The Male Nanny works for a wealthy London family and spends much of his time dealing with an inquisitive and often obnoxious five-year-old. His wry and discerning first-hand accounts offer a unique insight into the private lives of London's elites - from family holidays to family therapy - and every lie in between. To keep up with The Male Nanny follow him on Twitter @themalenanny
Paths
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I take the five year old to a place called The Amazing Maize Maze. It is a maze made from the crop, maize.
A man hands us a card, on which you are to collect stickers from various checkpoints. He asks us:
'Have you been before?'
'No, we haven-'
'Yes', interrupts the five year old, and marches ahead.
I follow her into the dense labyrinth. She sprints around frantically, running into dead end after dead end.
After twenty minutes, we have found none of the required stickers.
'We need to think about this, not just run around', I explain.
My pleading has the effect of speeding her up, exacerbating her frenzy.
'It’s not a race', I reason, sweating.
'It is a race', she retorts, panting.
After half an hour we have found none of the required stickers.
'It must be a trick. Maybe they have buried the stickers', says the five year old, looking at the floor, finally coming to a standstill.
In the corner of my eye, I spot a black box. I dash over. In the box, there is a sticker.
'We have a sticker!' I shriek, lifting it above my head, on the end of my thumb, victorious. The five year old stomps over:
'Who found it?' she asks.
'Me'.
'No, who really found it?'
'Me, it was just in this box-'
'No, who really found it?'
'You.'
We hunt for sticker number two, with no success.
We are both tired and bored. The five year old resorts to cheating - cutting through the maize and not following the designated paths.
'You can’t do that! It’s not a path!'
'It is a path!' she snaps.
'It’s not. Stop, you’ll get us kicked out.'
'Don’t exaggerate, I won’t.'
'Come on, hey stop, that isn’t a path either, you can’t-'
'IT IS A PATH!' she screams, hurtling herself through the crops.
We emerge an hour later with two stickers. We are both red with frustration and effort. The five year old has her arms folded and I am shaking my head.
We pass the man at the entrance again:
'You hadn’t been before, had you?' he says.
The Male Nanny.
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