I have never been a fan of group singing. Sure after a few gins in the local bar on a foreign holiday I am likely to miraculously transform into a white, slightly sun burnt in places Tina Turner and seize a microphone and belt out some tunes but in the UK before gin o clock group singing is simply wrong.
And if you have toddlers you will find it everywhere.
Go to a baby swimming class where you expect to learn breaststroke and front crawl and suddenly you will hear the fateful,
“Let’s all come into the middle for a little singsong.”
Christ on a bike, nothing is more awkward than six women, one obligatory fella, seven toddlers (of which three are screaming) stood semi naked in water that only comes up to their privates trying to bounce round in a circle mumbling ‘this is the way we splash our hands’ whilst an over enthusiastic teacher yells ‘c’mon mummies and daddies, I can’t hear you.’
I alone know what I want her to hear me say.
I took BB to a ‘bounce’ session recently where she reveled in throwing herself off bouncy castles and launching herself at various soft items. It was all rather pleasant, I had tea, a chair and the girl was happy. Then some woman in a brightly coloured sweater ruined it all by announcing it was time to do a ‘sing along’ and my good mood wandered off to play on the swing.
I sat between a tone deaf over zealour ex choir girl who sang the entire of wheels on the bus in a flat soprano and a middle aged man who looked shell shocked by the whole proceedings. Later he confided that his wife had sent him under false pretences of tea and chair, no mention had been made of the non optional frog chorus. I gave him the name of my therapist, it was the least I could do.
And nursery rhymes don’t just infiltrate and damage my day life.
Picture the scene,
The kids are asleep, it is Friday night, the wine is poured. It is grown up time.
The wine is consumed, and enjoyed and one thing leads to another and suddenly you find yourself forgetting you are a parent and being captured by ‘the mood.’
Soft tones beckon from the bedroom where the iPod shuffles through an assortment of songs, candles flicker and ‘the mood’ moves your feet towards your other half who has also ‘enjoyed the wine’.
The iPod shuffles from Marvin Gaye to the sweet tones of Adele and you close the door…
It is grown up time. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off.
Then suddenly, as abruptly as ripping a plaster off a festering sore Adele is over taken by Scoot, Muck and Dizzy, and fecking Roly too. Then Lofty and Wendy join the crew and they all work together to get the job done.
I tell you, Bob is the only person who managed to get the job done that night.
Bob the Builder, he did very little fixing I can tell you.
I hate nursery rhymes almost as much as I hate iPod shuffle.