There’s one thing that parents and children have in common: they want their children / parents to be happy.
Actually there’s another thing: one’s parents and children never have sex ever ever just bloody EVER all right! Just don’t give me that “so how comes you’re here” nonsense la la la I’ve got my fingers in my ears la la lar lar LAH!!!. So there! Ok!
Anyway, back to happiness. Nothing else really matters when you come down to it and, now that both ancestors are retired, conversations between self and said often go like this:
Me: “So what are you doing for fun these days?”
Them: “ooh, a bit of gardening and the church fete”
Me: “err, anything exciting?”
Them: “no not really”
Me: “oh for goodness sake just pick something, go out, and do it!!!”
Them: “yeah I guess so”
Etc. etc.
And why is it that my parents seem to have such a hard time having a holiday?!
They went to Thailand – plain got delayed.
They went to New York – it rained.
And they’re always having colds or what not just before a hols and, as a descendant, I have to come to terms with the idea there’s nothing I can do.
They are grown-ups after all.
So, dear reader, the story comes round to this year’s holiday: two long weeks in Scandinavia seeing lots of interesting things, everything arranged for them (and, unfortunately, costing a packet). What could possibly go wrong?
Sage Dad T. P. W-W II gets diagnosed with colon cancer.
He’s having his bum chopped off tomorrow as far as I can gather.
Flip… To be honest I'm not really thinking about it much. Deliberately.
Funnily enough, I’ve had “C” by John Diamond on my shelf for ages, so now seems a good time to charge through it...
