AKA Daddy AKA Fatty

I was hit by a realisation I’ve been ignoring for years yesterday, not between the eyes, but in the knees. Both of the them. 

Emma and I took the Jam-eater trampolining and I have to admit it was pretty good fun. In fact I had so much fun, I was oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t realised how out of shape I am.

Apart from the pretty standard ‘blowing out of my arse’ for a good five minutes after trying to show off to Emma and Florence on the trampolines, it really hit home later on in the day. 

By the end of the day my knees were written off. I waddled up the stairs in pain, resembling a drunk man who was staggering as if he had shit his pants. Twice.   This morning I limped back down the same stairs, like you would expect the prettiest inmate in a prison to walk after dropping the soap in the shower.   I’m only 33 I shouldn’t be this knackered after a bit of Toddler time trampolining should I?

So there it is, I need to improve my fitness to keep up with the Jam-eater if not for her sake, for mine. I’m bound to come up against one of those superfit dads you see at the soft play areas. You know, the ones the other Dads don’t like for the very same reason as me. 

If your unaware of who this is, let me enlighten you. He’s usually the arsehole who is a physical specimen of a man, perfect teeth, immaculate hair and  showboating for all the Mothers present  by doing a backflip into the ballpool. What a c**t!  

I don’t want to be like that by any means, but I do want to be able to go toe to toe with Flo when it comes to sports and the like. You may notice the tone of this blog  get slightly more aggressive while I cut sugar out of my diet over the next week or so. 

Ah well, it’s not like it’s Easter anytime soon…

…oh shit. 


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