If like me you have become slightly unhinged at the prospect of the rest of your life with only the current FIVE seasons of Game of Thrones to spread out over the years – fear not. I’ve worked out why it’s so compelling, and luckily, this also means that when you’ve run out of episodes, you can quite easily recreate that same feeling from your actual life.
The secret? Be a parent.
Parenting, Game of Thrones. Game of Thrones, parenting. Think about it mothers – there’s a lot of the same shit going down in both:
Shouting. So much shouting.
The shouting in our house is mostly along the lines of “PUT your bloody pants on”, however as any parent wresting with reluctant children will know, it can quickly descend into literally murderous grunts (mine, children’s), and plentiful swearing. Occasionally, the boy one will hit me with a (plastic) sword, so it’s actually hard to tell if I’m a cast member or not at times.
The only reason husband has got as far as season 3 of Game of Thrones with me is the regular tits-out quota, I’m not stupid. However there’s so much jolly bum baring in both Westeros and any household with a child, you become a bit immune to it after a while. What’s that darling? Your willy’s gone all weird? Oh that’s probably because you’re hitting it with your sisters My Little Pony, perhaps you might like to tuck it away in your pants instead?
Huge amounts of shagging…
HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!
Have you SEEN how many clothes Jon Snow wears?? I swear he’s been taking lessons from my 3 year old, who having just learned to dress himself will now think nothing of leaving the house in three T-shirts, pyjama bottoms, his sister’s skirt, a deer-stalker and mismatched wellies. I know winter is coming and all, but Jesus. It’s JULY.
On that note, WINTER IS COMING…
You know it parents. Winter. Is. Coming.
The slide will be wet, the park will be muddy and it will be dark by 3.30pm. That terrible dread of the future isn’t just limited to the Stark family is it? What the Sam Hell are you going to DO with them all day long for four months?? Dreadful.
Semi-dead people with glassy, staring, deathly eyes dressed in tatters marching mindlessly onwards through frozen wastelands; quite literally based on any parent ever who has survived the first four months with a newborn baby. Have yet to notice one with raggedy bleeding nipples on TV so far, but that’s probably just because the sheer relentless horror of breastfeeding is probably too much for the lily-livered ‘strong bloody violence’ types who watch Game of Thrones. Maybe they cover mastitis in Season Four?
A murderous, unhinged and never-ending struggle for power…
You: Put your coat on!
You: Stop that!
You: Put that down!
You: Come here!
Child: (runs away)
etc. etc… Repeat until you’re sick. Bloody Targaryen bastards never had it so easy.
There’s a small person…
Tyrion Lannister, your own little children. Both small, both amusing; you can guarantee both would stand atop a very large wall and piss off the edge of the world given half a chance. Your children will also fall off said wall, requiring a six hour trip to casualty. Idiots.
An excellent script…
Game of Thrones gave us the fabulous truism “There’s no cure for being a c@%$” (Season 2, Episode 4).
My son, whilst (obviously) naked, sloshing water over a green inflatable reindeer in the garden gave me the equally fabulous: “I washing my donkey!” (pause, screams;) “I’M A DONKEY WASHER!!!”
Funny, rude, moments of brilliance – GoT and parenting got them all.
A banging theme tune…
Game of Thrones have got pulsing drums, cellos and the most comprehensive map ever seen – (DO NOT lose concentration during the credits or you’ll need to abandon all hope of knowing What. The. Fuck. is actually occurring, and where).
We’ve got the Sing and Sign CD and, occasionally, the Frozen soundtrack; cranked up to ELEVEN as we cruise around in my shithouse, litter strewn, broken toy graveyard of a mum-wagon. Epic.
**DISCLAIMER: I’m only half way through Season 3. It’s entirely possible that what remains is a flower strewn walk in the park with no swearing, excessive drinking or desperate doomed negotiations, but I stand by my premise. Please don’t tell me what happens.