The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. 3-year-old has made a machine out of Duplo that kills people. First, the machine makes you old (this is what 3-year-old says) then you go into an oven and it kills you.

He puts Batman into the machine and says, “It’s making Batman old, Daddy.” Then he says, “It’s fun to kill people, Daddy, I like to kill people.”

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3-year-old shouts, “Daddy, I’ve done a poo in the toilet! I’ve done a big poo!” I look and he really has done a big poo in the toilet. Normally the sight of a big poo would gross people out, but when it's your child's poo, it makes you happy because it means they're finally doing poos in the toilet instead of in nappies.

“Does this mean I can go to the cinema again?” he says. The first time he did a poo in the toilet, Girlfriend took him to the cinema to see Paw Patrol, as a reward. If we’re going to have to take him to the cinema every time he does a poo, we’re going to be making a lot of trips to the cinema during the next eighteen years.

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I go to the supermarket and there's a woman outside with a little black dog; she's chaining up the dog but the dog escapes and runs up to me. I make no effort at all to catch it and instead watch the dog ran into the shop and down the ramp. That's the end of the dog's adventure however because an old woman bends down and says, “Hello!” and catches the dog. It's a shame that the woman caught it because I was hoping the dog would run further into the shop and rip open packets of meat with his teeth, and scatter sausages and lamb chops everywhere. Then when someone approaches to pick him up, he would growl and show his teeth, and everyone would have to slowly back up out the shop while animal control is called.

The escaped dog is the most exciting thing that has happened to me this week so far, which shows you how dull my life is.

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Now I’m at Cal Mico, a climbing centre in Girona. The good thing about Cal Mico is you don't need a rope or a harness to climb. In fact, you don't need any gear at all. You just start climbing. The walls aren't that high so if you fall off, the most that will happen is you land on the mat and hurt your ass.

There are loads of people here. It’s busier than I’ve ever seen it. It’s annoying but on the plus side, there are loads of girls to look at. There’s one in particular who looks like she’s around eighteen and is probably has the title of "hottest girl in school" at whatever school she goes to. And she has hair like a model from a shampoo advert: it’s shiny and perfectly straight. Even though she looks like a teenager, later I see her with a four-year-old girl. They seem to be mother and daughter, so maybe she’s older than I thought.

It’s been about three weeks since I last did climbing. I seem to have actually gotten better in those three weeks. I feel like I’m Catwoman as I climb up the wall, which probably isn't the person men normally aspire to feel like.

When I sit down for a break, there’s a dad giving a back massage to his 11-year-old son, who is lying down on the mat with his arms at his side. It would be a lovely gay moment from a movie apart from the fact that the boy is eleven years old, and the person giving him a massage is his dad.

There’s one woman with a stomach that’s completely flat, and it mesmerises me because back in Birmingham, all the women have big, flabby stomachs that hang over their skirts. Seeing a flat stomach on a woman, for me, is like seeing a holographic spinning disc like the kind you get in magic shops. I can’t take my eyes away.

At the end of the session at Cal Mico, my hands feel like I’ve rubbed sandpaper on them vigorously because I’ve hurt them that much. You know it’s been a good climbing session when every time you try to close your hands you feel pain.

Girlfriend texts me to tell me that she’s bought electric induction hobs and whether I can pick them up and take them to the new apartment. Where did my carefree twenties go? It seems just yesterday I was getting drunk every other night and falling asleep in a bush. Now I'm the owner of electric induction hobs.

We’re moving apartments on Friday, and despite having three months to do the move, we’ve left pretty much everything to the last minute.