It Was The Day Before The Night Before Christmas

Let me tell you what happened to me on 23 December. Now that it is out of the way I can find it amusing but on the day there was more than an element of fear and panic.

What you need to know by way of background is that my Mum was in hospital (out now and much better thank you) and that the family were taking shifts in keeping an eye on my dear old Dad who is more than a little forgetful. On the night of 22 December Nephew Harry was on Dad (well Grandad for him) duty and I was to relieve him at lunchtime on 23rd. The other thing you need to know is that Pete Wood had died after a lengthy illness. All you need to know about Woody is that he was a raving good sort and an Honorary Life Vice President of Aston Old Edwardians Rugby Club - a rare distinction which he shared inter alia with my said Dad and (most recent inductee) Gary Street. I was honoured to be asked to deliver the eulogy at the funeral on 23 December. So the plan was simple - I would collect Dad and take him to the funeral, deliver my little speech and then deliver Dad back home and stay to keep him company.

Overgraduate finds new job

Oh the final thing you need to know is that Harry forgot to turn his phone on. So the Boy Roberts, your correspondent, turns up at the old family homestead at 1.00pm. He rings the door bell. Several times. No reply. He phones the home phone. No reply. He phones Harry. No reply. He shouts through the letterbox. Several times. No reply. He runs down to the church in case Dad has wandered down there. He thereby interrupts an Alcoholic Anonymous meeting. At 1.30 he takes an executive decision and forces access to the back of the house. At 1.32 he takes a further executive decision and picks up a rock which he wraps in the towel he handily found in the car. After casing the joint, at 1.33 he smashes three panes of the French windows. He shouts through the gaping aperture, "Dad. Where are you?" He receives a reply from the front hall into which said pater familias has just admitted himself on return from the pub lunch he and Harry had enjoyed. At 1.45 father and son head for Woody's funeral, leaving Harry in charge of the impeccably timeous emergency glazier.

The eulogy? Well, I was working with good material so no problem there. As to the preceding events, I  am pretty certain Woody would have seen the funny side of it all. And he would have been spot on.