I only just realised it was Fathers Day in time. I happened to be standing in the queue in Londis when a hand-written fluorescent cardboard sign reminded me to buy a card, so I chose the most appropriate non-sporty one and bunged a bottle of Chablis in the basket. Job done. What he really wanted out of Fathers Day was just a day with the family, the card will be recycled immediately and the children's offerings will gather dust on his the bed-side table.
Hopefully the memories last longer.
Despite the weather, all cloudy and inclement, we headed to the sea armed with a stove and a couple of packets of sausages, some doughy finger rolls and a bottle of tommy k. No one touched the chopped up cucumber or pineapple all neatly stacked in Tupperware containers. After hot dogs and chocolate bars we watched as the sea encroached further on our picnic spot, gazed at terns hovering on the winds and snoozed to digest the pure, refined wheat we had just consumed. I lay on his belly while he finished the papers and the kids made dinners for the Queen of the Sea, from pebbles, seashore plants and a couple of tablespoons of sand.
The dreamy spell was broken when someone small needed a poo. So we headed into Hastings to use the loo, eat piled-high ice creams and to spend cash on the carousels and arcades.
A happy Fathers Day indeed.