Father’s Day used to make me think of my dad, who was what they called a lovable rogue. He used to drop by the vicar’s house to deliver him some nice bacon, and the vicar would say: “Did you come by this legally, Bill?” Dad would answer: “Course I did, vicar.” But it fell off the back of a lorry.
Since we lost my late husband Colin, I can’t bear Father’s Day. Jonathan and Robert always text me in the morning to say: “We know what day it is – we’re thinking of you and Dad.” Usually, Jonathan takes me to visit his grave but having to shield means I won’t be able to go this year.
So I’ll sit on my own and think back to Colin’s joy at becoming a dad when Jonathan was born. It was the days before scans but he’d already pinned a Tottenham pennant
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