The patron saint of quality footwear

This Is Spinal Tap has been one of my favourite films for years, a perfect parody of a hard rock group (so perfect in fact that Liam Gallagher supposedly didn’t realise they weren’t a real band). It certainly has more quotable lines than almost any other movie I can name, and is one of the few that I can bear to watch again and again. So after a tough (well, average really) week at work, I though what could be better on a Friday night than another viewing of it, perhaps followed by a real music documentary (The Kathleen Hanna documentary is on Netflix, and we still haven’t got round to watching Shane Meadow’s Stone Roses film yet).

Alas, my daughter seems to be not quite such a fan of the film as I am. In the early days after she was born, watching a full length film seemed like an impossibility. My daughter’s demands were too regular, and we were probably too shell-shocked to concentrate for that length of time in any case. However, we were lulled into a false sense of security by a good patch a few months back, where once my daughter had settled down for the night, we wouldn’t hear from her until past our own bedtime, so the evenings at least were ours. Films became a real possibility again, and we even managed to watch a few.

Recently though, my daughter’s sleeping patterns have once again become erratic. So with pizza ordered, and DVD loaded in the player, my daughter decided the moment we pressed play was the moment she would begin hollering, and proceeded to do so for most of the rest of the evening. I’d spent the week looking forward to a quiet evening with my wife, a takeaway and a good film. So taking it in turns to eat cold pizza alone whilst listening to the sounds of your spouse attending to an unhappy baby through the monitor was not the relaxing experience hoped for. Even a second attempting viewing on Sunday evening was abandoned as my daughter grizzled again. It’s difficult to concentrate on a movie when you have at least one ear listening out for noises from upstairs.

Still, such are the ups and downs of parenting I suppose (and there have been more ups than downs, even if that is hard to remember after a few night’s bad sleep). I know that the evenings will at some point become (mainly) our own again. I’m just hoping that it is sooner rather than later

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