It’s not often that I look forward to doing stuff with Dad.
Twelve months ago we were in a bad state between us, and I can see now that I was causing them problems, mum being upset because I upset him, and upset because he upset me. She is the strong link as she’s my rock and probably his too.
We have made an effort, it would have been easy to have written “we have made more of an effort”, in fact I did that at first, but fact is I was finding reasons to antagonise him, and looking back I don’t blame him for being pissed off at me all the time. Things started to get better when I did some work for him. Probably because the clients I was driving around took a liking to me and he started to see that I could be an asset.
Anyway, all that I hope is water under some proverbial old person’s bridge as we are getting on better these days, and sometimes well.
All that good stuff aside, I was still surprised and quite delighted when he suggested that we go up to see the tour on the first stage. It isn’t just about family relations, dad has to go and see Stuart, one of his clients and he’s based in Ripon, but he has decided to make the meeting on Friday. We’ll stay over in Boroughbridge where another client of dad’s has a hotel.
The most important bit though is the race. We might head out to Buttertubs, but that will probably be super crowded. So we may head for Harrogate instead.
Thanks to “Carter’s Country” for this lovely image of Buttertubs – imaging this with cyclists and people swarming all over it!
No matter where we go I shall be in the deli later telling Diane of our big plan, I hope she likes cycling, after all she’s French, she must do.
I don’t have any friends with kids yet.
I don’t have any younger brothers or sisters.
I don’t really understand children at all.
So imagine the shock when a couple of the folks’ best mates unceremoniously dumped their kids on me.
What on earth were they thinking of?
Fortunately the were completely lovely kids, boy 11, girl 9. Quiet, excited, interested, and interesting.
We drove out to the beach, them strapped in the back of the car asking questions all the way.
“Lee, why don’t you listen to music in the car?”
“Lee, do you have a dog?”
“Lee, what kind of dog do you want to have when you grow up?”
“Lee this, Lee that” All the morning.
We walked the length of Formby, and even I was knackered, and then they slept the whole way home.
Well, if that’s all there is to it then I guess it’s not so bad really.
Of course though these are grown up already. Bright kids. Well dragged up. No answering back. No grief. Not sick in the car.
You know what? I might just get a dog!
I stayed out for two nights.
I slept on a sofa, and um, a sofa.
I hate sleeping on sofas.
I did the hardest thing I could think of.
I called Dad.
I said “Dad, I’m sorry”.
He just said “Come into the office son”.
I wasn’t sure of that idea. But I did. I was humble. I said sorry again.
And we agreed that I’d been a twat (my word, not his). We agreed that I’d caused mum all sorts of worry that she didn’t need,and that his dad would have beaten him black and blue before kicking him out. OK. I agreed to every stupid thing he said, but I was, in fact I am, sorry.
The trouble is now I can’t wait to leave hime again, just when I thought I was getting myself a bit sorted out.
I might just have to consider a real job – like the one driving for the Coo.
I’ll let you know.
I have undone all the good work from the last few months, building bridges with dad.
I hardly bare to admit this, but I got stupidly smashed on Friday night. I had a bottle of wine, then thought it would be such a great idea to start necking the old man’s whiskey.
When they came in I had already thrown up, and passed out, all in his favourite TV chair.
He flew off the handle and cuffed me around the head.
Mum burst into tears and started shouting at both of us.
What a complete load of bollocks.
I was hung over all day, and now I desperately want to apologise to him, but I daren’t go back yet.
I slept at Darren’s last night, and I texted mum just now so that she won’t be worried, trouble is it was nearly ten o’clock, so she will have been worried all day long.
Oh shit shit shit.
How do I get out of this one?
I’m sure there’ll be plenty more grief to come.
Dad’s offices look just like someone’s house. It’s quite deliberate and it’s a good tactic as the whole place feels homely, people work at quite old fashioned desks, there’s a proper kitchen, and a chef comes in and cooks them a proper meal every day.
They’re getting the doors replaced at the moment and they wanted secure doors, that looked good too. I put Dad onto Yale Doors. They look like any other house door – well, better than most, but they’re really well insulated, and tougher than anything you might normally come across. That means they’re great for security, without looking like big ugly security doors.
This place has agreed to buy the old doors from us too – salvage yard. And I will have the funds that the sale makes!
If I could only get a commission for everything I have sourced for Dad then I’d have a reasonable income!
I’m on a mission to improve my relationship with the old man. It’s the only thing I have committed to as a resolution. And I think it’s good for both of us. It’s Mum’s doing, we had a bit of a heart to heart over Christmas and I was quite amazed when she explained that he was quite upset that we didn’t get on. I thought he just considered me a waste of space
Anyway, this door thing has sort of resulted from that resolution – I asked him how I might be able to help him, and pretty much straight away he said about the office, a few improvements, and in particular the doors.
Let’s hope this new spirit of detante lasts!