It’s near the end of half-term, and William has had a couple of ‘Daddy days’. Nothing other than Daddy will do, and if I don’t respond to “Daddy!” he will first try “Daddy?” then “DADDY!” and if all else fails, “Paul.” This level of attention is certainly flattering, but fairly exhausting too. And it has been an exciting couple of days for William, so the boy is now so tired and emotional that he is quite literally walking into walls.
Yesterday featured a trip to the zoo, courtesy of William’s hospice. The early signs weren’t positive. We managed to spot a couple of the less reticent animals, William would acknowledge their existence, say bye-bye, and insist on moving on.
“Look, it’s a warthog William!”
“It’s a warthog! Bye-bye warthog!”
Fortunately however, the zoo had a clear idea of where best to really spend their resources, and had laid on some entertainers with similar employment prospects to mine, wearing a variety of unconvincing costumes. These poor unfortunates made William’s day. He said hello to a tiger, a penguin, a monkey, a rabbit and a bumble bee. He insisted on giving them all a cuddle. He is still talking about it. And then we went on a small steam train. So William’s day was complete. Who needs animals at a zoo?
My day had started at a meeting with my lawyer. I was singing at a funeral at lunchtime, so felt quite the city boy, limping through town in a suit, albeit one that was crammed over my frame and showing six inches of ankle impaled with a plastic coated bolt. Apparently, the driver who thoughtfully introduced me to the bumper of his BMW is insured by Tesco, and they are not playing ball. Despite his admission to a magistrate that he had been driving without due care and attention, in the world of Tesco, this does not mean that Mr. BMW driver is at fault. I guess it should be no surprise to me that Tesco would inhabit a world of parallel logic, where normal reasonable thought is warped by considerations of pure, unfettered capitalism. After all, this is a company whose raison d’etre is to become the same company that provides for our every consumer need whilst being the company indelibly linked with one Dame Shirley Porter, gerrymanderer extraordinaire. Was this the heiress to the Tesco fortune? The same Tesco that posted recent annual profits of over £2bn? The same Shirley Porter that pleaded poverty when fined by the courts? Anyway, it is good to see the true face of Tesco behind the mask of friendly high-street grocer. That they are keeping close to the principles of their founding family. And that they can be trusted to look after the pennies in order to keep down the price of their milk. Ridiculous, I know, to think of my own litigation in such a context. Oddly, though, any old-fashioned scruples I ever had about playing my part in a rising tide of personal accident litigation have been thrown to the winds. To be blown about in some dusty corner somewhere with a few Tesco’s carrier bags.
At least William, with his nil-by-mouth existence, will not be beholden to the great supermarket giants. He has been hard work today though, still calling for Daddy an hour after being put to bed. Ideally I should now relax with a beer. I’m sure they’ve got some decent offers on multipacks at that well-known blue-fronted grocer’s store down the road.
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