I've just about finished writing up my holiday with the kids on the West Coast of America.
What a fun time we had. At least we all returned alive. And with every single finger and toe. Am I a good dad, or what?
This is a taster of the white-knuckle ride of travelling with my kids:
Our train isn't until the afternoon. So, we arrange a late checkout. And try to get through at least some of our huge beer stash.
The kids make a fairly good job of it, brave little troopers that they are. I do my best to help, in my oldie person sort of way.
“Hurry up, Dad! You’re not drinking your share. We’ll never get through them at this rate.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Well, it’s not good enough.”
It’s a terrible thing to be a disappointment to your children.
“Then try drinking faster.”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes. Christ, you’re going senile. Shut up and get on with drinking.”