Who's The Daddy

​When this column first began many, many years ago, daughter #2 had just repeated at home the first swear word she’d picked up, aged four, in the first few days in the reception class playground. It is as unrepeatable as it is politically incorrect.

And before we knew it, here we are, planning a family dinner for her key-of-the-door birthday, which hopefully will be more memorable than her lockdown, Zoom call 18th party in 2020 with our nearest and dearest.

We’ve had the pleasure of her company these last two weeks, what with uni being shut for Easter, while she spends her days working eight to six (two hours longer than Dolly Parton) at a local school helping run a kids’ club.

Quite honestly, she’s possibly the most chilled and easy-to-get-along-with person I’ve ever met.

Daughter #2 and the boss went on a last-minute city break to Belfast last summer and she said our youngest was an absolute delight to be around and was the perfect travel companion.

Whereas yours truly can’t even board a plane without a pair of fully charged, industrial strength noise cancelling headphones to keep out the blood-curdling screams of angry babies and bored toddlers.

So, where have the last 21 years gone? Search me, last time I looked David Beckham had just broken his metatarsal weeks before the 2002 World Cup and a 16-year-old Wayne Rooney had fired an unstoppable howitzer past Arsenal’s David Seaman.

Like her mum, daughter #2 has always been an absolute grafter. She’s always had part-time jobs on the go since before the first lockdown - daughter #1 overheard managers at the supermarket she worked at saying they were short staffed and her little sister was interviewed that afternoon and was working a till the following morning.

Like investing genius Charlie Munger says, she fishes where the fish are, and treats her uni work like a full-time job. Coursework handed in days early, which is an alien concept to her dad, whose ink was still wet when it was submitted so late it almost incurred a fee.

We’ll be sad to see her go when term starts next week. The next time we see her she’ll be 21. And I can’t believe how fast time thunders on.

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