Father TED

The Cornish holiday we would rather forget

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One of the things that has turned life with Mr Dear into a bit of an adventure is that he has the gift of getting on with all sorts of different people.

At a steam engine rally, he has been known to spend half an hour talking to one of the drivers about, well, steam, I suppose.

When we took the children to a fair many years ago, one of the stallholders gave our Rachel a lovely teddy in the hope that Mr D would go away and leave them alone.

If Attila the Hun and his conquering hordes came sweeping across the county, Mr D would be giving Attila directions to the tea hut on the bypass.

So it was no surprise to come down one morning and find him chattering away on the phone to the broadband helpline. He was supposed to be arranging a new contract, but had clearly been distracted.

‘And your mother was born here?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it a small world! What was her name?’

He put his hand over the mouthpiece and in a stage whisper said, ‘Her mother grew up here. Do we know a Jackie?’

‘And good morning to you too,’ I replied.

‘Well, next time you see her, ask if she knows the hardware shop on the high street. I used to run it before I retired, and my father before me.’