- By trade I am a journalist with a background in current affairs, culture, health and fitness, travel and high profile interviews. I also own and run an outdoor fitness business aimed at people that hate gyms and bootcamps (www.spartanfitnesslondon.co.uk). Most importantly though, I am on Shared Parental Leave from May 31 to October 3. Everyday from 0730 to 1800 I will be in sole charge of a real and completely awesome baby girl.
Friday, 17 June 2016
DAY 17 – ENGLAND FOOTBALL... or GYMBOREE!
2pm, June 16. England versus Wales in the Euros; a rare meeting of two rival countries with valuable points and the giant matter of pride at stake.
Or… Gymboree – discovering music, beat and rhythm for six-16-month-olds.
Option two please!
Rather than turn myself into half-man-half-sofa and settle in for all the pre-match build up, the match itself and then the post-match post mortem, with delicious food and drink ready to consume at all times, I opted to attend a class that was akin to being in a stage musical in real life.
Instead of hearing Gooooaaaaaal when Jamie Vardy equalised on 56 minutes I was on a soft mat hearing a teacher’s dulcet tones warbling “I’M GETTING A BALL, A BALL, A BAAAAALL”; “SAY HE-LL-OOO TO JIIIIIIM, SAY HELLO TO JIM”.
Jim was the class clown. Literally. A clown doll, called Jim. The babies absolutely loved Jim, but to be honest he/it sent a shiver down my spine. I did not trust Jim, or what the painted smile freak stood for.
Ninety per cent of all words uttered by the Gymboree teacher were sung to/at us, which in itself made me laugh because that is not a normal way to carry on. But what really kept the childish smirk on my face was the fact that the songstress had a great voice, she wasn’t one of those tries-hard-but-is-garbage singers. However I did get the impression that our leader lives her life believing that one day a parent will be a record producer and will offer to “take her to the top, kiddo”. I suppose it’s always good to believe, even if it’s a bit niche.
The unavoidable truth was that although she was kitted out in a fetching England vest, the A-bomb was not interested in a football match on television, whereas she loved hearing jingle bells, playing with beach balls and crawling (nearly crawling) up wooden planks. And that’s how decisions are made.
We didn’t watch ANY of the football but we had a great time.
The rest of the day was spent feeding tuna, natural yoghurt and avocado to M’lady, and walking home while attempting to finalise the admin of a Stag-do that I have organised for this weekend.
On that note, from Friday-Sunday I will be at a yet-to-be-publicly-revealed location for a Stag. I aim to update with further news of my daughter but it would be wrong of me to promise anything.