Return of The Calpol Kid – With a Vengeance

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October 30, 2013 by benmblackman

Following a successful first term at Cambridge University, I mean Reception Class, Lancashire, we were all gearing up for a fun week break at our house. She only went and won the first ever Year R Achievement Certificate of 2013 by the way, didn’t she?

Achievement CertificateYou…set a super example for others to follow…you are a super star!

Their words, not mine.

So, imagine our surprise when, come 3.25pm on Thursday afternoon, having broken up for half term, Freddy Kruegar seemed to come home in place of the Angel Gabriel.

To be fair, we had been building her up for an all inclusive 3 day and night bender with Nanny & Grandad so, when what sounded horribly like a smokers cough came on, and the alternative was advised (she’d be stuck with us two idiots instead), it was only a matter of time before things took a turn for the worse.

Us two idiots

Us two idiots.

After 2 nights of sleep deprivation, things really came to a head mid-way through Saturday. Nobody was on top form really. Unsurprising seeing as, during the few hours sleep we had tried for, we had, between 3 of us and 2 beds, managed all possible logistical bed based combinations:

Me & Mrs B in our bed / Calpol Kid in hers;

Mrs B and Calpol Kid in our bed / me in hers;

Me and Calpol Kid in our bed / Mrs B in hers;

Mrs B in our bed / Me and Calpol Kid in hers;

Me in our bed / Mrs B and Calpol Kid in hers;

All in our bed.

Confused? You would be at 4am after that had been going on for 2 hours!

I wonder who bought their watches?

I wonder who bought their watches? What about their houses? Cars? Ok, we get he message, ‘girls’.

By Saturday afternoon she was dishing out more attitude than the whole of Destiny’s Child combined (Independent Woman Video). She was, what can only be described as, angry with life. It was decided I should take her for a drive, try to get her to sleep.

No sooner had we set off, her diva demands continued. “Number 11…put it on number 11.” (Pack up your troublesEliza Doolittle.) It’s not the ideal ‘get your angry 4 year old off to sleep’ music. After 4 laps of the village and 5 plays of number 11, “Again.” “Again.” “Again.” I was still hopeful for a result.

“Just close your eyes, darling, you’ll feel a lot better if you have a sleep.”



A couple of plays of the Doolittle later, I peered into the rearview mirror to see if she had relented.


Oh shut up, Paris.

Not this again, Paris.

I imagine this is what it is like driving Paris Hilton around for a living. At least you get paid for that. And you can go home at the end of the day!

We headed home. Mrs B was delighted to see us both walking back up the path to the door. I think that’s why she ran upstairs so fast and hid.

At time of writing, in the 32 hours leading to this point alone, I can think of the following code violations:

Shouting; snatching; scratching; screaming; coughing (she was ill remember – poor thing); but then – throwing (various items around – as well as herself); poking (the cat); biting (well that was the cat in retaliation actually).


Warming – her bum up on the stove continuously. This was both annoying and dangerous, so double bad.

The fish fingers were a little 'over' apparently.

The fish fingers were a little ‘over’ apparently.

Spitting – food out onto my hand because it was, “disgusting.”

Stealing – Mrs B’s wine (she hates it when someone does that – especially when it’s a 4 year old).

Wiping – her nose on Mrs B’s dressing gown. As far as ‘wiping’ incidents go, I’ve seen worse!

In the end it had all got a bit much for me. I had used so many threats and punishments I was struggling to find more.

“Don’t be naughty or I’ll…I’ll…put you in the garden.” She laughed at this one. Same. You had to really.

But nobody was laughing when I came downstairs to hear the following exchange:

Mrs B: “Get in the living room, now.”

The Calpol Kid: “YOU get in the bloody living room.”

She knew she’d done wrong and took herself upstairs for voluntary Time Out, forthwith!

I’m not sure where she learnt that sort of language. Well, of course I am! Oh, you thought the B in Mrs B was for Blackman? Mrs ‘Bloody’ Blackman they call her! Potty mouth.

She looks like a woman but talks like a man...

She walked like a woman and talked like a man…

I set her up on my computer and let her have a go on the CBeebies website. The Calpol Kid I mean, not Mrs ‘Bloody’ Blackman. After some time of calm I smugly pontificated, “It’s actually quite educational in moderation…”

“She’s just watching Charlie & Lola you know?”


Well, at least she was doing it quietly…Until the battery ran out.

You wouldn't be smiling after THAt 32 hours, Nanny.

You wouldn’t be smiling after THAT 32 hours, Nanny.

The Three Day Nanny is more than welcome to pop round to our house, if she likes. I wouldn’t recommend the full stint though!


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