New nursery rhyme: Pop Goes the Calpol



  1. […] Whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s all he says. “Mummy’s shoulder.” “Mummy’s shoulder.” “Mummy’s shoulder.” It’s like my wife and I are stuck in dimly-lit nightclub that only has one song, but worse than that it’s also impossible to counter. He won’t be distracted. He won’t take my shoulder. He won’t seek comfort in his favourite cuddly toy. He won’t lie down in our bed. And he won’t swallow Calpol. […]

  2. […] Yes, the baby rave I went to starred a big name DJ who had played nights at Ministry of Sound. Yes, it featured glow sticks and confetti falling from the ceiling. And yes, I witnessed various people making imaginary cardboard boxes. But don’t let that put you off. Most of the attendees would have flunked an exam on rave culture, the music was toned down to cater for the eclectic audience, the dance floor was child friendly and the strongest substance anyone was popping was Calpol. […]

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