Those who read regularly know that I’ve been away in Watford over the weekend. Since I didn’t take the laptop, I have been unable to write long, meandering blog posts – and so naturally I’ve had more ideas for long meandering blog posts this weekend than ever before.

On Friday I decided that we only had ourselves to blame for the sordid and disgusting story of Karen Matthews and her scam to kidnap her own daughter and walk away with the Madeline McCann-style donations from a concerned public. Not because we’re to blame for creating a ‘client state’ and allowing Karen Matthews to live on the generosity of the taxpayer – the blame there lies entirely with this New Labour government. We’re to blame because she wouldn’t have even had the idea if we hadn’t encouraged the media – by voting with our wallets and our remote controls – to carry huge stories about kidnapped children and manage funds for donations.

I nearly wrote a post about how pleased I was that so much pressure was being put on Speaker Martin, how wrong Tom Harris is to entirely miss the point that the special forces arresting opposition (or government) elected officials is a resort that should only be taken in the gravest circumstances, with the greatest necessity and with entirely proper procedures and due process taking place. Any less than that is either incompetence or intimidation – neither a pleasing prospect.

I spent two and three quarter hours getting from Watford to Covent Garden on Sunday to take my little one to see The Gruffalo (and consequently was nearly 15 minutes late and missed the start) because trains had been cancelled left right and centre. I considered going on the attack against Boris Johnson for this woeful inadequacy on the part of Transport for London (although he did redeem himself with an excellent appearance on Top Gear, and our train journey from Watford back to Derby was practically perfect in every way).

Into my notepad for consideration also went the post in which I ask whether our country’s social problems can be soved – how can we bring people living on council estates in cities in the North out of their state dependence? There’s just not enough work in this county for all of them. How can we give them a helping hand onto the ladder of work if there’s no work for them to do?

All of those posts seemed like good ideas to me. Some of them may even get written one day. I was on my way home today, though, walking through the concrete jungle that is Watford with my daughter on my back in her backpack, when we passed a tree-lined stream where people often walk their dogs. Down the stream floated the usual array of coke cans, plastic bags and shopping trolleys, but my little girl pointed at the water and said “Look Daddy! Ducks! They’re beautiful!“

At that moment I felt proud enough to cry, and all the blog posts I had ready to write just melted away. Through the eyes of a happy child, all the best of the world becomes clear. She sees beauty and magic where I am ashamed to say that I, jaded by experience and cynicism, see mundane normality. Tomorrow I might get back to complaining about our government an being scared about the state of this country. Right now, though, I’m going to join my daughter and look at the beautiful ducks, and remember why I love being a father so very very much.