For us Northerners, Blackpool illuminations is a rite of passage. It's a coming of age moment. Right up there with your first Greggs pasty, chip barms and rickets.
I'll not lie, I had high expectations. So much so I may have bigged it up a little too much.
Duinrell Family Park - Canvas Holidays
Big Shop with Little Helpers
Like Riding a Bike
On Friday, Luca emerged excitedly from school with the class bear tucked under his arm, along with a book chronicling its previous adventures. A book that reads more like the ultimate '50 things to do before you die' than any weekend I've ever experienced.
My weekend plans were in tatters.
If shouting 'someone's going to get hurt' whilst not looking up from your phone qualifies as parental responsibility then put me down for Dad of the Year.
It's my default disclaimer for whatever follows. A verbal liability insurance.
I laugh a lot. In 38 years I have yet to find a situation where humour couldn't be extracted however dark or inappropriate.
Then last Friday morning I found the exception that proves the rule when Sonny came bounding down the stairs. I winced, or maybe it was a recoil.
Today I found myself stood at the checkout a broken man, my hollow eyes staring into the abyss (or whatever Tesco call their café).
Around my ankles a battle ensued. Power Ranger versus Sonic. Cucumber versus swinging bag of carrots.
Shoppers looked on incredulously, clearly thinking,
"Surely you're going to do ... something?"
So I did. I shrugged my shoulders.
To celebrate World Book Day we've been recycling old books to create new stories.
In our defence of it not being outright sacrilege, they were the type of dull books you get free with a jigsaw. No worthy books were harmed in the making of our new story, I promise.
I'm not proposing an outright ban. By God I've not spent months justifying their educational value only to do away with them altogether, but whenever a screen gets switched on I'm instantly switched off.
I love everything about France, even if my last trip was memorable for very different reasons. But then who's not nearly been arrested for human trafficking at some point in their lives? Really, just me?
Somewhere, deep within Nintendo HQ, there's an echo chamber filled with the anguished cries of gamers like me, who, having lost untold days on any number of Super Mario courses created by the genius that is Shigeru Miyamoto, threw down their controller in a sulk of mumbled expletives and decreed it impossible.
Or maybe that's just me?
I'm not a fan of snow.
It all started back when I was seven years old. My sisters and I were having a snowball fight in the street.
At the time my Auntie was visiting from America with her then partner, Chad.
The street lights flickered as if unsure what was expected of them. I found a bench beneath the most assertive and sat down.
A van approached, fast at first but significantly slower the closer it got. As it crawled past its engine called out to me, revving as if bereft of gears.