June 1, 2012 by Jake Cantona
Gun Control for the Under Fives (part one)
You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off
My son who is now three and a half years old has (on good days) the attention span of a loved-up goldfish under a strobe light. Thoughts appear to flash across his mind, immediately chased by the impulse is to act – ooo look! A squirrel! Toys get grabbed and immediately discarded, or thrown, the image on the screen holds him for a second and then it’s back to counting with coins, or taking clothes pegs apart.
There is one small exception to this incessant jump from place to place, object to object and so on and so forth, and that’s when he’s playing with himself. Personally, I don’t recall masturbation setting in quite so soon in life. But, looking back, I might have had a sheltered upbringing. Or perhaps it was just the influence of the Jesuits.
And while masturbation is certainly a source of pleasure to be enjoyed at different times in one’s perusal of life’s rich pageant, it is probably not to be encouraged as a means of maintaining order in the face of infant mayhem. I can’t believe that Psychonanny would advocate the benefit of a sly tug while sitting on the naughty step.
Nor, unless you work in IT and still live with your parents, is it the sort of thing you’d want to have as your primary recreational activity.
Right now, however, I’m looking forward to an induction interview at his first school where the only honest answer to “and what is he interested in?” will be “wanking, guns, and swearing at vegetables in Waitrose”.
If there was an element of grammatical coherence to his burgeoning grasp of Anglo-Saxon, then my inner grammatacist could perhaps find some degree of satisfaction in his construction of fully formed sentences; “not fucking asparagus again!” would certainly give me some small measure of parental pride in its articulation and sentiment. But no, it’s all basic, line and length obscenities that serve only to punctuate the mundane nature of supermarket shopping.
I am obviously, at least in part, to blame for this. Over-generous use of the phrase “fuck, the fucking fucker’s fucked” when attempting basic household maintenance or other essays in CIUY have, it seems, left a far more lasting impression on the child than my attempts at explaining the offside rule, while a long time ago in a distant galaxy, myself and a colleague were once caught, while drunk, attempting to teach the three-year old daughter of a friend to say “we’re not pissheads, we’re existential heroes”. So I have previous.
Perhaps I should be grateful he doesn’t whip his cock out and start waving it at the aubergines. Still, there’s time for that yet. They’re not in season for heaven’s sake.
 To be honest, Gun Control doesn’t really figure until part two
 Unless you’re a Jesuit. Or your mother took Thalidomide in pregnancy.
 Wanking on the Naughty Step is probably the Uber-Crime for toddlers. Thank fuck they don’t know this. The logical error of self-referencing punishment would surely cause the space-time continuum to collapse under the burden of it all. No?
 And even then it would probably be “building something for Robot Wars”. Thank you, Simon Pegg.
 I am referring to the green, red and orange things that he steadfastly refuses to eat, rather than the customers or staff
 Is that a real word? Who knows, I make this stuff up as I go along.
 You have to start them young with this sort of thing. See also Red=Good, Blue=Bad, regarding basic allegiances: United versus City, Left versus Right.
 Machynlleth, Mid-Wales
 You know who you are, Ian Staples