The pregnancy announcement last month and, in particular,
the news that Kate Middleton-as-was had gone into hospital for morning sickness
treatment from “her main doctor and the royal gynaecologist” started me wondering
about likely differences between my kids’ childhoods and that of the current-foetus/future-ruler.
(It seemed my wife didn’t even have a ‘main’ doctor during the births, never mind the pregnancies… and
when she had morning sickness she got off the train to vom, then carried on to
work.) So, as and when note-worthy comparisons arise, I’ll cobble a post together.
Before I start, these aren’t “silver-spoon… look what
they’ve got, aren’t they lucky?” thoughts. I certainly wouldn’t wish on my
children the constant attention and long-range pixelated-boob-shots that the
Royals have to put up with. I’m interested in the way different
experiences shape people’s view of the world. I care very much about the opinions
my children grow-up holding and I think we’ve all got a vested interest in how
Baby-Widdleton turns out (even if you think it’s a purely ceremonial position,
you’d surely rather avoid any future international embarrassment from, say, another
Prince Philipish casual-racist).
[For complete transparency, it’s worth stating now that
this Royals vs Suburbanites framework may not actually turn into a series. It might turn out just to be a one-off, purely
used on this occasion to provide some structural credibility for a story about
the word ‘twat’…]
Windsor child comparison #1: Appreciation of live sport
Prince William likes his sport. You often see him in the
good seats at big rugby matches. And he did a great deal for our
fruitlessly-uncorrupt 2018 football World Cup bid. So no-doubt he’ll be taking
his first-born to his/her first game when they’re old enough. As I did. Though
I doubt the experience will have much similarity...
I took my little girl to watch Huddersfield Town FC for
the first time a few weeks ago. Away at Charlton Athletic. Everyone knows
language can be a bit industrial at football but, for her first visit, she unfortunately
experienced a perfect storm of swearing.
At kick-off there was a big argument around us between
all the lads stood up behind the goal and all the people sat behind who
subsequently couldn’t see. The bloke right next to me was shouting at the top
of his voice, spit flying. My little girl looked at me, wide-eyed and
exclaimed “Everybody’s swearing!” In the end it got to that point where even I
- who believes that there’s some environments, this being one of them, where
people shouldn’t be frowned-upon too much for dropping the odd sweary-bomb -
had to ask the guy to tone-down his language… then, after half-an-hour, one of
our players got sent off and even I was up on my feet effing! (I don’t want my
daughter to think foul language should be encouraged, but he clearly got the
ball).
All this didn’t concern me too much. Anyone who thinks
they can protect their kids from hearing swear words once they’re going to
school is dreaming. My daughter knows of “f*ck” and “sh*it”, but she knows they’re
bad words and that, as she wisely pointed out to me during the game, “people shouting
them look like idiots”. Unfortunately, she then learned a new word… a
bloke behind us shouted “linesman, you ginger twat”. My daughter, not knowing
what it meant but clearly liking the sound, jumped to her feet, pointed and
shouted “ginger twat, ginger twat, ginger twat”. Everyone around us creased-up
laughing (including the bloke next to me – credit to him for not asking me to
tone-down my daughter’s language). I had to tell her it was a bad word. She was
mortified – gasping and covering her mouth with both hands – which happily gave
me some confidence that I wouldn’t soon be getting a call from her teacher telling me she’d dished out slurs to a crowded classroom (and so
far, so good).
Anyway, the point is, you probably don’t get exposed to
that language quite as much in, say, the hospitality seats at rugby union. But,
on the other hand, you probably miss out on the occasional moment of highly-concentrated
euphoria…
With 90 minutes up and the team 0-1 down, Huddersfield
got a penalty right in front of us. (No one complained when everyone stood up
at that point.) I picked my daughter up so she could see. She shouted “Kick it
in the net”. Our player duly did. The stand erupted and my little girl
repeatedly shouted in my ear, “YEEEESSS! I TOLD HIM TO KICK IT IN THE NET!!!”
She was pleased as punch and I’m pretty sure she’ll never forget her first
match - and the belief that she deserved an assist on the equaliser for her tactically-masterful suggestion.
Upon leaving, I could see the benefits of a Royal
lifestyle. I was around the protocol lounge of the Olympic Stadium at the
end of the Games Closing Ceremony* and saw Kate & Prince Harry being
whisked away to their waiting escorted car. After her first match my
little girl had the luxury of riding on my shoulders out of the ground, but
then the luxury-lacking experience of waiting on a crowded platform to get on
to a palpably overcrowded train.
Conclusion
I think it’s great that the wee Windsor is likely to
appreciate sport and witness some great moments around the world. Always being
in the expensive, non-partisan seats will probably mean he/she never quite experiences the atmosphere of a consistently unheroic team’s packed stand
when, with only 10-men, they equalise in the last minute… but that’s just a
cross they’ll have to bear. (Although, unless I somehow end up the kind of man
who gets chauffeured away from things in waiting escorted cars, my daughter
might also miss the odd last-minute winner in my later years when, as a grumpy old
man, I decide I’d rather go 5 minutes early than plod slowly through the crowds.)
While I like the idea of the future monarch being ‘one of
us’ and having sat in the away end at Charlton or Millwall (or, quaintly, stood
at Brentford), I don’t believe you miss a huge insight into society by not experiencing this – just occasionally watch the footy on mute with Shameless playing loudly on your
laptop in the background.
From watching sport with me, my daughter will probably
grow up with increased patience in slow-moving large crowds, increased tolerance of being
in close proximity to badly-articulated angry shouts and reduced fussiness
about pie quality. I think these are solid traits… however, they probably aren’t
that useful if you’re the queen or the king.
* “Oh fucking were you?”
Learned Wisdoms
#48: If you tell your mother-in-law a story about your
daughter having used the word twat and she pauses for a moment then asks you, “What
does twat mean anyway?”, I can confirm that - when giving an explanation that
offers no escape from use of the word ‘vagina’ - going very red may be uncomfortable but feels totally appropriate
#49: If it becomes clear that your mother-in-law isn’t
aware of the meaning of the word twat, in fact having thought it to be “interchangeable
with the word twit” and having actually “been using it all over the village”, don’t assume
this is amusingly uncommon. When you jovially tell your sister, you might be told “Our mum & dad thought exactly the same, I had to break it
to them that it was swearing”
#50: Your wife will never give you a hard time about
taking your daughter to the coarsely-languaged environment of a football
stadium once she’s indulged their shared love of dance by showing her Billy Elliott,
aware that it’s a 15 certificate, but having forgotten just how incredibley sweary it is
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