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Why I’m Old Macdonald’s biggest fan

A personal view
A personal view

So this week, I found myself laying on a hospital floor performing a sort-of-sit-up before taking part in a race called ‘Robot, Squish’.

Prior to that, I could be seen chasing around a pillar in Tesco (other supermarket pillars are available) and singing about Old Macdonald having a car and a house in the middle of Bury St Edmunds town centre.

I probably should explain.

It all started from my mum actually. An amazing nan who has so many grandchildren I actually have to stop everything to count and remind myself the number, my dear mum is, well, a little crazy. But only in the best way possible.

She has allowed me to say that she is in her 70s but it doesn’t stop her taking part in mini- competitions in our hallway-turned-football-stadium, dashing to play hide and seek when I walk through the front door or helping my four-year-old learn using letters made out of the guinea pig’s hay!

I probably should explain.

Playing the fool, for me, is all part of parenting and, in my mum’s case, grand-parenting.

There is pretty much no finer thing that seeing your child laugh, I mean really laugh, and I learned quickly that often happens at my expense.

So naturally I am happy to play my part in front of the ‘cameras’ in a film directed by their young minds.

Whether it is making a honk sound when the youngest presses my nose to being part of a one-man team ‘Old Man United’ when we play football.

I have now honed this art to such a point where I pretty much have no filter.

I often don’t think about where I am or who is around me. So I will be singing Old Macdonald in Bury – with my son, I hasten to add – or literally running rings alongside him in the middle of a supermarket.

Luckily, my wife has accepted this, probably realising she has no choice but to put up with this mad fool – me, not my mum.

So when George, my youngster, attended physio at West Suffolk Hospital on Tuesday night to try and ease a long-standing tip-toe problem, I thought nothing of showing him what exercises needed to be done.

Turning it into a sports day to encourage my nervous child, there I was attempting to win gold in the backwards walking event, a heel and flat-footed game christened as ‘Robot, Squish’ and then laying on the floor doing some poor form of sit-up to boost his tender stomach muscles.

A man of almost 37 years old should know better. But do you know what? I loved it.

It was a break from being an adult and a chance to bring a smile and a laugh to my young son. What could be better than that?


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