into his bed. But I don’t care.
He had a book about the pantomime that was stupid. You will not believe this but there was no flaps in it. Not one! How can they legally get away with calling that a book?
I’m pleased I didn’t see the pantomime anyway. It was too girly for me. Ok I know I’m not being gender neutral but apparently it was about shoes, a ghost and ugly sisters.
I don’t have any ugly sisters just an ugly brother.
Oh help Mum, Dad I think according to the gender neutral police I am supposed to have an ugly sister as well as an ugly brother.
Oh yes I am.
The next night I did get to go out after dark. It was Grandad David’s birthday party. He is supposed to be older than my other grandad yet looks so much younger. Grandad says that’s because he has had to father two daughters.
I don’t think I will have two daughters if you look that bad at the end of it.
Bye Bye, Ewan