Wakey Waaaay-key!

The “I’m up so where is my milk/breakfast?” situation.

Why do they think that shouting at your eye will do it? Then you have exactly 20.3 milliseconds to hope your nervous and muscular systems have come to enough to deflect the chubby finger headed towards your cornea.

Effective, undoubtedly, uses far fewer batteries than an alarm clock or phone alarm and is pretty much bang-on time EVEN ON WEEKENDS until BST and GMT start playing their games but really? Is this some kind of technique they learn in nursery?

Science Lab #1: The Tooth Fairy

Author: Rowdy


To establish the existence, or not, of The infamous Tooth Fairy once and for all.


The Tooth Fairy does not exist. My parents are practising an arch deception upon me and my denturefications.


Tooth; pillow.


1.Put freshly lost tooth under pillow.

2. Do NOT tell ANY parents.

3. Disguise toothlessness with cunning aids e.g. vase of flowers, book, all of the food, balaclava, surgical mask.

4. Act completely unsuspiciously.

5. Go to sleep.

6. Check under pillow for evidence of cash/note/fairy (compressed).


Discovered signed letter from The Tooth Fairy under pillow at 0500hrs.

(Parent appeared equally as excited when given briefing of observations at 0502hrs.)


The Tooth Fairy exists! Parents exonerated.

Further research indicated:

How does The Tooth Fairy get into my house?

Where does The Tooth Fairy get the cash? (Does she work for the leprechauns?)

If someone ransoms The Tooth Fairy how much cash will they get?

How big are The Tooth Fairy’s pockets?

Why has The Tooth Fairy still not brought me the magic wand I asked for after loss of tooth #2? Is it because I ate both bags of Haribo from the Hallowe’en stash?

Systematic review of literature regarding existence of The Tooth Fairy:

Authors: Rowdy’s parents


Before carrying out any future experiments remove substantial variable (see below) before it opens its gob.

British Summer Time

I don’t know the person who sets British Summer Time.

What I do know is that they don’t like their mum.

0605hrs is when this happened this morning.

Thoughtful? Yes. Punctual? Yes. Achieved maximum impact? Yes…but not in the way idealised by Clinton Cards. I don’t object to Mothering Sunday. In fact, seeing Rowdy & The Bobcat’s excited little faces (in extreme and unnecessary close-up) in presenting their school and preschool gifts respectively actually lends weight to the argument for keeping it. (Rowdy, in particular has come on leaps and bounds since arriving home with a brown paper bag containing a cereal bar with the sellotaped label ‘Breakfast in Bed’. Before sitting down and scoffing it right in front of me.) 

The one day where media (in general) supports mums nationwide in having vast amounts of chocolate just because AND an extra bit of kip and BST scuppers it good and proper.

Add to this that I was then barricaded from the kitchen while their creativity was spontaneously retriggered into more gift preparation (what mum does not favour a glue&feather parrot mask? TWO parrot masks? Bring it on). 

THREE HOURS they were in there. Their dad tried to lob tea and biscuits in my general direction to placate the beast (the PMT, carb-deficient, early-roused beast) but to no avail. The cry of “Just 5 more minutes, Mummy!” didn’t offer any consolation either as their grasp of the concept of time runs roughly parallel with their grasp of the concept of where cows magically turn into beef burgers.

Bedtime should be oddles of fun.