I’ve spent most of the past week threatening my daughter with hideous sanctions if she does not get out of the house and do something old-fashioned.
She meets these threats with contempt and pity, and I generally lack the energy to demand that she put away the bloody i-pod and read a £!!*%@?* book.
What is wrong with children today? When I was her age, we were catching frogs and digging clams, sailing, reading and jumping over waves for hours while our parents smoked cigarettes, drank vodka tonics and flirted with their peers. It suited everyone – we got a perfect childhood and they got to live the real life version of Mad Men.
I’ve always been careful to allow my child more or less total freedom, under the guise of encouraging maturity. But in reality it allows me to get on with the things I like doing – reading, writing, riding horses and dozing. If it weren’t for Bananagrams tournaments, the family might get through the whole summer without having a single conversation.
Now if only I could beat the annoying little upstart.