embarrassment of family

It was always a bit of a challenge visiting a café with my mother. If there was cream supplied with a coffee, there was always the ritual of trying to get it to float on top by pouring it over an inverted spoon in an attempt to replicate the ‘sophistication’ of a Berni Inn coffee but it was the sugar bowl that would provide the most embarrassment as she craftily bagged some extra sachets. It was preferable that these were not used later as, by that time, they were already infused with the aroma of face powder and polo mints.

Some years back, an acquaintance, who had become a highly paid corporate lawyer, decided to take his visiting mother out for an expensive meal in the Oxo Restaurant and was feeling quite pleased with himself, as the waiter arrived to take his order. That is, until his mother produced a hanky from her handbag, dabbed it on her tongue then reached over, apparently to remove some smudge from his face.

My father’s witty party pieces in the Berni Inn were to ask for a ‘giraffe’ of wine and, when asked to pay for the bill, replying ‘serpently’. Fortunately he was never one for that classic: ‘Dad Dancing’.