Home comforts

This weekend I find myself back in the homeland. It's Father's (or is that Fathers'?) Day of course, so where else would I be?

There is something both comforting and confusing about being back in the parental home I find. It's comforting to be looked after, and to be honest, I visit so infrequently that my Mum and Dad are (or at least appear to be) genuinely pleased to see me and I get relatively pampered as a result. Or at least, someone else does the cooking, tidying up, washing up, etc and I get cups of tea brought to me with the morning papers as a wake up call. That's pretty pamperful in my book!

And it's confusing because I'm 43 and spending time with 2 other adults who still think of me as a dependent child, with everything that entails, is a very strange experience. Particularly when I'm used to being so independent, and also so responsible, in my day to day and working lives.

But, on balance, provided it's not for extended periods of time (for the sake of all our sanities), I think I like this 'coming home' lark. I like to be looked after. I like to see my Mum and Dad. I like that they seem happy to see me when I roll up, and even occasionally seem interesting - rather than annoyed - in what I'm saying.

All this my big sister has to look forward to when she and my nephew come across in the summer. She gets to share our childhood haunts with him, help him discover his own pleasures and adventures of a Scottish seaside village, encourage him to spend time with his grandparents and learn to love them the way we were able to love ours. I'm jealous!!

You never know, the rain might even hold off for a day or two - although that's not looking likely at the moment. Sorry guys!