Many Happy Returns

Well we finally got round to our family lunch to celebrate my dad’s 80th birthday, several Sundays too late. Our original plan was scuppered because it was the weekend we had to ship my daughter to university and then last week was postponed because I took him to the ManU Newcastle match.

We duly gathered at the pub and seated ourselves for the carvery lunch. Me, Mrs and Miss P, Master P being of that age when he isn’t young enough to be ordered about and not old enough to feel comfortable in ‘grown-up’ company, my two sisters and partners, nephews and nieces and their significant others.

And even my grand-niece who I met for the first time. She’s nearly one, but my sister only recently became aware that she was a grandmother. It’s a long story, but my nephew’s partner looks much like Angelina Joile according to the distaff Parrots, although with more piercings.

The one person missing was dad. After a call from my sister, word was that he had forgotten about the event, though he arrived pretty sharpish suggesting that he had been ready all the time and awaiting the summons as he claimed.

In any event, we tucked in to some good food and swapped family chat with my new grand-niece inevitably taking centre stage. What a sweetie. And dad who at eighty is active and still playing with all his marbles, an ambition I hope to emulate.

Many happy returns Dad.

Nobody’s prefect. If you find any spelling mistakes or other errors in this post, please let me know by highlighting the text and pressing Ctrl+Enter.

1 comment… Add yours
  • Yorkshire Pudding 8th October 2006

    Ahem! Men can easily find themselves being arrested when they play with their marbles in carveries. Word has it that you have been playing with your marbles for years. It must be a genetic disorder.


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