If, like me, you’re a dad I hope you managed to spend at least a little of yesterday taking a well-earned break.
Father’s Day comes but once a year and although I still regard it as one of those “Hallmark” holidays (other brands of greetings card are available) I’m willing to accept its existence because I happen to be the one who benefits.
I’m not, you understand, bothered about the card - I thank the greetings industry for giving me a Sunday of my own, but I’ll be damned if, even by proxy, I’m paying for the privilege. But it’s nice to get the attention
I wasn’t, by the way, expecting much in the way of gifts - in fact I’ve been pretty insistent on the issue.
I doubt, unless My Good Wife’s won one of those competitions she claims not to have entered while watching Hungary’s Got Talent, the kids could stretch to a weekend for two in the Big Apple.
I have, and I’m writing this in advance of the big day, been promised I can watch the film I’ve been trying to see for weeks.
It may not seem much but control of the remotes, even if it is just for one evening, is a major victory.
It’s just one of the items on my Father’s Day wish list.
Some I know I’m not going to get - that surprise trip to New York among them.
I can’t see, with three little ones, there being much of a chance of a lie-in - I’ll settle for a bacon butty - and there’s no way I’m going to get away with a nappy free life.
But there’s a chance I might get to choose what we have for tea and, if I’m really lucky, I might even get away with not cooking it.
Then there’s that movie, and with the promise of popcorn too, how can I be angry?
Of course, I can’t expect the world. I am, after all, a dad - well down the whole parental pecking order.
We recently borrowed an idea from a TV ad campaign, using the ‘daddy or chips’ test the thing.
It turns out I’m well behind Nana and Pop as well as Grandma, Grandad, several aunties and most varieties of deep fried root vegetable.
On the balance of things one treat on one day is probably all I’m worth. Not like mums who earn their day one hundred times over.
Mummy or chips... it’s no contest!