If you don’t want to hear about poo, back away slowly from this post…
I really am thrilled. I’ve been up since 3.30am I spent yesterday in A&E following donkeygate. And yet I want to conga around the living room.
It’s not Jubilee fever. I’m not a Royalist and even so, I have been a bit aghast by the new-look focused-grouped monarchy that was in evidence this Jubilee. That concert line-up, that diamond-shaped thing to trigger the beacon in the Mall that looked like they got it from the Crystal Maze. Don’t even start me on Prince Charles speech: “I am sure if we shout loud enough, Prince Phillip will hear us..” Say what? So no, it isn’t that.
It’s none of these things. It’s a POO thing!
I don’t know who you are, Taro Gomi, but I know this much. Your book Everybody Poos is a thing of unadulterated genius. We’ve had it less than a week, it’s already rather second-hand but my daughter today has delivered a potty payload that wasn’t wee and it’s all down to this book encouraging her that poo is normal and not to be afeared. Well, hers are a bit.
Taro Gomi, I salute you. She didn’t hide behide the chair. She didn’t scream for her nappy. She didn’t get hysterical at the sight of what evacuated her bottom. She just… got on with it.
Have a rain-soaked Thames flotilla procession of poos. Light up the London sky with poo-shaped fireworks. Have a throng of slightly crazed, wet red white and blue nappy-wavers on the Mall. You’re worth it. We’re POTTY TRAINING. YAY!
THAT’s a celebration I’d stand out in the rain for.