My son’s reading is getting pretty good, but he doesn’t yet have his Dad’s talent for characterisation.

My Dumbledore is serene. My Professor McGonagall is hilarious. My Severus Snape is chilling. I have to create mesmerising performances day after day. It’s a considerable burden.

Everyone thinks, given the right opportunities, that they could have been a movie star. How hard can it be? You pop out of your luxury trailer once in a while, slug back a skinny mochachino, have your personal assistant remind you of your lines, have your make up artist cover up your crows’ feet, saunter to your mark, say the line, look meaningfully into the distance, then back to your luxury trailer for a shiatsu massage, whatever that is, and wait for the Oscars.

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Obviously for most people this is a ridiculous pipe dream, but for me, it’s true. I could definitely be a great actor of stage and screen. How do I know? Because my reading for my kids is, without wanting to blow my own trumpet, astonishing. A triumph. Mesmerising. Oscar worthy. Being in films is easy. Putting greatness into reading for your children every day is hard.

My son is deeply into Harry Potter. He brings the book to me and begs me to illuminate it with my masterful characterisations.

“I’m sorry son, I’m very tired. Perhaps tomorrow night.”

“Oh please, daddy!”

“No, I couldn’t possibly… oh all right then. Hand it over.”

But his face suddenly changes. “Er… actually Daddy. It’s alright. I can read it myself.” He rushes off excitedly.

“Oh. Are you sure son?” He is sure. My portrayal of someone who is relieved that they don’t have to read for their son is faultless. I go to find my other children and see if I can read for them.