Nope…..nothing on the EU Referendum from me. We were banned from commenting in the run up to the thing and I rant enough in this column as it is so let’s just avoid the subject. Suffice to say that my children, three of whom voted, have managed to take my mind off the dire consequences of the result, this week at least, by an old tactic. They know that nothing can compare to the angst, nay, anguish, their mobile phone antics cause me.
On Monday, first day back from a two week “break”, I was wending my weary way to Scotland – brief diversion as I remember to tell you that I knew Iceland had scored when a roar of delight erupted from the assembled crowd of passengers around me also waiting for the 8.25pm flight from Stansted to Glasgow. I wasn’t meant to be going to Glasgow, but had missed my flight to Edinburgh – too stupid a story to relate here. Just as I thought things couldn’t get worse than Brexit woes, plunging financial markets and the fact that by now it was nearly 11pm and I was sitting in a smokey, clapped out mini-van driven by a mad Glaswegian who seemed to have little idea where Edinburgh was, were instantly doused by a new and greater calamity. Sophie rang to tell me the dreadful news that Bob had lost his phone.
I had had my suspicions of course. He had taken it with him to Magaluf on his house leavers “off-site” and had been ignoring repeated messages asking him to let us know when he was due to return ( ever the attentive parents us ), but the confirmation, when I was able to communicate with him by phoning a friend the following day, that his phone had been lost, this time irrevocably, is still hard to bear. What is wrong with me? He seemed blissfully non-plussed and still is, I’m happy to say, now that he is safely home, albeit with a very croaky voice and a wild head of hair to boot, and the proud owner of a £15 Nokia brick.
And then just to rub salt into the wounds Jimmy announced last night that her iphone, which to be fair to her, she had just paid to be restored, had been dropped again and had met its maker so to speak. Too boring. I’ll stop now. Sorry to unload on you.
Talking of the youth of today. Have you noticed they have a fixation about Best Before Dates? I’ve been noticing how, with them all at home at the moment, they have this annoying habit of delving through the fridge tutting at the number of items which may be a couple of days past their use by date. Anyway, don’t tell her I told you this, but Sophie, my wife, has been struggling with a minor, but persistent, dose of athlete’s foot. Despite liberal applications of mycota powder after each bath her condition had not improved. The alarm bells rang when I picked the green plastic bottle up for a closer inspection of its properties. The first thing I noticed was a price label which was a bit fuzzy but appeared to read A$8.35. It has been a while since I was last in Australia. And the best before date on the bottom? September 1996!!
Off to Rugby this afternoon for the final act. The Leavers Ball. Hallelulia. We made it! The wretched new headmaster has wrought one last dampener on proceedings. Chapel service at 7.30pm before the Ball kicks off. What’s that all about?? If ever there was a moment for someone to release a pigeon it is this evening…..come on Bob….don’t let me down!
PS I didn’t crash the boat. In fact, I know I am bragging a bit, but see this photo attached?…..ours is the yacht on the left in front of the blue awning. I know!!! How the heck did I squeeze it in there first time, no scratches, no shouting? Go me eh!
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