When my hair's all but gone

There are landmark moments for all of us and we tend to remember these very clearly: I recall my first match, a Boxing Day ‘treat’ at Fratton Park, I will never forget my first pint - a flat glass of ‘best’ at one of Stockport’s less salubrious watering holes and will certainly never forget my first kiss - although I am pretty sure the unlucky lass has pushed that moment into the darkest recesses of her mind.

Those memories, good or bad are worth cherishing which is why, as a parent, I spend a large amount of my family time trying make sure my young charges build up an impressive back catalogue of special experiences.

Sometimes I am guilty of trying too hard: my eldest attended her first match aged just three on a miserably cold afternoon in Bury and I swear I heard the stewards tut when I carried the poor little devil into the ground. Thankfully, she has no memory of that dreadful day - a truly appalling 2-0 defeat.

Last week my first born had an experience which I am pretty certain she will remember until she is playing gin rummy in her rocking chair: her first pop concert. The problem with eight-year-olds is they don’t always share the same musical tastes as their parents and mine has a particular obsession with Ed Sheeran. We headed off to Wembley on a school night to watch an incredibly amiable chap with a guitar hold a sellout crowd of 85,000 in the palm of his hand.

Not only was it a coming of age moment for my daughter but it was also a landmark moment for me because it was the first time I properly felt like a middle-aged dad.

Not only did I leave the people carrier in the eye wateringly expensive, yet incredibly convenient car park but I danced a dad jig when I realised our seats, on the very back row, came with a makeshift shelf, somewhere to put our overpriced hot dogs, popcorn, donuts and sweets. But it was a great night made better when the lucky girl said ‘Dad, that was the best night of my life.’

A memory to last a lifetime.