Lenten Fare Too...

...oddly enough, having driven through the desperate winds of last night to spend a restful day en famille one finds oneself tonight completely sans same famille.

H and her sister - the latter only a direct descendant of Count Vlad I swear - having taken their mutual mother for a slap-up pre-Mother's Day outing and meal ("We're driving mum into the country for the day." "And bringing her back too?" "Oh so funny.") E and I could have been spending a jolly parent-bonds-with-child evening together, the latter pouring out the ten-year matured malt for the former in a dedicated if sympathetic manner whilst the thus soothed parent pours forth the equally distilled wisdom of even greater age.

But 'tis not to be, for E is off with her cronies to celebrate her seventeenth - no less - birthday, leaving Papa with but a single malt taken in solitude and some certain sad reflections on the rapid passing of the years. Gone forever the jellies and the ice-creams for twenty of one's best nursery chums, to be replaced by malibus and cokes all round.

One says 'cronies' though in truth one must add that a first and seemingly quite special 'boyfriend' is among that number of the birthday gang. Seems a pleasant enough sort of young cove. Clearly utterly smitten by E - which is reasonable one has to say - and is known for undertaking Duke of Edinburgh Awards rather than partaking in crack cocaine - which these days has to be a massive bonus.

Nonetheless the morphing from central male figure in a daughter's life into that of but a bit-part player (still handy for the wads of cash needed to maintain a teenager in the life to which she wishes to become accustomed, but no longer needed for the drives to town as T 'has wheels' - as they say) takes more swallowing than the third malt that somehow, by God's good grace, has found its way into my glass.

Thank goodness Curate Charlie is taking First Mass of Sunday this evening.