As you get older there can be times when you realise that you have well and truly inherited some of your parents’ traits.
The most obvious example for me is that just like my dad, I get a bit wound up when travelling if the rest of the family aren’t packed and ready to leave at the appointed time. The words stressed and grumpy may even apply!
So it was all very interesting this week when Firstborn told me that she gets a bit stressed herself if the folk she is travelling with leave things to the last minute. Nevertheless, the disdain in her voice was a bit uncharitable when she then blurted out: “Oh my God – I’ve turned into you!“.
If we set off late then we knew The pressure would rise till you ‘blew’ And we’d all get the blame, But now I’m just the same. OH MY GOD, DAD! I’ve turned into you!
In honour of my big sister’s landmark birthday (and dependency on wine), I give you:
The fruit of the grape may assuage The fact that she’s now reached the age Where an ‘owd Cumbrian lass’ Can pick up a pass For an omnibus birthday rampage.
“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, and rather let my liver heat with wine than my heart cool with mortifying groans”. Or is it just wind?
A former captain of the Australian rugby union team, John Eales, was nicknamed ‘Nobody‘ by his international team-mates in recognition of his excellence and consistency. It was a play on words insofar as: “Nobody’s perfect“.
Eales was, but I have to confess that occasionally (and despite my best endeavours) I’m not perfect (no, seriously!). And sometimes that is even made clear to me by my nearest and dearest 😉
It’s at those times that I take solace in the words of Tim Dowling, Guardian columnist and downtrodden husband:
“I have long maintained that the secret to being a good husband and father is taking the time to point out to one’s wife and children that they could do a whole lot worse“.
I even printed it out in coloured foil, framed it and put it in Management’s Christmas stocking a few years ago …
… it’s sooo true!
… or if you prefer Homer Simpson’s take on the situation: “I won’t lie to you, fatherhood isn’t easy like motherhood” 🙂
This one came from very close to home. The tall child gently enquiring of Firstborn, his older sister, of her future plans having already padded her CV with prestigious, but poorly paid interships/fellowships and now commencing a Masters degree:
“Hannah, when you finish this course will you get a proper job?”
Occasionally you need to qualify a comment and, for the sake of her dignity, I need to qualify this one. My mum is 88 and sometimes what she means to say is not what she actually says. Put it down to the depredations of age …
An example from a recent trip to Newcastle springs to mind. What she meant to say was something like: “Two shandies and I’m three sheets to the wind”. So, what you really don’t expect your elderly mother to say to the assembled mourners towards the end of a funeral tea is: “Two shandies and I’m anyone’s!”.
As ‘Firstborn’ is one of the Instagram generation’s ‘selfie’ experts I can’t help feeling that this would be her approach to ‘helping police with their enquiries’ …
Berger & Wyse foretell the impact of police budgets cuts on the Instagram generation
Postscript: Of course in real life she doesn’t sport sideburns and has neither a receding hairline nor tattooed biceps (much to her parent’s relief) and she can only dream of being 6′ 4″
It’s a wee while since I was dishonestly ‘outed’ by Firstborn to all her Facebook friends as:
“… a cross-dressing rent boy with a penchant for high heels, who turns a shapely calf and holds Audrey Hepburn in high regard; the man who introduced me to Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Audrey Hepburn and Bette Midler, who styled my hair throughout my childhood, and who has very strong opinions on interior design …”.
All true, of course, bar the bit about being a cross-dressing rent boy with a penchant for high heels but, seemingly, word appears to have spread about the latter. You may recall that a few weeks ago the Graun reported that a PwC agency receptionist was sent home without pay for refusing to wear shoes with 2-4 inch heels whilst at work. I was actually stunned by that and did something that I very rarely do; I signed an online parliamentary petition seeking the discriminatory nature of the agency’s apparent dress code to be debated in Parliament.
I’m delighted to say that the petition worked and I heard yesterday that the matter will be debated. And I’m even more delighted to have been asked to give written evidence of the occasions upon which I have been compelled to wear high heels at work. Sadly, the only time that I can recall was during a work’s pantomime when, as one of the ugly sisters, Prince Charming attempted to force my size nine-and-a-half feet into a size four pair of hooker heels. So, maybe not!
Austerity bites …
Whilst on this theme, I should also mention that my ‘on order’ micro-campervan has already been christened ‘Priscilla’ by Firstborn in advance of its delivery. That’s as a sort of homage to the series of cross-dressing comedy films that we have enjoyed watching together: Connie and Carla, Some Like It Hot, Kinky Boots and, of course, Priscilla Queen of the Desert; however, I have drawn the line at having a Ken doll dressed in Barbie’s clothes as a mascot on the van’s dashboard!
Postscript: Not all movies with a cross-dressing theme are, to my mind, as good as those mentioned above, Tootsie and Victor Victoria for example, but there’s not half a lot of them.
We travelled to Arbroath today so that ‘Tall Child’ could get his annual fix of the Red Arrows aerobatic display team. Once there we took time out before the main event to top up our caffeine levels and indulge in some homebakes in a local café … but Arbroath, I ask you, marmalade on a fruit scone! Really?
