The glorious John
Humphries, whose dulcet tones certainly gets my blood pumping to the necessary places every morning, has spoken well on Radio 4 this morning about reading to children.
He quite rightly made
the point that Daddies reading to their little ones, is the job best suited to
Mummies. As he said children’s books ‘are not challenging enough’ for men to be
expected to read.
Now before the
feminists start their shrill rantings about men versus women. I say this. "Shush! Your time would be far better spent getting a make over".
Girls, I assure you there
is no need to make yourselves feel all worked up. If the good Lord had wanted
Daddies to read to children he would have made books a bit more complicated.
My own husband Piers
shouldn’t be expected to return home from a hard day at the council evicting
travellers, only to be forced to mumble his way through Harry Potter this or
Enid Blyton that.
We girls having spent
the day making our homes as beautiful and welcoming as can be for hubby, must
also make it a haven from his stress and worry. Hubby carries a huge burden of
responsibility and we must lessen that burden not increase it.
If you choose to
have children you mustn’t expect to stand red faced and whining and demanding help. It’s our job girls.
I’m fairly sure that along with letting ourselves go, getting a job and the suchlike, neglecting hubby's needs accounts for the rise in the
divorce rate.
I hardly expect that
in the Cameron home David would welcome returning from a hard day of Fiscal Stimulus, only for
Sam Cam to pack him off upstairs armed with his Skulduggery Pleasant, whilst she
settles on the chaise longue, feet up, mule slippers off, flicking her way through Fifty
Shades of Grey.
No she would not and
I’ll tell you for why.
Samantha Cameron
understands the role she has embraced. Devoted wife, doting mother and Britain,
as a country, is the better for it.
I like to imagine that of an evening, after the little ones are settled in their beds, Samantha and David chat about his day, as they should. Perhaps Sam massages his feet, their eyes will lock and they know exactly what they need to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders.
I like to imagine that of an evening, after the little ones are settled in their beds, Samantha and David chat about his day, as they should. Perhaps Sam massages his feet, their eyes will lock and they know exactly what they need to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders.
A quick round of UNO.
I hardly think any right-minded
man would expect to bring home the bacon, cook it himself and battle his right-minded
feelings of emasculated resentment, as his wife reads aloud from some awful screeching feminist tome.
If I wanted to reflect
on the type of liberal left wing co-parenting, which causes the fabric of
Society to tremble, I have only to consider the former incumbents of No 10.
I tell you the Browns
are definite NOT my role models with their leftist-isms. I see they are now supporting charities which
bring education to girls in the wider world.
Well that tells you
everything there is to know about THEM.
I will now share with
you the story of my friend Caroline Deplock.
She told me this in
confidence but it is for the greater good that I break that confidence and share it with you, as I feel we can all learn a good
lesson from her self induced misfortunes.
If it raises a smile along the way, or if our young ladies can see it for the warning portent of doom it truly is, then all the better.
If it raises a smile along the way, or if our young ladies can see it for the warning portent of doom it truly is, then all the better.
Caroline got a job as
something or other in media, insisted on shared parenting, gained four stone in
twelve years of marriage; ended up joining The Green Party and getting her nose
pierced.
She and Duncan are now
divorced. Duncan stoically remonstrated and many was the time that we all giggled along as he rightly put her straight on her odd views, which embarrasingly she shared in front of guests.
He was often to be seen gently reminding her in a room full of their closest friends how she had gained too much weight, how she was was neglecting herself and him, but no matter how many jokes he made or how many verses of "Who let the dogs out" he sang, the foolish woman would just burst into tears.
That sort of emotional manipulation and victimhood just makes me tired frankly.
He was often to be seen gently reminding her in a room full of their closest friends how she had gained too much weight, how she was was neglecting herself and him, but no matter how many jokes he made or how many verses of "Who let the dogs out" he sang, the foolish woman would just burst into tears.
That sort of emotional manipulation and victimhood just makes me tired frankly.
She may claim she "simply couldn't stand his sexist crap anymore", but I think we all know who was being the real sexist there Caroline.
I’m sure you’ll agree
with me that that tale sends shivers down the spine.
In conclusion I’ll
leave you with this advice. (People say that unsolicited advice is always perceived as criticism, but one just assumes they are jealous. I'm merely sharing my wisdom of the years I have lived, truly understanding what really counts. If they are too stupid to see that it's hardly my fault)
Ignore this, my call for good sense, at your peril girls, lest you find yourselves sometime in the not too distant future, carrying a placard in some god forsaken march for "rights", whilst your neglected soul mate busies himself with a woman, who knows her place.
Here is my favourite tune. It reminds me of a wonderful ferry crossing Piers and I took to Calais many years ago. I sang it to him at our last wedding anniversary and his close friend and work assistant Kathleen, movingly commented after I finished singing, that Piers is always telling her how much I go on.
Ignore this, my call for good sense, at your peril girls, lest you find yourselves sometime in the not too distant future, carrying a placard in some god forsaken march for "rights", whilst your neglected soul mate busies himself with a woman, who knows her place.
Here is my favourite tune. It reminds me of a wonderful ferry crossing Piers and I took to Calais many years ago. I sang it to him at our last wedding anniversary and his close friend and work assistant Kathleen, movingly commented after I finished singing, that Piers is always telling her how much I go on.
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