5 day's for a shitty pot of dust?!
Firstly.....
Ashes. Cricket. 2005. 
The Ashes are ours. GET IN!!
This week will be spend entertaining my father. Mum has gone 'oop Norrrth' to visit family for a couple of weeks, which always poses a problem when it comes to transport.
My dad doesn't drive, yet he religiously counts down the days until he is free of the shackles and able to re-educate his tastebuds with cake, chocolate and copious amounts of fried food. He is totally prepared to sacrifice transport in order to satisfy his normally nut loaf, bean salad, tofu filled stomach.
It's jolly good luck that I am able and willing to step in as designated taxi driving during the boss of the family's absence, mostly making numerous trips to the chippy. I do this willingly, because it means days out with my Dad, whom I love to be with and who uncontrollably buys me things when we are out alone, but, you know, that has absolutely nothing to do with me offering my precious time, oh no.
Rather than a traditional daughter/father relationship, we have a connection akin to ...... Beavis and Butthead.......Kevin and Perry ....... Wayne and Garth ......... David Brent and Gareth......Basically, our behaviour deteriorates beyond the gutter, the air is blue, the banter drier than the Gobi Desert and the laughter long and loud.
Examples being....
Him- "Oh look what's on at the theatre, 'Penis Puppetry', that'll be a total cock up"
Her- "So what type of novel are you writing Dad? Is it steamy? Are you giving Jilly Cooper a run for her money? Huh? It's about cricket? What's it called, 'Erect Stumps'?"
Like father like daughter? Never a truer word spoken.
