Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 044: Daddy’s a silly sausage
Week two of my holiday started lazily. Relearning the locations of toys with an excited toddler.
Following a day of indoor play, Piglet let herself out of the bathroom after her bath and sprinted to her “Big Girl Bed” shouting for stories. The acceptable adult reaction is to remain in the bathroom whispering “Squeeee.”
Rather than go into work for a single day, and continuing the day of odd jobs, I picked up the forever unfinished to-do list. Not as productive. Mostly standing in shop queues, despairing at the British public.
It was in service of leaving with banked brownie points before the Annual Boys Cricket Away Day: 2020-ish Edition in Nottingham. It’s my first time away from The Chef and Piglet since March 2020 and it felt unexpectedly sad to be leaving them.
A quiet sunny morning to re-pot the tomatoes and tidy with a strong coffee was a sterling tonic. I embraced my hipster leanings and rode my first eScooter to the train station.
Once all there and as, let’s say, mature gentlemen we decided against trying to save ourselves for a night out after the cricket and went big (for a group of dads) on the first night. Almost breaking a table in the burger place while the staff despaired at the British public was a giddy start. On to pints and Indie Wednesday with Jaegerbombs aplenty, we left when down to our last soupçon of dignity. Never did the Courteeners sing more aptly.
Shockingly, I’m the last one listening to new music. Have a Curtis Harding interlude to acknowledge this.
With surprisingly few sore heads, we sat under heavy skies for the cricket. The game mirrored our energy levels. One for the purists as the euphemism goes. The arrival of afternoon rain meant we could sneak back to the flat for naps. No-one pretended to be upset. The rain, in a bout of cruelty, stopped before we could lie down. And started again after we’d returned to the ground. A taxi ride to walk home in the rain twice. That soupçon of dignity was damp.
The last day was filled with clear heads, vicarious Olympic triumph and a wander around gentrified Sneinton market. I met The Chef off the train for delicious food to celebrate six years. We matched the years with six glasses of wine. Between us, mind.
She told me of Piglet’s bad night’s sleep and crying out for daddy from her nightmares and my heart just.
So I’m looking forward to being reunited tomorrow and hoping she’s in the clingy-cuddle mood and not the punish-and-ignore-me one.
8 August 2021