My son and his young wife are living in a rented flat just a short walk from my place. I asked my son for a spare key to their flat. If anything happens, I like to be prepared, you know, and its just useful to have.
Now, Im on holiday while the young ones are busy with work, so most mornings, I let myself in when they’ve gone out. I mix up cottage pie and roast pork, and whip up some Yorkshire puddings. My son enjoys these humble but hearty, delicious foods, always has. When everythings finished, I start tidying up. My daughter-in-law isnt too bothered about keeping things neat.
Their things are scattered about the lounge, and dirty cups pile up in the sink. I reckon Ill show her a thing or two about running a proper home. Anyway, when they come back, dinner is steaming, everything sparkles and is in its place, and my son, he tucks in like its the best meal hes ever eaten. Feels right; live well and be happy, thats what I think. But its never quite that simple. My daughter-in-law always looks fed-up. She hardly touches my food, says its far too heavy, not at all good for her. She picks at porridge and salads made from strange leaves.
And shes always trying to send me back home as soon as she can.
