The Male Nanny

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

Rocks

By The male nanny on 22 Nov 2011 No comments

The five year old and I are on our way to the Natural History Museum.

'This is exciting, isn’t it?' I prompt.

'Yeah, I can’t wait to see the rocks', she replies, sincerely.

'Well, there’s lots of other things to see, like-'

'I want to see the rocks.'

When we arrive, a security man asks to check my bag.

'There’s nothing in there, just sandwiches', says the five year old.

The man ignores her, plunges his fat fingers in and rummages around.

'See, just sandwiches. Do the zip back up', she snaps.

The five year old ignores the colossal T-Rex skeleton that dominates the main entrance, and heads straight for the donations deposit. I hand her a ten pence piece. She slips it in at the wrong angle and, rather than spiral down mesmerically, the coin takes an anti-climactic suicidal plunge.

'One more coin', she pleads.

'I don’t have any more change.'

'You do, you have a two pound coin.'

'How do you know that? Anyway, a two pound coin is not change.'

'It is change.'

'It’s not change.'

'It is change.'

'You know, they have a mechanical dinosaur here that is the size of a bus.'

'Really?' She says, 'Show me.'

There is a queue to see the mechanical dinosaur. Camera flashes dance in the distance, teasing us. We can hear the creature roaring, but cannot see it. Other kids in the queue squeal and jump, venting their excitement. Adults tut and push and arrange their necks at weird angles, so that they might catch an early glimpse of the beast. The roaring gets closer as we shuffle eagerly forwards. The camera flashes are now touching our skin. We are bathed in blue flickers.

Finally, we are at the front of the queue, and we turn the corner, and we meet it. It is huge. It moves and smells and stomps. It has sharp teeth and menacing eyes and tough-looking skin and, such is it’s resemblance to reality, people stand back when they take its picture. Even its breathing is threatening - heavy and slow and contemplative.

'It’s smaller than a bus' blurts the 5 year old, tugging me towards the rocks.

The Male Nanny