Port and Peanuts

I miss you, Dad. 

In no particular order, some of the things I miss are...

* You calling me Jobee

* Your singing

* You calling me on the phone, even if you only ever did it to tell me someone had died

* You sitting in your chair rusting the newspaper

* How the world had to stand still for the news headlines and the weather

* How you would call anything you didn't quite understand 'A load of rot'

* You teaching me things

* How you always thought Sex and the City was 'trash', even though you'd never seen a minute of it.  I think there was an article in the paper condemning it when it first came out and that was enough for you.

* How you used to pretend that you hated it when I cooked lasagne.

* The twinkle in your eye when you were shit-stirring me or someone else.

* How when the cooking was left to you it was ALWAYS chops, boiled potatoes and beans

* Hearing you talk about your childhood

* How you had a glass of port in the evenings

* Buying you peanuts and licorice and humbugs and scorched almonds and the latest Melways

* How you took a chocolate every time the box was passed around, but didn't eat them until later, and
after I had scoffed mine you wouldn't share your stored ones

* How you always disappeared just as tea was put on the table

* How you always had a hanky

* Watching you with your grandkids

* How you always had a biscuit for morning and afternoon tea.  Thanks for eating the crap ones like the Morning Coffee and Nice ones, because no one likes them

* You saying 'Never mind, you'll be right', when I was upset

* You tending my garden.  If you were here you would be helping to make the castle grounds look amazing

* How you accepted me, just the way I am.

I'm even starting to miss your whistling.