Who's the Daddy: No hot cross words at Easter
And with that, she was gone!
Without so much as a backwards glance, just a look in her rearview mirror as daughter No.1 drove back to university in her newly- bought and paid for car.
What was once an absolute pain in the neck to squeeze a driver, passenger and a term’s worth of stuff in a two-door hatchback for a shuttle service to Liverpool and back, is now an absolute doddle in a four-door hatchback containing just the driver and her stuff.
All that was left for us to do was hand over a six-pack of beer on her way out the door and wave her off. Maybe it’s a phenomenon that only affects youngsters who’ve lived away from home for any length of time, but during her return home for Easter there wasn’t a single crossed word. Not even a “what time do you call this?” Yeah, I know. Amazing.
Perhaps they realise just how good they’ve got it back at the Mothership, where toilet roll, gin and crisps magically replenish themselves, dinner is made for free every night and there’s no need to clear a colony of ants like the one that’s infesting their shared student kitchen.
It was like that time four years ago when a then 17-year-old daughter No.1 didn’t want to come on holiday to Cornwall with us so daughter No.2 brought a friend along instead. After a couple of days me and the boss thought something felt strange but we couldn’t put our finger on it. Then the penny dropped. No arguments. At all. It was very odd.
In fact the only rise in temperature was when daughter No.1 called from home one evening to wind up the boss about the challenging behaviour of our spirited fluorescent adolescent sighthound Walter. To be fair, he was feral back then.
So after a last request dinner of the Hairy Bikers’ chicken tikka masala (about 300 ingredients and a fiddle to prepare but my God is it worth it) she was off with a breezy, “I’m back in a fortnight for my sister’s birthday so I’ll see you then. Byeeeeee!”
So now it’s just me, the boss, daughter No.2, who’ll be off to uni herself in the autumn, a dog and two cats. What’s next, downsizing?
They realise how good they’ve got it at the Mothership, where gin and crisps magically replenish themselves