“BABY” – A Product Review

I took receipt of my babies in 2007 and 2010 and this is my honest product review. I did not receive any payment or complimentary products in return for this review.


It was extremely difficult to get the baby out. I would recommend the packaging used is rethought as a matter of priority. More specifically, a packaging solution needs to be found which doesn’t render the purchaser in agonising pain, bleeding like a stuck pig for the next six weeks, and unable to sit down without the judicious use of a rubber ring and a stick to bite down on. Bubble wrap would probably be a more sensible packaging option.

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Biff, Chip and Kipper and the Primary School Admissions

It was the night before the primary school allocations came out.

Mum was a nervous wreck.

“I am a nervous wreck,” said Mum.

“Please,” said Chip. “Don’t try and suddenly feign an interest in our education. I was out of the house from 8am on Monday until 7pm on the Friday three weeks later, and all you had to say was ‘Did you have a nice day at school, dear?’ Where the fuck do you think we go to school? Mars?”

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Biff, Chip and Kipper and the Swimming Lesson

Biff and Chip were at school.

“Today we are going to the swimming pool,” said Mrs May. “We are going to have a swimming lesson. Now that you have been having lessons for a whole term you should all be able to swim.”

“Hooray!” cheered the children.

“Oh fuck,” said Biff and Chip. Biff and Chip had not been having swimming lessons for a whole term. Biff and Chip hadn’t even made it to registration for the last seven weeks.

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Biff, Chip and Kipper and the Mother’s Day Surprise

It was nearly Mother’s Day.

‘All I want for Mother’s Day,’ said Mum, ‘is five minutes’ peace.’

‘Five minutes’ peace?’ said Chip. ‘What do you mean, five minutes’ peace? We’ve been out of the country for the past seven days fighting vampire warlords and all you said when we came back was “Did you have a nice day at school?” You don’t need five minutes’ peace. You need a watch and a sense of your children’s whereabouts.’

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