Amen to that

A few weeks ago Tina Fey's Prayer for My Daughter was all over the internet. This elegantly conceived wish list echoed the hopes and fears parents have for their children. In fact, it struck such a universal chord that it's probably being turned into a fridge magnet right now.

So here's my heartfelt version for sons, which may, if it's lucky, manage one re-tweet from @Gazbot23 of Slough. Enjoy.

A PRAYER FOR MY SON, AGED 4

May a tattoo of Tweety Pie smoking a joint never grace his drinking arm.

Lord, may he never snap after playing Grand Theft Auto 247 and shoot a prostitute outside an off-licence.

When he is asked if he wants to buzz deodorant/graze magic mushrooms in a park in Paisley/ smoke a bifter with cocaine in it on the way to school, may he look upon his father, who has a brain like Swiss cheese, and say no.

Guide him and protect him and lead him away from being a sex pest. Please let him grow out of sticking his hand down my cleavage and smelling it because he thinks it’s like a bum. And, also, stop him from trying to molest shop dummies in New Look, for it embarrasses his mother when she is shopping for £3.99 espadrilles.

Let him get a job which doesn’t include any of the following: fire juggler, painter of Celtic-themed pavement art, accountant, bomb disposal expert, aerobics instructor, roofer, Farmfoods ambient replenisher, bounty hunter, tabard-wearing charity representative, lion tamer, didgeridoo player, unsuccessful writer of ‘funny’ articles.

If he decides to join a band, may he be the sober(ish), shy, self-effacing bass player and not the twatty lead singer with the warty genitals and coke bogeys.

When he gets a girlfriend, please let her be a nice sensible type, and not a thick-as-mince 25 stone McFlurry-scoffing VD-riddled skank with a neon thong and a penchant for wild unprotected sex in car parks.

If he is gay, may he take his Mama out all night, get her jacked up on cheap champagne and show her what it's all about.

Please Lord, if he is successful, lead him not into the temptation to say the phrases 'going forward', 'PDF that to me' and 'get that to me for close of play.'

If he does get his skanky girlfriend pregnant, let him not choose the names Maldives, Ibrox or Aldi.

And finally, if he is insane enough to have children of his own, may he not expect me to help, because I plan to be on a cruise ship in the Aegean, lying insensibly under the All You Can Eat buffet as a swarthy deck hand called Spiro mops the hummus off my orthopaedic shoes.

Amen.