IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:The 'bad dad' himself is finding life as a celebrity author not quite as he expected
I'M FINISHING a publicity tour. There, that sounds grand, eh? Very glam. My first book, The Bad Dad's Survival Guide, has been published and is in all good bookshops now.
It is so good it has a quote from Ross O’Carroll-Kelly on the front and back covers. My reference to it is, of course, not a cynical attempt to sell a few copies of said book, but rather an attempt to shine a light on the effect my new-found superstar status has had on my relationship with my children.
But back to the publicity tour. Due to my celebrity I wondered would we all be camping out at the Merrion or the Shelbourne while in Dublin. I reined myself in, realising that everyone has to make sacrifices, and decided I wouldn’t complain if we wound up in The Clarence.
Imagine my shock when it transpired that poor auld great-granny was having the pleasure of the whole family’s company for the guts of a week. It turns out great-granny beats the five-stars hands down every time.
For a start, she has a chair lift. The kids, of course, get a kick out of this. It’s too slow though, so it appeals more to me. It rocked for a while, but the half-hour commute to make the five-step trip to the bathroom began to have possible urgent consequences so I occasionally had to step off and walk upright.
What the kids discovered is that the rail on which the chair travels is slippery, at approximately small girl’s backside height and has banisters as a natural safety device.
Cue many hours of bumsleighing, interrupted the odd time by my regular departures to the bathroom and great-granny’s need to go up or down stairs.
Wife wondered why everything was kicking it in the stairwell and went so far as to break all known protocol and lure us into the living room with promises of Top Gearand Doracartoons. We ignored of course and returned to varied speeds of entertainment.
Great-granny also cooks and likes to see her menfolk leave the house in the morning only when they have been suitably fuelled for the day. Fantastic.
At one point we both wondered aloud how had my wife made it to her age without any particular baking knowledge, exactly the sort of conversation that would usually have me in stocks. But here, this was actively encouraged and the missus had a tutorial that should have me sampling a variety of fruit and plain scones in the coming weeks. No five-star could offer such service.
However, I fear the missus’s enthusiasm may wane on her return to her own kitchen and I may have to make do with shop scones.
On the first morning, all of us engorged on various crispy and delicious pig parts, it only remained to see which chariot the publisher would send to ferry me to my various appointments. I hoped for something impressive to raise awareness among my children that daddy is now a mover and shaker: a Maybach, a Bentley, a Lincoln Continental maybe.
Nah, a ’99 Focus. Diesel. With a man in a tracksuit sucking on a diet Coke. He may have mentioned the recession once or twice on our trip. If only I could remember what he’d said, we’d all be set.
Despite my disappointment, I waved gamely to the girls from the passenger window and hoped this image would remain burned into their psyche, of daddy off to light up the media world. Unfortunately, they were already spinning inside to resume downstairs snowboarding tricks development. I’m sure it was a trick of the light, but it looked like the missus was giving me two fingers.
That evening great-granny once again played a stormer and everyone tucked into juicy roast chicken, crispy potatoes, moist stuffing, rich gravy and a selection of delicately steamed vegetables. The missus dared us to compare it to hers.
We kept the heads down until plates were scraped and licked. At that point I knew great-granny had done too much, so I encouraged the missus to sort out dessert, tea and coffee while I focused on practising my signing of books.
No doubt she regretted pouring fresh, boiling tea into my lap, but the upshot was that I had to wear my second-favourite cords the next day and felt a little uncomfortable.
The days passed and my star glowed and waned. Now, we are attempting to resettle into normality which is tricky for the kids after their brief exposure to the paparrazi’s lens. Still, I think they’re happy to have their lovable, regular-Joe dad back.