So I am not cool...

I love that my 15 year-old daughter is sitting in the craft room, putting the finishing touches to the dress she is sewing for Textiles and listening to this album, which I acquired from my mother.

At the dinner table, as we celebrated pancake day belatedly, as Peter had been away on Tuesday, the children were, as usual, hailing the coolness of their Pops. Always Dad, never Mum who is cool. I suggested that I was perhaps so vintage that I was cool too. They sniggered and so I reminded them that they like a lot of my music. Tom's rapid response was this,

"Mum, your music is like a gold mine;" I began to swell with pride too soon before he shot me down with,"in a sewer. There is gold in there, but you have to wade through an awful lot of poo to find it."

Thanks son. I am merely an object of mirth to my family.