I've had some lovely messages from people I've never met, wishing myself and Mum a merry Christmas, which was really touching. I thought about it afterwards, and realise I do mention my Ma a lot here, and I suddenly had this thought that I was this awful middle aged Mummy's boy.
Pondering this sad image, I realised that this really isn't the case. True I do mention my Mother a lot, but the fact is she is my next of kin, and if my Father was still alive I'd mention him just as much. Never to be married or sireing sprogs, means that the closest relationship in my life is with the people that produced this sprog.
I love Alan Bennett. The books and films were he and his Mother are sat in some hotel in Harrogate people watching are hilarious. Hilarious but probably a little too close to home. Exchange Harrogate for Accrington every Tuesday lunchtime and you have us. The little old lady that serves us, think Julie Walters 'ready to order now Sir?', even thought we were married, which considering the twenty year age gap is a bit insulting to one of us.
I remember writing before how I distanced myself from my Father as a child. I wasn't as close to him as my brother was. I wasn't able to show him the same unthinking affection my sibling did as he climbed all over him. I didn't wan't to appear 'soft'. Strangely this very difference brought us closer together as I entered adulthood. When I came out at seventeen boundaries were broken. Afterwards we could talk about pretty much anything and everything.
Returning home once a month when I'd moved away, meant rambling conversations long into the night. Dad and I shared similar political views, and also ones on morality. Mister sporty and totally hetrosexual, didn't fear other peoples differences, and for that I'm grateful.
I miss him. Although Mum and myself have the same taste in paintings and art, she doesn't play board games. I've never opened the Scrabble box in the twelve or so years that he's been gone. Inside I know I'll find our score cards going back about ten years. We were fairly evenly matched until the year before he died when he stopped smoking. His concentration was all over the place, and he had game after game were he didn't win. He made me promise not to feel sorry for him and let him win. I would never have insulted him that way. In any case he'd always brought us up always to do our best.
The conclusion of this rambling meander is that I am a Mummy's boy. I feel very blessed that I have had such wonderful parents. Everyone should feel that their parents are the best in the world, it makes me very sad when this isn't always the case.
Pondering this sad image, I realised that this really isn't the case. True I do mention my Mother a lot, but the fact is she is my next of kin, and if my Father was still alive I'd mention him just as much. Never to be married or sireing sprogs, means that the closest relationship in my life is with the people that produced this sprog.
I love Alan Bennett. The books and films were he and his Mother are sat in some hotel in Harrogate people watching are hilarious. Hilarious but probably a little too close to home. Exchange Harrogate for Accrington every Tuesday lunchtime and you have us. The little old lady that serves us, think Julie Walters 'ready to order now Sir?', even thought we were married, which considering the twenty year age gap is a bit insulting to one of us.
I remember writing before how I distanced myself from my Father as a child. I wasn't as close to him as my brother was. I wasn't able to show him the same unthinking affection my sibling did as he climbed all over him. I didn't wan't to appear 'soft'. Strangely this very difference brought us closer together as I entered adulthood. When I came out at seventeen boundaries were broken. Afterwards we could talk about pretty much anything and everything.
Returning home once a month when I'd moved away, meant rambling conversations long into the night. Dad and I shared similar political views, and also ones on morality. Mister sporty and totally hetrosexual, didn't fear other peoples differences, and for that I'm grateful.
I miss him. Although Mum and myself have the same taste in paintings and art, she doesn't play board games. I've never opened the Scrabble box in the twelve or so years that he's been gone. Inside I know I'll find our score cards going back about ten years. We were fairly evenly matched until the year before he died when he stopped smoking. His concentration was all over the place, and he had game after game were he didn't win. He made me promise not to feel sorry for him and let him win. I would never have insulted him that way. In any case he'd always brought us up always to do our best.
The conclusion of this rambling meander is that I am a Mummy's boy. I feel very blessed that I have had such wonderful parents. Everyone should feel that their parents are the best in the world, it makes me very sad when this isn't always the case.
