How Edward Marston Helped Me With Another Stage Of Daughter's Growing Up

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I realise there have been no posts for a while. Apologies for that. The explanation is simple. I've been on the early morning shifts at work. As those will tell you the effect of night/early morning shift work is basically jet lag without the wings.

So I'll take you back to Thursday. Thursday afternoon to be precise.

Daughter is, as I've said before, getting older. Where we live is a car journey from her school. She however wanted to walk out of the school with her friends along the way through Penarth. A compromise was reached thanks to her uncle and his partner, who live about fifteen minutes away. She would walk there and, when necessary stay there until we pick her up.She will be....pause for dramatic effect....given keys!!

There were conditions. The day before I'd taken her on the simplest route. She wouldn't be given keys yet until she showed she knew the way. This was Thursday. This was the test. If she got lost she'd ring.

I park near the corner of the street of uncle/partner's house. Not quite on the corner you understand but just enough to get worried when a large truck turns my way and narrowly misses.

I start reading Timetable of Death by Edward Marston. It is the sort of book that takes you away from where you actually are. As entertainment it really cannot be faulted.

Still it doesn't stop me listening to conversations of people passing by.

"....Dinas Powys Princess....." was the words of a middle aged woman talking to her male companion. Always interesting catching part of a tale. Dinas Powys, rather like Penarth, has a reputation for being a bit snobby. But in truth I've never found an area of Wales yet that was snobby, but I do know areas where there were parts that were so (if that makes sense). Of course when a reputation settles then it's difficult to shake off.

It's 3:05. A teenage boy from daughter's school walks past. Young confident. You don't think yet that the problems of the world has hit him.

3:07: I ring daughter. She says she's on her way. Confident and content in tone.

3:08: Another boy walks past. Shirt out, short dark hair dark specs he really was Adrian Mole for the twenty first century. Also it has to be said exactly how I would have looked over forty years ago.

Two teenage boys walk pass. Another conversation caught mid stream.

"Her name was Helga....and she was forty!!"

This line is repeated. Unclear what is interesting him more. The foreign name or her age. Of course when you're a teenage boy women with European names have an allure. Who knows?

Then I see my daughter. She had lied about leaving at 3:07. She'd left earlier. She'd taken a slightly different route and knew where to go.

Nothing makes you feel inadequate as a parent more when your child not only has taken the initiative but has worked out a solution better than the one you gave her.

I feel very old now.

Until the next time.