There is only one thing I hate more than decorating - and that is paying someone else to do it. So it was with some trepidation that I took the opportunity of a son's school trip to Barcelona, to rid his walls of painted trains and overpaint with teenage greys and turquoises.
It turned out to be a memorable event - not for the reasonably tidy outcome and not for the 13 hours spent painting on the Sunday alone. It was the fact that I had to wear glasses throughout for first time. So it is official - I am turning into my late father. Appropriate, really, as the Sunday would have been his birthday. Somewhere in the loft I still have his paint speckled glasses.
We also have in common, the fact that we shut ourselves away in the room with only sounds for company using the latest technology. For me, it was itunes on shuffle on the laptop. For my father, I recall, it was a stack of birdsong LP's, probably on self loading, using a Morphy Richards mono record player.
I expect mother was listening to the Music with Pleasure boxset downstairs.