Jay Kay's Uncle tries to take a snap
of him for the family album
I’ve never really classed myself as a Mummy blogger, although from time to time I post about my family. But I want all those Mummy bloggers out there to know, you’ve got a shelf life, ladies. The day is going to come, sooner than you think, where you will not be able to write about your kids. And sadly it is the point at which they start doing the most bloggable stuff- the teenage years. You can pretty much time it- they will no longer let you write about them as soon as you catch them spraying on deodorant or voluntarily brushing their hair. The day you hear them running a bath for themselves is the day you need to look elsewhere for material.
Think you can have a good laugh about their awkward attempts at adulthood? Think again. Think you can make fun of their personal hygiene issues for the enjoyment of your readers? Move on. Think you can take photos of the state of their bedroom floors and invite strangers to openly mock them? Don’t dare even try.
Indy is online. And Indy does not want me involved in his online life unless I am actively promoting his films like some kind of unpaid public relations flunky, or driving a stunt car for one of his films (uncredited I may add. Click here to see the film.), or giving him any money via Paypal for any reason. I have done nothing, I've barely even been on his pages, but I am banned nonetheless. As are his previous online buddies; his dad, his Uncles, his Aunties and his grandparents. We’ve all been given the cyber heave ho.
A month after asking to be my Facebook buddy the boy has dropped me like so many aging female TV presenters from long running shows. If anything he says or does comes up on my timeline due to a connection with mutual acquaintances he demands to know how I came by such top secret information as if I am actively hacking his account like a Wikileaks operative. He drew the line at raking up some misdemeanour I was involved with in Finland a couple of years ago, but thankfully common sense and the horror of losing access to my spaghetti bolognaise prevailed.
When my book was being published he issued me with a strong warning, which could be admissible in any Scottish court, “There better not be anything about me in there”. There isn’t, son, it’s all based on your Dad who is the blogger's equivalent of a performing seal. As long as he's in the room, you are safe.
So exploit the cute and hilarious antics of your kids for as long as possible, Mums and Dads, and keep an eye out for new material, because your kids will be turning into Indys soon enough. And knowing kids these days, some may even have blogs of their own to dish the dirt on you.