Saturday 5 April 2008

Don't look a gift horse in the...

How fantastic to see your offspring return home triumphant. A glistening gold medal (actually as we live in Essex, perhaps I mean medallion?) proof positive that he was the best and fastest skier of the school trip. His chest swelled, mine too. Non stop chatter and a determination to tell me everything my innocent young ears could bare continued over the next six hours. I lapped it up. Interrupted only by a gift. Of course coming from switzerland it could only have been a lump of cheese, a cuckoo clock, an ingot of gold or a swiss army knife. The gift of choice was the swiss knife which was clearly the bastard offspring of some Brixton-based drug dealer. It's four or five inches long and more than capable of settling any difference of opinion. It's much, much appreciated and will be treasured for ever but I still feel the need to explain the dangers of sharp blades. Another day. Perhaps.

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