Right then...

Okay, I've been a bit shit at updating this recently. In my defence there's been work, cricket, pre-season friendlies, big drunken catch-up sessions and murder getting in the way.

But enough of the rest of August's posts, let's talk babies.

Yeah. You heard me. The evil scrot-like things that refuse to stop bothering the planet like an intergalactic herpes infection.

Now I'm not averse to the concept of having children*, but there's no way I want them anytime soon - and rather brilliantly neither does Mrs. RS (a most beneficial side-effect of being the older person in a relationship). Maybe one day, you never know, but not in our near future.

If we do decide to have kids however and I ever turn into the type of parent I'm about to outline, you all officially have my permission to kill me in a variety of hideous ways.

For there is a type of parent (usually the father) whom lurches from disinterested 'yeah, gonna have a kid. That's my golf handicap out of the window' before the birth to 'my life is so amazing, I have a child. A baby. Awwww. A baby, Did I say I had a baby? Isn't she the most beautiful baby ever? Look, my baby. Awww. The building is on fire? Oh, well we'll only get through the first 10,000 baby photos before they evacuate us' afterwards.

The sort of person who's every sentence, every email, every text, twitter, blogpost, phone call or letter is about their bloody child. As if somehow they're the only people who have ever had children. As if doing something only 10 billion other humanoid creatures have ever done is somehow worthy of worship.

This is a genuine example from an acquaintance of mine with only the name changed - and is the sort of thing I get in a thrice-daily facebook update:

Piglet did her 1st crawl today!! Oh noes.....mobile baby!! Woo hoo!

I feel sick.

Yeah, you had a kid. Congrats. You achieved something hundreds of thousands of other people have done IN THIS COUNTRY THIS YEAR. Big ups to the nappy massive.

If someone who did something else that's rather tough, gets done once a year and is done by hundreds of thousands of people (say, run a marathon maybe) and talked about NOTHING ELSE everytime you saw them - you'd rightly tag them as a boring fucknut.

Of course, the vast majority of parents are not like this at all. The world is divided into two types - those that get on with raising their children, and those that get a sign in the back window of their car saying 'Baby on Board' - and we all know some boring fucknut like that....


This rant was brought to you by the emotion 'moody', the physical sensation 'tired' and the logical conclusion that too many parents are 'selfish wankers'.


*That may actually come as a genuine shock to some of you