CongratsMy daughter told me this weekend that I'm going to be a grandad. I told her that her (and her husband's) life will never be the same, as you would literally walk through fire for your children ......
Dave! Wonderful news - congrats to you allMy daughter told me this weekend that I'm going to be a grandad. I told her that her (and her husband's) life will never be the same, as you would literally walk through fire for your children ......

By the way, how's Lemina's shin?
Sorry to go off-topic.
Vin

Congratulations Dave - wonderful news!
Just on the topic that's off the topic - my granddad was a sturdy old Yorkshireman. Whenever I moaned about something my mum used to say "your grandfather had to get up at 4am every morning to do the milk round in his bare feet".
Shortly before he died I said to him (as I was a bit older by then and actually became interested in my family member's history) "that must have been really hard doing that".
To which he replied, in fits of laughter, "she doesn't still believe that does she!!?"

That's true...do they have Milkpersons* nowadays?
*Milkmen are not PC![]()
Well this just proves how easy it is these days... the young milkmen have it so easy compared to my day when I was doing it with my Dad... all the customers collect the milk themselves now from the supermarket!
* That is some cut on Lemina's leg, but for the record if the ball was leather and Noble was wearing brown boots......![]()

Daughters are a little piece of heaven. Granddaughters are the real thing.
Is he light on his feet Beddy?I reckon we should close this thread.........with people like this keep changing the subject. Anyone would think this thread is about Lumina's injury..........![]()
Indeed no going out in the snow in an electric milk float going about 20mph (downhill) with doors open and then wading through the snow with glass bottles and sliding back down the path with the empties for today's youth. Probably illegal for children to do it due to heath and safety.![]()
Oh we didn't have a milk float, we had a pick-up truck... my Dad should have been called "Ernie"
*putting your fingers into the top of empty milk bottles that had been "kindly" washed just before being placed on a doorstep the evening before a frosty, January morning, was the cruelest form of torture! The glass would stick to your skin.