Occupying pubs, sofas and terraces across the land, the behaviour of these soft-bellied creatures comes in a multitude of flavours. But fret not, The Trashy will guide you through…
Recognisable by his slogan t-shirt and sporting either shaggy or multi-directional hair, the Dadferit refuses to leave his youth behind. At work he fiddles around with pivot tables, but in his mind he’s back in the Hacienda, back-lit and beautiful, gloriously punching the air to Voodoo Ray. The Dadferit refuses to leave the gigs and clubs to the younger generations and can often be found trampling confused teenagers in the middle of a mosh pit. Dadferits spend, cumulatively, eighteen weeks of their lives standing wide legged, beer in right hand, left fist aloft, bellowing every word to I am the Resurrection.
The Victorian Dad
The Victorian Dad’s family is a nuisance. They impede his multiple egocentric goals and regularly shatter his peace, making him constantly irritable. He thinks his children should be seen and not heard but in practice they are all he can see and hear. Nonetheless, the Victorian Dad does his best to bring them into line by barking orders at them, demanding impossibly high standards of behaviour and ignoring their emotional needs. Children of Victorian Dads are identifiable by their sooty faces, their impeccable manners and their overwhelming sadness.
The Lax Dad
Thank Christ children are resilient otherwise the Lax Dad’s kids would be six feet under by now. The Lax Dad is so laissez faire that his children are allowed to subsist on Cheerios and Haribo and their blood is 68% Ribena. They stay up until they pass out on their screens, which accounts for the minor burns on their foreheads and they have watched all seven seasons of Game of Thrones despite still being in primary school. Fond of saying “they’ll be fine”, the Lax Dad is intensely relaxed about his kids’ personal hygiene and his nonchalant approach to grooming has played a large part in an unprecedented head lice epidemic. His idea of nit treatment amounts to idly scorching the critters off the kids’ heads with the end of his cigarette while watching Match of the Day.
The Winner is breathtakingly tough on his kids because he would rather lop off his testicles than raise a brood of needy snowflakes. There’s no room for sentiment in the the Winner’s household, he took his children to Auschwitz instead of Disney and when Arabella asked to watch Bambi he boxed her ears and took her hunting. The daily routine begins at 5am with a rigorous military style work-out followed by an ice-cold shower and then the children must track and kill breakfast or go hungry. And that’s just the holidays. During term time the kids nurture their inner sociopath at an austere boarding school run by ex-SAS monks where they are taught rabid self-interest and to despise the weak.
The Overcompensator is desperate for his kids to have all the things he never had. Whether they want it or not. As a result, six year old Poppy has seven remote control cars, has been to 15 Formula One Grand Prix races, owns a signed Liverpool football shirt, plays cricket every Sunday and has met Steven Gerrard twice. She can also play Pearl Jam’s entire back catalogue on her fender stratocaster. The Overcompensator swells with pride while Poppy silently vows that her future children will have a chestnut pony with a golden mane and the entire Sylvanian Family universe.
Now meet the Doting Daddy, DJ Dad and Fun Daddy in Dadspotting part two.