I love my daughter’s names – Poppy (7), Daisy (6) and Petal (6 mths) – but I have no choice in that stuff. It’s hard for me to get an opinion out there. Home life is a reversal of work. I used to be polite about it but, really, I’m their bitch. I’m turning into my father. I need a shed in the garden because they’re driving me insane!
Men go in and out of being useful. I’m more of a janitor than a father. I change light bulbs and find things that have fallen down the back of the furniture. Actually, they think I’m a bit special at the moment, so it’s good times. Apparently that only lasts two years, then they hate you until they’re 21.
Sometimes I blink and two years have gone by. Over the past six weeks, I’ve only managed 15 minutes in my hammock – my Holy Grail. I don’t know what it is, but my daughters tend to land on me with their knees positioned to get me in the bollocks. I think they do it on purpose. So, that 15 minutes came to an abrupt end.
One day, I’m going to have to put up with some cat-weasel wanting to shag my daughters. I keep buying shotguns and rifles, and I just got a gun cabinet. I’m preparing for the future. You think I’m joking? I swear to God, I’m not.
(Extracts from Sunday Herald Sun Magazine October 4 2009 – In My Own Words interview with Tony Magnusson).