The kids occasionally do unusual things. Sometimes, I feel envious although I am often left with a sense of ominous foreboding, and file their intentions under ‘I’ll give that a miss thank you.’ Two such events happened this weekend.
My daughter underwent that rite of passage for all London dwellers, ‘the moving flats at the weekend sketch.’ No one would envy her that but we have all done it at some time in the past and a bloody nightmare it is too. She though, gripped the problem and made it a nightmare for everyone else. She hired a transit van and drove it herself. Perhaps I am being unkind. Perhaps she was the first White Van Driver to hurtle down the streets under the speed limits and obeying the Highway Code. That would be a first for White Vans and entirely in keeping with her approach to motoring. I take my hat off to her though, I am not sure how my parallel parking in the side streets of Clapham would bear up to inspection.
The second event was the youngest in the family proving he isn’t the little guy anymore in doing three rounds in the ring at his university boxing club’s charity night. Your correspondent has in fact been in a boxing ring in the misty days of yore but the animal from the east side of Glasgow who some comedian paired me off with made sure that the scorers didn’t have time to sharpen their pencils before I was carted off to the medical centre. A clip of two rounds of this weekends bout for fight fans out there is below. It was a hard fought match; it is never easy against a southpaw. As I say, I will neither be driving a white van nor stepping into a ring anytime soon. Nor will I be running a marathon which they have both signed up for this year. While it seems all the rage, as my surgeon said, ‘Crumble, your marathon days are over.’ ‘They never really started Doc but thanks all the same for the reassuring update.’