All that comes with it

The national railway museum is currently hosting a day out with Thomas; an event where you pay £8 each to queue up for three quarters of an hour in order to have a 5 minute train ride. To be fair though if you time your arrival for about three when people start going home you can probably avoid the queues altogether. This means you can still get a good two hours of anthropomorphic train action before you’re thrown out.

Amy has never been as fanatical about Thomas as some kids are, but she likes to watch the show and certainly recognises the brand. She tends to favour the more obscure characters than the main protagonists. Cranky the crane is probably her favourite, closely followed by an engine called Emily. When we told Amy that we were going she immediately asked “Will the trains have eyes on?” - a testament to the number of times she’s been fobbed off by her parents telling her any old facially deficit steam train were various members of the cast.

As with my previous trip to the railway museum the train journey there was more blogworthy than the actual place itself. When we took our seats Amy immediately took a look round the carriage. Her gaze finally fixed on a man with tattoos covering the entire of his neck and half of his head - the most prominent of which declared he was Rotten to the core.

“Look Daddy!” she exclaimed loudly “That man’s got drawing all over his face! That’s very naughty isn’t it Daddy”

Fortunately the man in question wasn’t quite as rotten as he claimed. Later on in the journey he and I teamed up to encourage a woman who had just vomited in a plastic bag to go to the toilet to dispose of it rather than stuff it in the carriage’s rubbish bin. He even gave up his table seat so Kerry, Evan, Amy and I could all sit together as a family. Just goes to show that drawing on your face doesn’t necessarily make you a naughty boy.

The event itself was ok, but it would have been a lot more enjoyable if we had arrived when the crowds were thinning out rather than when they were at there peak. After an initial shaky start, with both Amy and Evan being tired and irritable, things eventually settled down. We went for a ride on Thomas and Diesel, we watched a few jugglers, Amy made a Fat Controller badge, and we bought various outrageously expensive merchandise. We all went home waving our plastic Thomas flags, satisfied and happy after a nice family day out.

Ever since I became a father my ability to watch TV has been greatly reduced. This isn’t because I don’t have the time anymore, nor is it because I am unable to focus due to the wailing of my offspring. No; the reason I am no longer able to watch TV is that as soon as I went from Dan to Daddy I suddenly and inexplicably turned into a big wet lettuce. These days even a sniff of a small child being in danger, or even unhappy, sends me scurrying into another room muttering “I can’t be doing with this”.

Which is ridiculous. My job is basically wallowing around in other people’s misery, and I have always been able to erect a relatively sturdy barrier between my work life and my home. I can spend all day talking to suicidal people and then come back and not be able to watch CSI because it’s too distressing. I mean, what’s all that about?

I’d like to be able to blame it on the manipulative media producers who, looking for an easy emotional punch, roll out the clichéd child in peril in order to tug on the heart strings; but that would be unfair. Even in films and TV shows where no such devices are used I manage to find some way to torture myself.

For example:

Troy
Brad Pitt and Sean Bean rush into Troy in order to sack the city and reclaim the beautiful Helen. Any normal red blooded male should be thinking “Cool! swords and fighting and bows and arrows and stuff!” I, on the other hand, was thinking “Oh no! There will be babies in that city!”

I am pathetic.

I’ve been told that this affliction is both relatively normal and also temporary. Kerry doesn’t seem to be affected though. She seems to be able to watch ER when babies are dying left right and centre without her bottom lip even so much as quivering. For now though I’ll stick to the internet, the radio, and my new DVD boxed set of Dad’s Army.

As far as Amy is concerned, toast and stale bread are interchangeable.