What a balls up - the great British election and other objects - down the crapper

So...the big news of the day...the big news on everyone's lips is...should I pick the Bob the Builder ball out of the toilet? The half flushed toilet? Ok. So - my son just crapped on it (don't ask! - but somehow his younger brother put it there whilst he was in mid contemplation). I could probably deal with that ok. But then he let rip with a full-on rocket cannon of urine - just to make sure it was fully soaked.

I'm sitting in the study at the time - looking up car service garage numbers (such is my insanely mundane life) when I hear those key words that are a dad's worst fear.

"Don't worry. Daddy will get it for you."

Even if the little one booted his football or launched his favourite dinosaur into the world's most populated minefield - this phrase would still be pronounced with great flourish. Like dad's are suddenly immune from IEDs and dog sh*t. (Which reminds me - since when did dad's get the job of washing ten tonnes of dog crap off the buggy wheels without the benefit of a bio-suit?).

So - I retrieved said ball and it was whilst soaking it in 100% industrial strength Domestos that I realised that the ball was a sodding sponge ball! Dear God - the crap was embedded! Seriously - I'd like to say "They don't pay me enough for this Sh*t" - but actually. No-one pays me. No-one pays any of us. That's just life. And hey - that's probaby no bad thing really.

And as for the election. A hung bloody parliament! Well there goes the nation for the next twenty years. Greece is probably just a precursor for the giant sh*tstorm of financial armageddon headed our way! And we don't even have a bloody legit prime minister! Crap. That's just about the worst possible outcome in the world ever. We might as well get Jimmy Saville to run the country!

And so - with the balance of power for the entire nation hanging in the balance - the family did the only thing it could do in these times of great uncertainty - we headed to the pub for a few swift pints (cravendale for the kids - Black bear for dad - and stella for the wife cos she's dead 'ard).

Back home and a quick blast on the climbing frame (yes it is still standing!) and I'm mesmerising the kids with Nick Jr as we speak. I start with the Clangers and hope that Bagpuss will have the desired effect and send them into a dead sleep. But no. Somehow the old Skool tv does not hold them. Does not exude the same transfixing power as it did on us.

I flick to Roary - and Peter kay sends them on their way. God bless you Peter. God bless yer! You fancy a job as PM?