The parentals

Some people see Father's Day as a cynical manoeuvre by the retail industry. A "day" manufactured to justify blokes sitting on their arses doing nothing. Like it needs justification. It was so late to bed last night after the village ceilidh for the weans that we all got a bit of a lie in this morning. Well, 8.30. Not bad. But it was just breakfast, cool presents of chocolate, whisky and a camping gadget, a Doctor Who catch-up (and wasn't that penultimate episode a bit of a cracker), showers and then off for a visit to the parentals in Glasgow before we head off on holiday in a week or so.

It was my idea but it's not the ideal way to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon. For one thing, the air conditioning on the car is broken so the journey was miserable. And another, their flat, after being completely refurbished by Scottish Homes, is so well insulated that it's impossible to keep the temperature down in the summer. And it's always a bit smokey - the two of them being inveterate puffers.

Anyway, duty done. Brownie points restored. Weans seen, squeezed and kissed and in return they've provided amusement and first hand evidence of continuing physical and cognitive development. Now I need to fill an SD card with up to date photos so they can play on one of those photo frame things.

And I know mum looks a bit depressed here but it's just that she hates me taking her picture. She generally looks away. Actually, today, once, she didn't because she was getting her photo taken with Ellen. I just liked this image of the two of them in their wee flat doing pretty much what they do - sitting in their chairs, reading the papers and their books, doing crosswords and watching TV.