By Iris Potter
Hanging on the telephone. Frustration.
It’s the engaged tone!
Just as I start to moan, the DJ answers his phone.
I’m whizzed through the quiz on prime-time radio; this sure is showbiz.
I won the prize, and I couldn’t wait to tell Dad the big surprise.
I look forward to seeing the look of delight on his face, but it certainly wasn’t the case.
‘But Dad it’s your dream weekend. Wildlife watching on the Isle of Mull. How can you think that’s dull?’
The departure date got near, and a solo trip was my fear.
Mum knew the score; she packed his bag the night before.
She was up early pacing the floor, and she wasn’t half relieved to see his arse go out the door.
It was no mean feat, but no guarantees we were on easy street.
The train run was fun, and all was merry on the ferry.
When we got to Tobermory, it was a different story.
We waited for our chauffeur to arrive.
He could see by our faces it was going to be a long drive.
The journey was fraught with tension, so much so it could have snapped the suspension.
The hotel was ace – such a lovely place.
I tried my best to pacify; even the waitress gave it a try.
He was served tea and cake with a view of the lake.
He got the penthouse suite, but he was already on his feet.
‘Take me to the ferry terminal, so book me a seat.’
I was now frantic with worry.
I called my mum in a hurry.
‘Talk some sense into this man. Tell him to forget his stupid plan. It’s only a weekend. He can manage. I’m sure he can.’
After his telling off, he said ‘Okay, but just for tonight. I’m off at first light.’
I had another sleepless night thinking about all the shite, and fingers crossed that everything would turn out alright.
Dad was up bright and early, raring to go.
What a transformation! It felt like a big celebration.
We had the time of our lives that weekend; we really didn’t want it to end.
I forgave him even though he drove me round the bend.