My children gave me a nice present for Christmas, which I meant to tell you about.
They’re taking me to London next week, for a day. We’re leaving early in the morning and coming home late. They promise not to bitch or moan or shuffle their feet and spend the day texting their friends, even if I want to go and visit the Science Museum or the V&A or the National Gallery. Which I will. Two of the three anyway.
We might go to the London Eye or some other cheesy tourist attraction, and we’ll probably go for a couple of pints, maybe a nice meal somewhere, who knows?
Isn’t that good? A day’s quality time in London with my children, who are not really children any more but who will always be children in my eyes.
Don’t run across the road, I’ll still be telling them years from now. Put that down, it’ll go into someone’s eye! Don’t speak with your mouth full. Look at the dirt of that face. Put on a jacket. You’ll get pneumonia.
But Dad, we’re sixty-five.
All the more reason to wrap up well at your age!
It’s been a while since I wandered around London with friends, just visiting the museums and galleries. I’m looking forward to doing it with my children, who are also my friends.