Daddy Wrong Legs

My new issue of Viz arrived yesterday. No matter what I’m doing, everything stops when I see it on the doormat. I hurriedly rip off the plastic cover, find somewhere to sit and treat myself to a 20 minute browse.

For those unaware of existence (and shame on you), it is a satirical magazine that is refreshingly vulgar, shamelessly politically incorrect and so British, it would mean absolutely nothing to anyone outside the UK. It’s basically a comic for adults of a certain age. Each year on my birthday, my wife gets me an annual subscription, not because she’s a fan, but because she knows it keeps the child in me happy.

Anyway, at the back of each issue, is the Profanisaurus – a sort of lexicon of profanity. And, although it’s stuffed to the gills with words n.s.f.w., it often contains words that aren’t rude, but apt, to the point of genius. And in this issue, there’s a phrase that made me gulp, and that phrase is… ‘Daddy Wrong Legs’. According to Viz, a Daddy Wrong-Legs is ‘a heavily refreshed gentleman of advancing years, throwing shapes on the dancefloor at a wedding reception, whilst oblivious to the mortification of everyone present.’

I’ve seen several Daddy Wrong Legs in action, and it hasn’t been pretty. But worse still, I’ve been a Daddy Wrong Legs.  I’ve flailed, spun, high-kicked and slid. I’ve sometimes put my hands over my head and done what I’ve heard described as the “white man’s overbite”. I’ve mouthed the wrong words to a song I half remembered, closed my eyes and put my hands in the air like I just don’t care (which I didn’t) and imagined I looked cool, sexy and great.

But what really made me gulp this morning wasn’t the phrase, ‘Daddy Longlegs’  but the words, ‘oblivious to the mortification of everyone present.’

Now, I do try so hard to act, and dress, my age. Rightly or wrongly, I think that unless you are a celebrity, you have a duty to try not to embarrass yourself, or others, by looking like the bass player in a band you’re not even in. I’ve stopped wearing skinny jeans, I refuse to experiment with any hairstyle that isn’t a Grade 1 all over and, apart from a couple of exceptions, my T-shirts are pretty plain. But I don’t think I can stop the drunken dancing. If I can only keep one thing, let it be that. To you onlookers I say – it could be worse – I could have turned up sporting a flat-top or have epaulettes on my suit; I could be wearing shades indoors and calling everyone ‘man’.

So, if I’m to be defined by any Profanisaurus entry, I’ll settle for ‘Daddy Wrong Legs’, and I’ll ask those mortified by my drunken dancing (including my family) to remember that, just like the eponymous spider, I’m a bit rubbish and pretty harmless.

For all things Viz including apps, books, albums and general idiocy visit their website www.viz.co.uk and remember (friends and family) a Profanisaurus makes an ideal Christmas gift !