Who's the Daddy: Times gone by and yet to come

Nearly four weeks into lockdown and I think we’ve all had a taste of what retirement in penury feels like.
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We never go anywhere, we never do anything, we never see anyone and if our kids weren’t stuck in our houses with us morning, noon and night, we would never hear from them either.

Once upon a time (ah, the glorious 90s) we used to queue up outside grotty nightclubs that stunk of fags, bleach and sick – the plot of The Prodigy’s infamous Smack My Bitch Up video was a standard Tuesday night back then – now we silently wait our turn in line outside supermarkets.

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Of course, this is done for a reason, to give our National Health Service a fighting chance of treating all those who need it, and we were more than happy to play our part.

Our grannies and grandads would have willingly swapped places with us – they were sent away to fight Germans or had bombs dropped on them and had to eat their pets.

All we’re being asked to do is sit on our sofas and watch television for a few weeks, possibly months.

And our daughters have certainly done their bit. A month ago they were living the life of Riley at university and sixth form in Liverpool.

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Now they’re back at home in their childhood bedrooms, helping to keep the people of Lancaster fed in their jobs at a local supermarket.

One morning last week they both had a 5am start.

To put this into context, pre-coronavirus, daughter No.1’s nights out didn’t end until 6am.

The night before their shift daughter No.1 woke in a panic at 11pm, thinking she’d overslept by six hours – she hadn’t gone to bed that early since she was 15.

But do you know what?

I couldn’t have been more proud of them both.

Dragging yourself out of bed at dawn to go to work is not easy, it’s not like you’re getting up to catch an early flight.

But if you can do that when you’re 20 and 17 and not spend all day moaning about it then you can achieve anything.

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