Posts tagged: Father’s Day

Who Wants to be a Billionaire?

Five Billion Dollars

I should have mentioned that the best Father’s Day present for me this year was the return of my daughter after her prolonged stay in South Africa. She got back last Thursday and already it is like she has never been away.

Her last few weeks were spent visiting the southern countries of the continent as part of a small group travelling with Nomad Tours. Read more ›››

Vuvu Voluntary

The vuvuzela is now very much a must have instrument among the Yorkshire brass band fraternity, at least if my visit to Sheffield today is anything to go by.

We had been invited to my daughter’s for the day in honour of Father’s Day, that special date in the calendar when the patriarch is indulged. In my case this involved not having a lie-in or breakfast in bed, but an early trip to stock up at the shops followed by a pleasant drive in the sunshine across the Pennines. Read more ›››

Rainy Season

I knew I’d made a mistake as I drove out of Morrisons car park. I turned on the radio and tuned in to Test Match Special for the England/Australia ODI and it was crackling like a bowl of Rice Krispies which told me that the static was gathering to herald the predicted thunderstorm.

Trouble was, I’d just bought the makings of a barbecue — lamb, chicken, steak and sausages — after we decided to risk the weather forecast for another al fresco meal. Read more ›››


Well, Daddy’s day worked out okay in the end. The children emerged (eventually) to bestow gifts: An amusing card implying that all dads are useless; “Manchester United Ruined my Wife” from daughter, signed by the author, David Blatt, who happened to be sitting in a shop in Stockport, ballpoint poised (actually, I’ve read the first 20 or so pages, and it’s quite entertaining); and “Down Under” on tape by Bill Bryson from son — which I’m looking forward to listening to in the car to and from work. Read more ›››

Father’s Day

It is 7.30 in the morning and I’m the only one up and about. I don’t expect to see the kids for ages yet, especially as Max and his mates were still up at 3.30 and only went to bed then after stern words from Mrs Parrot.

The latter isn’t too good — she managed to put her back out and graze her cheek while demonstrating how good yoga is for you. I’ve decided to decline her invitation to join her at the Monday evening lessons. I don’t do extreme sports. Read more ›››