Am getting a little Fed Up with Position in family.
Seem to be relegated to Second In Command on regular basis.
Take Making Fires.
Am very good at making fires. Always used to watch my father making our fires in sitting room of childhood. Bending down on his knees, coaxing a flame into staying around for the evening and keeping us warm. Adding little bits of wood, making them bigger, and Hey Presto! Lovely cosy fire.
Nowadays, at the time of the evening when the day draws in, and we all start to slop around on sofas, I will start to Make The Fire. Easy bloody peasy.
Fire lighter. Check.
Couple of larger bits of wood. Check.
Put on fire lighter. Set Fire to Fire Lighter. Watch flame. Put kindling on top. Watch it catch. Add more wood. Go away and make tea.
Husband makes fires too.
Here's how he does it.
Gets lots of Twigs. Scrumples up lots of tiny bits of newspaper. Sets fire to Twigs. Blows for several minutes. Flame goes out. Gets more Twigs. Gets more newspaper. Sets fire to Twigs. Blows. Flame nearly goes out. Manages to keep minute flame going while putting more newspaper under twigs. Shouts at child to get kindling.
Kindling is brought forthwith.
Flame is now one inch high and one inch wide.
Husband blows softly for several minutes. Smoke billows into room. We all cough.
Need More Kindling, orders Husband.
More kindling brought.
Husband carefully places kindling onto flame. Blows for several more minutes. No one can see the telly because his bottom is in the way.
Daaaaaad. Can you moooooove.
In a minute, he says.
Blow. Check flame. Blow. Look at flame.
After several more minutes Husband places small pieces of wood on top of burning kindling.
He looks up and around at us all. Big smile.
There. He says. A nice Fire.
Lovely, we all say.
Daughter pipes up.
Mummy is good at making fires, she says.
I Bask in her approval.
But, she adds, Daddy is the King of Fires.
Daddy roars with laughter.
I sulk on sofa.
Husband has just read this post, and laughed to the point of tears.
We are both about to have a lovely drink in the sitting room.
Shall I light a fire? he asked. Laughing. Hard.
Oh, dear. This could Back Fire.
As it were...