Country Mouse

The ties that bind

IHAVE just ordered some clingfilm, as we were on the cusp of running out. The current roll was one of the last things that my father gave me before he died more than two years ago and, whenever I wrap the bits and bobs of the Sunday roast in it, I think of him. He had been a jet and helicopter pilot in the Royal Navy, won the Air Force Cross for rescuing people from a burning ship and yet some of his greatest battles in later life came with the invention of the plastic wrap, which tore and bound itself the wrong way whenever he used it—until he discovered the type made by Lakeland. The kitchen was a calmer place thereafter.

After the two-year wait because of Covid and more, we are finally spreading his ashes in the sea in Cornwall later this month. It has been a strange time for my family and many others, but every time I use the wretched clingfilm I think of him and something that he did or said to me. It is an unusual way to remember Dad, but not a day goes by without us being together in spirit.