Fathers Day Fare

Tomorrow is Fathers Day. My second and last before Austin can at least muster up an 'I love you dad'.

"I love you dad, but I've eaten my lunch and I'm bored. Can I go to the park?"

Something to look forward to.

Something still a long way off, thankfully. For now I'll just have to imagine what he's thinking.

So I do.

Earlier this morning he looked up at me with a tender glance and babbled away with bright eyes and big smile. It took some effort, but his words eventually took the shape of "You're the best dad ever and what you deserve this Fathers Day is a top-notch Sunday lunch. You know, the kind with roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and proper, made-from-scratch gravy. While you're at it, you should open one of those nice bottles of Pinot. You've earned it."

He's right, of course. And very articulate. The only problem with his plan is that, being a Domestic Goddess, I'll have to cook the bloody thing myself.

And it will be bloody. Just a bit. Nice and pink.

To follow there will naturally be some football on the telly. Well a DVD anyway. And a quiet beer. Perhaps one of the great Gerrard games - Olympiakos in 2004 or the FA Cup Final of 2006.

The boy and I will both wear the red shirt. Not that he'll stay by my side for more than a few minutes, although I'm sure he'll wander back from time to time.

He'll stick it out in the future, though. That much I know. And forgo the park. On this day at least.