I was invited to have Sunday dinner with Tricia and my extremely handsome son George today. Mmmm Sunday roast how lovely. We were to eat it from trays on our laps.
When Tricia brought George's dinner in, he had just gone to wash his hands, so she placed his tray on the sofa beside me whilst she went to fetch mine.
The plate smashed on the tiled floor. Broken crockery is not good to have mixed in with food. Sadly it was not salvageable.
George appeared. We all looked at the roast dinner on the floor. We all looked at my dinner steaming temptingly on my plate, with the delicious crispy roast potatoes and vegetables, and the yorkshire pudding.
I hadn't eaten breakfast. I was saving my appetite for this dinner. My mouth was watering. I had looked forward to this meal so much.
"You have my dinner George", I heard myself saying.
He protested of course. but I insisted, saying, " Please take it Son, I'm not really hungry".
I returned to my wagon, where, after I had managed to control my sobbing and wiped the tears from my eyes, I found a single slice of bacon in the fridge. I made myself a sandwich.
Yep, I'm a good Dad.