Today, as you know, is Fathers’ Day (or if you didn’t, it’s too bloody late now, you’re in big trouble). The boys sent Hubby a package containing all sorts of mad things: chocolate, CDs that he won’t like (the one with the dancing band ladies that show their bottoms - #2 thought he’d like that) and a book that he might like if we’re lucky. They had a lovely chat with him and told him all about the dogs and the money and didn’t let him get a word in edgeways. For my part, I had a silly chat with the Disreputable One this morning, who acknowledged receipt of my present (’at least it wasn’t another bloody box of Maltesers’) and laughed heartily at the tale of his smallest grandson needing a session at Gamblers Anonymous (see, being wayward is in the blood).

I’m SO looking forward to going home. We’ve got a few things planned with family and friends including a somewhat bizarre trip to see Morris dancers (don’t ask), but I’m really looking forward to seeing him. His humour may be x-rated, he may be exasperating, naughty and dastardly, but he’s big-hearted, generous, funny, a fantastic Grandad, and an all round bloody good laugh. In a rare serious moment during our phone call today, he said ‘I miss you’ and for a moment it caught me off guard. He’s seldom sensible and it touched a nerve. Let’s face it; you only get one Disreputable Dad in every lifetime. I miss you too, Dad. Lots.

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