The day I dumped Kylie (From The Northern Echo)

The day I dumped Kylie

1:55pm Thursday 18th August 2011 in Dad At Large By Peter Barron

IT was the start of our summer holiday so, naturally, my wife decided it was time to give the garage “a good clear-out”.

“And this can go to the tip too,” she said, dragging my dusty, life-sized cardboard cut-out of Kylie Minogue out of the corner, where she’d been hidden by some old sheets and a couple of sledges.

Kylie, stunning in a white evening dress and pearls, had been a birthday present from a friend who’d blagged her from a supermarket where she’d been advertising perfume or shampoo or toothpaste. There’d been a ring of the doorbelll and there she was, standing alluringly on the doorstep. My imagination had run wild as she spent a month or so standing in the corner of our bedroom.

I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.

But when the competition finally became too much for my wife, Kylie was ordered out of the bedroom, first to the dining room and then (without any consultation) to the garage.

I knew there was little point arguing about her being sent to the tip.

My wife was in one of her “everything has to go” frames of mind – a woman possessed – and arguing to save a cardboard Kylie would have seemed a bit sad for a 49-year-old dad-of-four. I’d been told to dump Kylie and, for the sake of my marriage, that’s what I had to do.

So, with heavy heart, I set off in the people-carrier, crammed with squashed boxes, planks of wood, tins of congealed paint, jumble sale ornaments, faded pictures, shoes which couldn’t be expected to keep the rain out, all kinds of other junk – and Kylie, with her pretty little head jammed under a three-legged chair.

I have to say that the Darlington municipal tip is an extremely well-organised affair, run with militarystyle precision. The skips are all clearly marked, so I had no trouble identifying the right receptacles for most of my rubbish – but where was I supposed to throw Kylie?

I decided to seek expert advice: “Excuse me, where shall I put this?”

I shouted to one of the tip attendants, a young fella, with a ready-toplease smile and weather-beaten complexion.

“What is it, mate?” he shouted back, squinting and shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Er, it’s a cardboard cut-out of Kylie – life-sized,” I explained.

“Phew, that’s a hard one,” he replied, scratching his head. “Well, you can’t put Kylie in household waste.” He had a point.

“What about in there?” I suggested, pointing across to the “Small appliances” skip. “She’s only five foot one, isn’t she?’ “Nah, it don’t seem right,” he concluded.

“She’s small, but she’s not exactly an appliance, is she? A toaster’s a small appliance. So’s a hair-dryer.”

This had turned into one of the most surreal conversations of my life but, again, he had a point. Kylie was neither a toaster nor a hairdryer.

This was not just a tip attendant, but quite clearly a tip attendant with a wealth of experience and I had no problem bowing to his better judgement.

“Tell you what, leave her with me – I’ll look after her,” he said. He seemed a decent chap so I handed Kylie over and he marched off towards his cabin with her under his arm.

“Have a nice day, mate,” he grinned, before breaking into a whistle.

“You too, mate,” I shouted back.

I felt we’d bonded.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT a meeting of Hamsterley WI, vice-president Pat Welsh remembered the time her grand-daughter Jessica – three at the time – was in the car with her other grandma, Jean.

They were turning into a supermarket and the car’s indicator was going: “Tick-tock.”

“Is that your teeth chattering?” asked Jessica.

AT Harrogate Ladies Probus Club, Shirley Holberry remembered the time son her John, aged four, and daughter Linda, three years older, were having lunch.

To everyone’s horror, Linda started recounting a joke she’d heard at school about a contraceptive found on a patio. Their father, nearly choking on his food, swiftly interrupted, saying: “Not at the lunch table – there’s a time and a place for everything.”

John looked up and asked the pertinent question: ‘Well, what is a patio?’

THE THINGS DADS SAY

“JUST been with the missus for our 20-week scan. Really put the last few days into perspective. It’s a game not a life.” Newcastle footballer Joey Barton tweeting after his latest brush with controversy.

The question is: Who’ll spit their dummy out first? The baby or the dad?