The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

4 am

Dear Diary. I wake up at 4 am with Girlfriend's feet next to my feet. She's sleeping in the bed like this:

[Insert image here, if I can be bothered]

I have to move my feet so they weren't touching mine.

7:11 am

We pass a McDonald's billboard sign. 4-year-old sees it. He turns to me and says, "Daddy, I saw McNonald's."

I'm sweaty like a backpacker.

4-year-old says, "Yesterday Mommy said she or Daddy always has to dress me. But today I got dressed by myself!"

7:30 am

We arrive at the airport.

8:54 am

We're still at the airport. I'm tired. The plane leaves in an hour, at 10 am. There's a terrace. 4-year-old and I played with these big plastic shapes made of rigid plastic. They're supposed to be for sitting on, except we're using them for a "floor is lava" game.

There's a teenage boy in a wheelchair who has some sort of mental problem that makes him laugh all the time. His dad keeps shushing him to try to make him quiet.

11 am (UK time)

We've just landed. So far everything's been okay. No tantrums from 4-year-old, 0-year-old or me.

Jet2 keeps pushing alcohol on the passengers. "There's a new four-litre limit on customs-free alcohol so take advantage and top up your collection!" And people were actually buying it. They were spending 50, 60 pounds. The air hostess brought out this trolley full of spirits: bottles of rum, vodka, and whiskey. They were also selling cigarettes. It was a scene from the 1920s, not the 2020s.

4-year-old: "Daddy, what's 8+7?"

Me: "Can I use my fingers?"

4-year-old: "No"

Me: "Okay... is it 13?"

4-year-old: "I don't know"

3 pm

We're at my Dad's house.

"The next-door neighbour's a Romanian," says my Dad with disgust.

"I'd rather live in Romania than here," I say, looking around. There are weeds growing through the bricks that make up the concrete island in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Bits of litter are strewnn in the street.

"All the Romanians are here," says my dad.

All the Romanians? The entire of Romania empty; everyone gone. The streets and buildings of Romania deserted because all the Romanians have gone to the UK.

Corryn: "Have you been to Butlins Dad?"

Dad sighs. "Yeah, we went to Butlins twenty years ago"

Corryn: "Well, it's changed since then! It's not the same Butlins you know. It's all different now"

My Dad's eyes light up.

Dad: "Oh, I could get one of those wheelchair things for the weekend. The ones disabled people use."

Me: "You mean a wheelchair?"

Dad: "No, not a wheelchair. An electric scooter."

Corryn "Yeah! They give you them for free, Dad! Shall I ring up and tell them you're disabled?"

4 pm

We're walking to Lidl for something to do. And Christ, it's hot outside. There's no shade in the UK. It doesn't exist. Things that would normally cast shade, like trees and plants, defy the laws of science and the sunlight passes straight through them.

You get sunburned just walking to the shops, as I'm finding out firsthand. My right shoulder's getting sunburnt now.

The reason there's no shade is the buildings are low and far apart. In Girona, everyone lives in big tall apartment buildings, and these buildings keep the streets in constant shade. But in Birmingham, everyone lives in houses.

10 pm

For dinner, Dad bought a giant packet of chips and two scallops from the Tyburn Lane chip shop. 4-year-old wouldn't try the scallops because he didn't know what they were. Dad also cooked a chicken, though he failed to add any herbs or spices or indeed anything that would have given the chicken flavour. He also managed to undercook the chicken, so it was raw and pink in the middle. So the dinner was a huge pile of chips on greasy paper and flavourless, undercooked chicken.

He also made Peri Peri sauce, but he forgot about it until we'd already finished eating the chicken. I tried the sauce and it was unbelievably sour as if it was made almost entirely of lemon juice. I asked Dad about it and he looked hurt and said, "I only added three tablespoons of lemon juice. It's what the recipe said." I don't know what recipe he was following but if it was from a cookbook, I'd take that cookbook back and get a refund.