Posh Coats & Sarnies
Recently, I visited York to see my son Jonny on his off day. It’s always a fillip to catch up with the lad who calls me dad. He calls me some less flattering things as well, but they shall remain within the family.
We took in lunch in one of York’s many fine eateries. He has expensive tastes when his old man is footing the bill. Much to my chagrin, the heir to the Strachan estate will not settle for a normal Sainsburys sandwich; my ostentatious offspring always has to plump for one from the ‘Taste the Difference’ range…… Well, it’s his inheritance he’s dwindling away.
It was good to chat as we sat eating our sandwiches, while dodging the bothersome pigeon’s, gulls and other aggressive bird life that had somehow found their way into my car.
The avians seemed more enamoured with Jonny’s sandwich than mine; so it appears they also have a more discerning palate; preferring the ‘Taste the Difference’ range to the basic option.
During our chat we put the world to rights, discussing the Leeds United’s improvement this season, possible affects of Britain leaving the European Union. We also reflected on how relieved we were the new US presidential reality show ‘Dinner With Donny’ wasn’t true life.
As a caring father I asked if he was ok money wise (Jonny not Donald Trump – He’s chuffing minted!). My son responded he was and was currently trying to save his cash.
I asked what he was saving for, to which he replied “So I’ll have more f***ing money! ….. Why the hell else would I save?!”
Although taken aback by the ‘f’ bomb, I’ve got to admit it was an impressive response from my son and heir. I have to admit I couldn’t really argue with his sentiments, not to mention the envious feeling of wishing I’d have thought of that comeback.
After lunch I dropped him back at the flat he shares with his fiancée Jenny on the outskirts of the city. He climbed out of the car nursing bird peck injuries with his ‘Taste the Difference’ tissues.
Prior to leaving, I queried whether he and Jenny were coming over to Leeds for his sister Rachel’s upcoming birthday meal. He intimated they would be attending, as long as it didn’t entail the consuming of basic Sainsburys sandwiches.
I reassured him that wasn’t Rachel’s choice of celebratory cuisine. Although I deemed it prudent to avoid telling him that Rachel has chosen For the family to feast on top of the range Tesco butties.
I then climbed in the car for my westward journey to Leeds along the A64.
Buoyed by meeting up with my offspring, I motored home on the unusually quiet roads with reckless abandon, minus the car top.
With wind battering my ever thinning bouffant, it was warming to witness a majestic scarlet coloured sky on the horizon. This aesthetically pleasing view bequeathed by the sun, as it almost apologetically commenced its descent westward.
Gawping at the serene view before me, a rare calmness engulfed my existential being. An epiphany of a Pythonesque animation exhibiting skyward cherubs blasting on silver horns, added an element of pomp and circumstance to these thoughts of serenity.
Moved emotionally by this almost spiritual experience, my mind pondered life’s great synergy. In particular, I couldn’t help but think “Where the bloody hell has my car roof gone?”
I gave a good mate a lift to Chapel Allerton hospital today. He had an appointment for an X-ray and consultation about a troublesome knee problem. He also wanted to show his consultant his splendid new Gok Wan coat.
I don’t want kudos for it, but I also recently ran him to a local clinic, where he underwent a vasectomy. He kindly sent me a fruit basket for driving him on that occasion. When I say fruit basket it was a tongue in cheek gift of a banana and two plums on a paper plate.
His next trip to the clinic is to give a sample to check his procedure was successful. This can be ‘taken’ either at home or the hospital. I’ve offered to give him a lift again, with the caveat he doesn’t take the sample while we are driving to the clinic!!
Today, after my friend had undergone an X-ray we had a lengthy wait for him to see the consultant. Not that this bothers me these days, as with my regular hospital visits with Karen I’ve become desensitised to long waiting times these days.
Eventually he got in to see the doctor, who was by now an hour behind with his patient consultations. After a very short time, to my surprise my mate came back out of the consultation room looking perplexed.
As we walked out of the hospital I asked him what his consultant had told him about his X-ray results. He responded he’d received mixed news, telling me:-
“The consultant has no idea what’s wrong with my knee! ……..But he loved my Gok Wan coat!!”