Imagine the scene. You are fourteen and eleven years old. It’s Saturday night. Your mum is flapping around the house, running backwards and forwards to the kitchen – in her turban, wearing glittery eye shadow and possibly her dance shoes. She’s setting the coffee table with snacks and she’s already opened the cava. You’ve got some kind of own brand pop. Boo that. She’s ushering you into the lounge.
She is ridiculously excited and quite frankly, you don’t get it. You look at each other and raise your eyes to the heavens.
The theme tune starts – it’s Strictly Come Dancing/The Voice/Britain’s Got Talent/Catchphrase/any one of a number of other programmes of a similar ilk! (Although admittedly, Catchphrase is usually a last resort in times of crisis).
The above is a picture of me (the one in the turban), in an alternate universe where I have children and I am unwittingly foisting my love of cheesy light entertainment programmes on them. Whilst all the while genuinely thinking that I am in fact the world’s coolest mum, recreating the ambience and excitement of a television studio, in their very own living room.
Said ambience mainly provided by my own spontaneous whoops and clapping and cheering. Nuff said.
What my children actually want to do, is go and hang out at a friend’s house, maybe have a sleepover, talk about boys/girls/Selena Gomez/Justin Bieber/ (horrified mother)/the state of the economy, and face what’s time app each other. Or whatever the kids are doing these days.
And so, you might easily understand why this over-eagerness to share my passion for Saturday night television, is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #23.