Fingers crossed, this year is as close as many of us will get to life during wartime; shortages, rationing and hiding away in our houses. All that’s missing is the bombs. And like I said, there’s still two weeks left.
I think we’ve all had about as much of this as we can take. If you find the news depressing, try working in it for a living. LOLs have been very thin on the ground in journalism for the past nine months, and that’s for those lucky enough to be still in work.
The only good thing to happen this year is Trump getting beat. And we laughed long and hard into the night. And our hangovers were the stuff of legend.
Trump’s snarky attitude to defeat just makes it all the sweeter.
We’ll all be incredibly disappointed if, after he’s been dragged out of the White House by armed guards next month, he hasn’t left the Oval Office looking like Leeds Festival on the Monday morning after a weekend of absolute mayhem.
Anyway, this column’s flimsy pretext is parenting. And this week all I’ve got to say about it is this...
When your kids are little, the presents they get come in large boxes and their cost per square inch is pretty low. Oh, but how exciting they look all wrapped up.
As they get older, the gifts get smaller but much more expensive. Dads up and down the country, who look as surprised as their teenage children when they unwrap their presents on Christmas morning as mum’s done all the work again, can’t help but marvel at how so much buys so very little.
Our teenage nephews have requested video games. Long, boring, never ending video games. The last one I played was Daley Thompson’s Decathlon on the Commodore 64 in 1984.
A few weeks later I discovered girls and booze and didn’t touch a computer again for eight years until my first newspaper ditched their typewriters and broke the bank to buy a load of rubbish Olivettis. Hindsight’s a wonderful thing but the money would’ve been better spent on a bank of C64s and an Etch-A-Sketch.