And without a backward glance she was gone.
Daughter #1’s dawn departure to London on Saturday was a dressed rehearsal for the date sometime in the near future when she flies the nest for good.
Her pal’s mum had been kind enough to invite her on a weekend away to the Big Smoke where they’d go on the London Eye, see a West End show and ride around one of the world’s greatest cities on the Tube.
When she got back late on Monday, tired but glowing, little old Lancaster suddenly seemed very parochial.
As an over-educated football hooligan I’m not one for quoting French poets, but Guillaume Apollinaire (cheers, Google) nailed it when he wrote: “Come to the edge.’ ‘We can’t. We’re afraid.’ ‘Come to the edge.’ ‘We can’t. We will fall!’ ‘Come to the edge.’ And they came. And he pushed them. And they flew.”
One day soon she will be out of the house for good, and her little sister will only be a few years behind her. Then what? Me and the boss staring at each other, checking old diaries to see if we can work out where the time went, that’s what.
But daughter #1 was happy enough to be back on home soil and on her return shared the benefit of her experience during a rare family game of Monopoly.
As she made her way around the board made up of London’s streets and railway stations she said: “Been there, and there, was there this morning, went there last night.”
I don’t live in a town where people point at aeroplanes but me and daughter #2 felt like country bumpkins. Speaking of daughter #2, this column may give the occasional impression that our children are uncontrollable yahoos – when nothing could be further from the truth.
Her recent report from her second term at big school read like a glowing character reference a boss might give to a long-serving employee who saw their chance of a dream job, went for it, got it, and never looked back. Loads of commendations, targets met and exceeded and a pleasure to teach.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I don’t know where she gets it from.