Devil's Spawn

I have been told on occasion, that I am a little ‘quirky’, and on even more occasions that I’m just plain weird. This isn’t because of my 50’s dresses and bright red hair, it’s not down to my pink vespa with rainbow flowers, it’s not even to do with the fact that I don’t own a single pair of trousers...nope it’s because of the following statement that I am about to confirm here in black and white.

I HATE SPROGS. In fact I hate them with a passion.

I don’t like the way that they look, I can’t stand the way that they sound, when they scream it makes me want to do the same, and the supposedly ‘cute’ habits, you know the really ‘charming’ things like running around naked, singing, mispronouncing their R’s – it all just gets on my wick.

At this point, I am going to perform an astonishing mind reading activity – you see as you read this you are thinking ‘what is wrong with you?’, well dear reader, nothing, nothing is wrong with me, I just don’t like children, similar to the way that you don’t like cockroaches. To which you are now thinking ‘you can’t compare cockroaches to babies – they are adorable’, and now I will reply with the simple question – ‘Are they? Are they really?’ Because, I don’t find it adorable when they sit behind me on a plane kicking my chair, I don’t find them adorable when they get the hiccups and spit up weird white foamy goo, nor do I find it adorable when the fling popcorn at my hair during a trip to the cinema. So now you are going to pull out your big guns, because, you sprog lovers adore this final statement, you say it with such utter confidence – because this is the real doozey of a response ‘But you was a child once’. There you go. You said it. And all I need to say to that is... EXACTLY! But before you start getting out the holy water, you need to hear me out (because let’s face it, I get to hear your arguments time and time again).

I Hate Sprogs when I’m Shopping

If there is one thing that I hate more than people with ‘push-tram egos’ it’s the Sprogs that have escaped from the confines of their push trams. Let’s take this one topic at a time. Why, in a crowded shopping centre do people with pushtrams believe that because they have a buggy, they have superiority over all other shoppers? You know the type, they see that everyone else is patiently allowing passers through, but they don’t wait to the side like everyone else, oh no – they charge through the middle, steam rollering any innocent bystander with their mama&paper buggy of bruises! Oh, and why, do they have to be left right in front of what I wish to look at? Can’t you move it so that it’s in your way and not mine? After all, it was you that should have had a headache...not me.

Ok, so if it’s not the parents it’s the escapee sprogs – and this always happens when Christmas shopping. The sprog is harness free and out in the wild (well Lakeside shopping centre at least), they have a toy car or truck, that they are happily shooting across the shop floor, I say happily, I mean happily until you trip over it and land painfully on the polished floor moments before you hear the crunch of tomy plastic underneath your spine. The scream and wails that follow do not come from you and your slipped disk, but from the bright red banshee demon that is frantically thrashing its arms across the floor retrieving the rogue wheel that has burst from its body and is now rolling under the counter.

I Hate Sprogs when I’m on Holiday

Planes – Screaming, Kicking, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ - Need I say more?

If cats and dogs have to be kept in hold - surely the same rule should apply to under 21's

I Hate Sprogs when I’m having a Day Out

Not being the most mature grown up in the world, I still like doing things that I did when I was a kid – going to see the dinosaurs at the natural history museum, feeding the elephants at Colchester Zoo or seeing the sharks at the London Aquarium. What I do not like is how parents shove their sprogs in front of me. Why do they do this? Why would I want to let your sprog infront of me? Unlike myself, they haven’t paid their entry fee and let’s face it, they have many more years in their life than what I have, so why should I let them queue jump? If I hadn’t wanted to feed the heffalump, I wouldn’t have joined the queue – as contrary to my British heritage, I’m not a lover of waiting in queues for no apparent reason.

I am a photographer. I always have a camera with me. So when I go to London Aquarium and it’s shark feeding time, you can pretty much understand that there is a reason why I have been sitting in front of the glass for the past 15 minutes. A few years ago, I had the perfect shot lined up. The shark was perfectly posed in front of my lens, she had just opened her mouth to eat, and then just as I pressed the shutter, some hell demon popped the back of its head in front of my lens and blocked the shot. By the time my anger had dissipated, and my vision returned, the shark had eaten and exited, the sprog had happily hopped off, leaving me staring in disbelief at my shot-less camera and the smeary jam hand print that was left against the glass. I am sure there is a reason Richard Attenborough goes to such anti-human locations, and it’s not entirely for the cinematography.  

I Hate Sprogs when I’m at a Restaurant

I come out to dinner to relax & kickback – I do not come here to play babysitter to your sprog that is running back and forth around the restaurant. I don’t like eating in front of strangers as a rule, so I really really don’t find it amusing to be gawped at by the sprog that has attached itself (literally) to my table. If am a at a diner style restaurant, I don’t want to see bouncing brats on the spongy leather as they jump up and (and I don’t want to see their dinner as it reappears down their t-shirt). Oh, and no, I don’t decide to go out to dinner to listen to you and your sprog arguing over the fact that if he doesn’t eat his veg he won’t get any dessert. If you want a night off from your little darlings, do the right thing and leave them at home. Do not take them out and inflict them on the rest of society...we will have to deal with them in ten years time anyway when they turn teenagers.

Oh and don’t even get me started on teenagers...