Probably the Best in the World
by Bill Robertson
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: Two dads bond in the modern hell of the play gym.
_____________________________________________________________________
The noise was deafening.
Nerve shredding squeals exploded in my eardrums. Bodies flew through the air to land in tangled heaps in front of me. Lurid colours assaulted my eyes. I stood fixed to the spot, helpless as a bright yellow plastic ball hit me squarely between the eyes. It made a hollow “thock” as it bounced off my forehead. A beefy faced little boy with sandy hair laughed as he watched my reaction. A woman ran over and grabbed him.
‘Darren! I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to throw things at people.’ The woman turned to me and gave a weak smile. ‘I’m so sorry, he gets a little hyper when he’s been running around.’
Darren giggled. From where I was standing his smile radiated pure unadulterated evil. I think it was the ribena stain spreading from each corner of his mouth that did it, it made him look like a mini version of The Joker from the Batman comics.
Before I could speak she had gone back to her coffee and copy of Grazia, leaving her malignant offspring to run riot once more. He launched himself in a flying kamikaze leap into the brightly coloured ball pool, heedless of any other children in his flight path. I shrugged and went back to scanning the play room for my own child. I was feeling completely out of my depth.
It was my first time inside Bongo’s Play Barn. I don’t think anything could have fully prepared me for the place. All around me parents were watching with slightly glazed expressions as their offspring careened around the room like fleshy pin balls. The children all appeared to be in a state of derangement – possible due to the ingestion of sugar and, if the charming Darren’s ribena joker face was anything to go by, I was guessing various E-numbers were also at work.
Lucy had been straining at my hand to be set loose from the moment we arrived. I had held her back, reluctant to let her roam unprotected among the demon spawn. Did I really want my only daughter running loose in what looked like a pre-school version of Lord of the Flies?
‘Let me go Daddy, I want to go on the big slide.’
‘I don’t know honey, it looks very steep,’ I said, eyeing the multicoloured plastic colossus that dominated one corner of the room.
Lucy fixed me with the look of equal parts condescension and contempt that I recognised from her mother.
‘It’s not that big – the one I went on at Kiera’s party was much bigger.’
‘You’re mum let you go on a slide bigger than that one?’ This was something that Sarah had neglected to mention – much like her trips to the hairdressers or purchase of new shoes. To Sarah such information was shared on a “need to know” basis and usually I didn’t need to know. I suppressed my misgivings and let go of Lucy’s hand.
‘Ok,’ I said. ‘But be careful.’ I had barely spoken the last syllable before she had flown out of my grasp and was tearing off in the direction of the slide. I looked on aghast as steady streams of squealing and yelping children came hurtling down the kindergarten Cresta run with wild screaming abandon. Headfirst, feet first, sideways, it didn’t seem to matter.
I watched, stomach tightening, while Lucy came pelting down the slope - a giant grin of pure joy plastered over her face. She waved at me and I decided that I should probably save my nerves and stop watching for a couple of minutes to get a cup of tea.
The owners of the Bongo’s were obviously of a mercenary bent. Everywhere you looked you could see signs admonishing anyone who might dare consume food and drink not purchased from the on-site cafeteria. The tea was lukewarm and watery but it would do. I sat down and tried to filter out the worst of the noise. I could still see Lucy. She was now busy climbing through some transparent tunnel high above the ground. I took in a few more of my fellow adults. There were brawny women with nicotine stained fingers. Indulgent Grannies and terribly nice middle-class suburban mums and dads who were attempting to impose some kind of structure on the chaos and failing miserably as their kids ran pell mell around them. Now and again I thought I saw a kindred spirit and possibly a few who were suffering hangovers with a “get me out of here” look in their eyes as they grinned the demented grins of the damned.
‘Your first time here is it, mate?’
I looked up to see a paunchy bloke with close cropped hair standing over me.
‘How can you tell?’
‘You’ve got that slightly shell-shocked expression on your face.’ He smiled. ‘Mind if I sit down?’
‘Be my guest.’
‘You’re also the only other single bloke in here,’ he said as he sat down. ‘My name’s Glen,’ he said sticking out his hand.
‘Michael,’ I said. ‘My wife has the flu so I drew the short straw. What’s your excuse?’
‘This is my weekend to have my little girl. Me and her mum are split up.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’
‘Water under the bridge now, mate.’
‘Which one’s yours?’
‘That’s Gemma there – the little red head with the stripy green jumper. You?’
‘Lucy – that’s her in the Upsy Daisy sweater.’
‘Ah, a Night Garden fan.’
‘She’s mad for it.’
‘Mine too. Does my head in, to tell the truth. You’d have to be off your tits or under five to understand it, I reckon.’
I laughed. He had a point.
‘You know, someone needs to open one of these places with the needs of dads in mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, this is a typical example of a play barn type place. Everything is geared towards the kids and very little thought goes into the facilities for mums and dads.’
‘What about this bit?’ I said, gesturing around me at the coffee bar.
‘Really? You think this is the best we can do? A few dog eared copies of Marie Claire and a selection of home baking and that’s your lot. Do me a favour.’
‘Ok then – what would you do if you were in charge?’
‘The way I see it, you bring your kids to one of these places to burn off their excess energy and give yourself a break from them but how are you supposed to relax stuck in the middle of all this bloody row?’
I shrugged. He had a point.
‘So you come in and take a ticket when you arrive, then a lass comes in and takes your nippers off you to go play in this bit.’
‘And where do you go while that’s happening?’
‘Why off to the exclusive Daddies Lounge of course.’
‘Daddies Lounge? What’s in there?’
‘For a start, a selection of premium sports channels and a fully stocked bar. There’s a soundproofed glass partition if you really want to keep an eye on the kids but at least you don’t have to listen to them as well.’
‘Sounds great. I think I would volunteer to take the kids every week if it was like that.’
Glen smiled. ‘Yeah, can you imagine it – “no, no love – you have a lie-in, I’ll take the kids for the day.” Think how many brownie points you’d rack up.’
‘Just one problem though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If you’re going to sell drink how is anyone supposed to get home?’
‘Oh I already thought of that – we would run a courtesy bus to your door. In fact, just leave the car at home altogether and we’ll pick you up as well.’
‘Glen, you’re a genius,’ I said. ‘It’s like one of those lager ads – Carlsberg don’t do play gyms but if they did…’
‘They’d probably be the best play gyms in the world.’
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: Two dads bond in the modern hell of the play gym.
_____________________________________________________________________
The noise was deafening.
Nerve shredding squeals exploded in my eardrums. Bodies flew through the air to land in tangled heaps in front of me. Lurid colours assaulted my eyes. I stood fixed to the spot, helpless as a bright yellow plastic ball hit me squarely between the eyes. It made a hollow “thock” as it bounced off my forehead. A beefy faced little boy with sandy hair laughed as he watched my reaction. A woman ran over and grabbed him.
‘Darren! I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to throw things at people.’ The woman turned to me and gave a weak smile. ‘I’m so sorry, he gets a little hyper when he’s been running around.’
Darren giggled. From where I was standing his smile radiated pure unadulterated evil. I think it was the ribena stain spreading from each corner of his mouth that did it, it made him look like a mini version of The Joker from the Batman comics.
Before I could speak she had gone back to her coffee and copy of Grazia, leaving her malignant offspring to run riot once more. He launched himself in a flying kamikaze leap into the brightly coloured ball pool, heedless of any other children in his flight path. I shrugged and went back to scanning the play room for my own child. I was feeling completely out of my depth.
It was my first time inside Bongo’s Play Barn. I don’t think anything could have fully prepared me for the place. All around me parents were watching with slightly glazed expressions as their offspring careened around the room like fleshy pin balls. The children all appeared to be in a state of derangement – possible due to the ingestion of sugar and, if the charming Darren’s ribena joker face was anything to go by, I was guessing various E-numbers were also at work.
Lucy had been straining at my hand to be set loose from the moment we arrived. I had held her back, reluctant to let her roam unprotected among the demon spawn. Did I really want my only daughter running loose in what looked like a pre-school version of Lord of the Flies?
‘Let me go Daddy, I want to go on the big slide.’
‘I don’t know honey, it looks very steep,’ I said, eyeing the multicoloured plastic colossus that dominated one corner of the room.
Lucy fixed me with the look of equal parts condescension and contempt that I recognised from her mother.
‘It’s not that big – the one I went on at Kiera’s party was much bigger.’
‘You’re mum let you go on a slide bigger than that one?’ This was something that Sarah had neglected to mention – much like her trips to the hairdressers or purchase of new shoes. To Sarah such information was shared on a “need to know” basis and usually I didn’t need to know. I suppressed my misgivings and let go of Lucy’s hand.
‘Ok,’ I said. ‘But be careful.’ I had barely spoken the last syllable before she had flown out of my grasp and was tearing off in the direction of the slide. I looked on aghast as steady streams of squealing and yelping children came hurtling down the kindergarten Cresta run with wild screaming abandon. Headfirst, feet first, sideways, it didn’t seem to matter.
I watched, stomach tightening, while Lucy came pelting down the slope - a giant grin of pure joy plastered over her face. She waved at me and I decided that I should probably save my nerves and stop watching for a couple of minutes to get a cup of tea.
The owners of the Bongo’s were obviously of a mercenary bent. Everywhere you looked you could see signs admonishing anyone who might dare consume food and drink not purchased from the on-site cafeteria. The tea was lukewarm and watery but it would do. I sat down and tried to filter out the worst of the noise. I could still see Lucy. She was now busy climbing through some transparent tunnel high above the ground. I took in a few more of my fellow adults. There were brawny women with nicotine stained fingers. Indulgent Grannies and terribly nice middle-class suburban mums and dads who were attempting to impose some kind of structure on the chaos and failing miserably as their kids ran pell mell around them. Now and again I thought I saw a kindred spirit and possibly a few who were suffering hangovers with a “get me out of here” look in their eyes as they grinned the demented grins of the damned.
‘Your first time here is it, mate?’
I looked up to see a paunchy bloke with close cropped hair standing over me.
‘How can you tell?’
‘You’ve got that slightly shell-shocked expression on your face.’ He smiled. ‘Mind if I sit down?’
‘Be my guest.’
‘You’re also the only other single bloke in here,’ he said as he sat down. ‘My name’s Glen,’ he said sticking out his hand.
‘Michael,’ I said. ‘My wife has the flu so I drew the short straw. What’s your excuse?’
‘This is my weekend to have my little girl. Me and her mum are split up.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’
‘Water under the bridge now, mate.’
‘Which one’s yours?’
‘That’s Gemma there – the little red head with the stripy green jumper. You?’
‘Lucy – that’s her in the Upsy Daisy sweater.’
‘Ah, a Night Garden fan.’
‘She’s mad for it.’
‘Mine too. Does my head in, to tell the truth. You’d have to be off your tits or under five to understand it, I reckon.’
I laughed. He had a point.
‘You know, someone needs to open one of these places with the needs of dads in mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, this is a typical example of a play barn type place. Everything is geared towards the kids and very little thought goes into the facilities for mums and dads.’
‘What about this bit?’ I said, gesturing around me at the coffee bar.
‘Really? You think this is the best we can do? A few dog eared copies of Marie Claire and a selection of home baking and that’s your lot. Do me a favour.’
‘Ok then – what would you do if you were in charge?’
‘The way I see it, you bring your kids to one of these places to burn off their excess energy and give yourself a break from them but how are you supposed to relax stuck in the middle of all this bloody row?’
I shrugged. He had a point.
‘So you come in and take a ticket when you arrive, then a lass comes in and takes your nippers off you to go play in this bit.’
‘And where do you go while that’s happening?’
‘Why off to the exclusive Daddies Lounge of course.’
‘Daddies Lounge? What’s in there?’
‘For a start, a selection of premium sports channels and a fully stocked bar. There’s a soundproofed glass partition if you really want to keep an eye on the kids but at least you don’t have to listen to them as well.’
‘Sounds great. I think I would volunteer to take the kids every week if it was like that.’
Glen smiled. ‘Yeah, can you imagine it – “no, no love – you have a lie-in, I’ll take the kids for the day.” Think how many brownie points you’d rack up.’
‘Just one problem though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If you’re going to sell drink how is anyone supposed to get home?’
‘Oh I already thought of that – we would run a courtesy bus to your door. In fact, just leave the car at home altogether and we’ll pick you up as well.’
‘Glen, you’re a genius,’ I said. ‘It’s like one of those lager ads – Carlsberg don’t do play gyms but if they did…’
‘They’d probably be the best play gyms in the world.’
About the Author
Born in Perth and now living just outside Aberdeen, Bill Robertson has created a large body of work showcasing a tendency towards the darker side of life and stories which leave an indelible impression on the reader long after the final word is read.
An active member of Aberdeen’s Lemon Tree Writer’s Group, Bill’s work has appeared in Journeys, an anthology of work from the group, and most recently in a chapbook, Himself by the Seaside. He has performed some of his stories as part of the Word and New Words festivals and other events around the north-east. He has also self published two e-books: Reindeer Dust, a short Christmas story, and When the Revolution Comes, a collection of linked short stories concerning an uprising in a fictional eastern European country. A number of his stories have featured on the website http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk, where he has been chosen as the featured Friday story a number of times and has won a number of competitions with his short stories and flash fiction pieces.
If you would like to hear an interview with Bill and listen to him read some of his work, please go to this link to hear Bill’s appearance on Mearns FM's Smith on Sunday show. You can also keep up to date with Bill’s work by visiting http://www.billrobertson55.wordpress.com, where he often shares work in progress as well as finished stories.
An active member of Aberdeen’s Lemon Tree Writer’s Group, Bill’s work has appeared in Journeys, an anthology of work from the group, and most recently in a chapbook, Himself by the Seaside. He has performed some of his stories as part of the Word and New Words festivals and other events around the north-east. He has also self published two e-books: Reindeer Dust, a short Christmas story, and When the Revolution Comes, a collection of linked short stories concerning an uprising in a fictional eastern European country. A number of his stories have featured on the website http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk, where he has been chosen as the featured Friday story a number of times and has won a number of competitions with his short stories and flash fiction pieces.
If you would like to hear an interview with Bill and listen to him read some of his work, please go to this link to hear Bill’s appearance on Mearns FM's Smith on Sunday show. You can also keep up to date with Bill’s work by visiting http://www.billrobertson55.wordpress.com, where he often shares work in progress as well as finished stories.