What do you do when your parents come to visit?
I sweep behind the wheelie bins. I tidy up. I buy bottled water and nice wine, even though I rarely drink.
I stick the comfie chair under the apple tree so that my father can have a nap.
I hoover and wash my car because this won’t do:
I get the filter coffee machine out that my mother prefers, even though I have a perfectly good espresso machine and a jar of instant coffee.
I buy cream for their coffee and tea because that’s how they drink it in Germany. I buy salami and Schwarzbrot.
I roll my eyes and tut, but I do it anyway.
Psychoanalysts will have a field day with my need for parental approval, I say that they have worked hard all their lives, have looked after me and made sacrifices, why would I not make their stay as comfortable as possible? Oh, and they’re getting on a bit.
I draw the line at turning the heating on in May. Bring a jumper – you are descended from the Vikings and the Poles after all!
Yes, my father reads this blog. Tell Mami to bring bedsocks.