Poppelganger

One of the annoying things about living at home when you're a man in your late twenties is that your mum can start making comparisons between you and your father. A few years ago, I would have got "Well, I hope you don't turn into your father on [insert subject]." whereas now I get "You're just like your father on [insert subject]." followed by "I pity the poor girl etc etc".

I used to brush this sort of nagging off, but the frightening thing is that I have to agree: I am getting more like my dad. I bought a teapot in a charity shop the other day because 'I liked the glaze'. This is coming from someone who has traditionally thought of ornaments as nothing more than extra surfaces for dust to fall. Worst of all, I haggled for it. I haggled in a charity shop. 

I blame Kirstie Allsop as much as my genes.

Other signs that I'm following in pater's footsteps come when I find myself hurrying my mum, especially when I have to drive her somewhere. However, I do feel this is a good thing because I still remember how we would have to wait for her to stop faffing around before we ever took a family trip. In those days departure times came with a standard deviation of about 1 hour.

But the most conclusive proof came the other week when I flatly refused to pay for tap water in a restaurant. At the time, I felt I was well within my constitutional rights: tap water is publically accessible. So I stood there in the middle of the restauarant and told them I wasn't going to pay the 30p surcharge. Yes, I know they'd stated the charge on the menu, but that wasn't the point. I am not a gypo; I am an avenging angel for the meek British consumer. A quick search on the t'interweb would prove my assumptions wrong: restaurants can charge for water. If they pour it, it's a service.

So turning into my dad isn't too bad a thing. I'm not proud of the whole teapot affair, but I still like it two days later; mum needs to be hurried every now and again; and I think standing for what I believe to be right at the time is admirable. As long as I don't buy a copy of 'But...Seriously' and refrain from preconceiving that every tradesmen I meet is out to rob me blind then I should have weathered the worst of it.

Metal Monkey: deaf in both ears for the longest time.