When I bring supper to my son, Rory, I usually pop it on a lap tray and make sure I dodge out of the way of the telly for the little prince, muttering to myself, “What did your last slave die of?”
Seems I was right all along to touch my forelock and be subservient to my darling child, and his father for that matter, as it would appear that royal blood runs through their veins.
For the last few years, Dougie’s uncle has been looking into the family tree and has uncovered some very interesting ancestors. He has been sending all the information down to my parents-in-law who have kept it all in large brown envelopes in a cupboard.
This weekend we decided to have a proper look through it all. If you’re sitting comfortably, I will begin and try not to make your head hurt, like mine has over the past few days.