Over lunch the other day one of my children calculated my parental experience, pointing out that I have 119-years of experience, with a new born in each of the last 4 decades - that last bit was just salt on the wound.
... I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be handsome?
Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me...
Lift your feet my boy, I've got to vacuum - why don't you go out and get some fresh air.
Now the Clash hadn't released "Should I stay or should I go now", but I'm sure I was thinking it.
Why is it that parents always want you to go out when you want to stay in and stay in when you want to go out?