"Son, your father's an idiot"

I've just had a brief dad-to-sprog conversation with Jamie as I carried him over to nursery.

Well, it was more of a warning in truth.

And the crux of what I had to say was very simple:

"Son, your father's an idiot."

My confession relates back to yesterday morning and my decision to cook some bacon under the grill.

I proceeded to eat the aforementioned bacon in a muffin and it was very pleasant, thanks.

But it was about an hour later, when I was at work, that the problem became clear. Because I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten to turn the grill off.

Bugger.

So, what to do?

I had a meeting about half an hour later, so should I wait until after that?

No, I concluded, our house might be a crisp by then. I had to get home.

So I grabbed my jacket and shouted to the others in my office that I was off to quickly catch the train home and back, stopping only briefly to extinguish the grill.

But my extremely kind colleague Marie would have none of it - she was going to drive me home, and that was that.

Marie got her coat too, we ran across the car park, jumped in Marie's car and sped down the Leeds Road in the direction of my grill.

A little more than 10 minutes later we arrived.

I jumped out of the car, burst through my front door and leapt across the kitchen towards the grill.

Which was switched off.

Jamie's father's an idiot.