Dad: Ooh, what’s this? A present?
Son: Open it! Open it!
Dad: Mmm, smells like Daddy’s favourite. Is it, could it be… chocolate?
Son: Yes, Daddy, yes!
Dad: Hold on a minute, though. This looks like milk chocolate.
That’s not strictly speaking Daddy’s favourite now, is it?
Son: All chocolate favourite, Daddy.
Dad: Yes, you’re right. Silly Daddy. Let’s have a look.
Son: Why Daddy look sad?
Dad: Well, you know how there are children at nursery and some are really special and you want to be their friend?
And some are quite naff and have horrible clothes?
Son: No, Daddy. I don’t understand.
Dad: Of course you don’t. These things don’t matter, do they?
Son: What’s not a matter?
Dad: If a chocolate is single estate or some mongrel mickey mouse mix jokily riding the waves of confectionary mediocrity.
It doesn’t matter at all.
Son: It’s Daddy’s birthday! Hurray!
Dad: Which is why I’m finding it quite hard to let this one go, my little monkey.
You’re really hoping for your family to go that extra mile on your big day.
Do you see what I’m saying?
Son: Daddy likes treats?
Dad: Yes. Daddy likes quality. It’s how he knows he’s loved.
Son: Daddy come and play?
Dad: Funny, but Daddy’s not in the mood anymore.
Might wait around in case your mother has wrapped me up a Lion bar.
Or maybe she’s pushed the boat out and bought me a Caramac.
Son: Why? Is it raining, Daddy?
Dad: Not in the garden, son. Not in the garden.