The monster's coming for me.

‘Oh, pater.’

     I knew that voice and specifically that word. Whenever the exclamation is followed by “Daddy”, my daughter has either broken something or upset someone. The “Pater”, or more rarely these days “Father” words are only used when she wants something and intends to prove that she isn’t the simpleton she (wrongly) assumes I take her for. I gritted what’s left of my teeth for what was to come.

     ‘What is it my little projectile vomiter?’ A little banter (usually) deflates her sails somewhat. But ignoring my feeble and futile attempt, she continued blithely.

     ‘If I asked you to buy me a brand new Vauxhall Adam,’ (a sporty little mid range car which simply screams mid-life crisis as it’s usually middle aged men who buy them) ‘then you’d just say no, right?’ She nodded expectantly. I followed her game silently for the moment.

     ‘So you’ve already saved yourself about sixteen thousand pounds.’

     I began to get an inkling of where this was going.

     ‘So, if you haven’t spent all that money then you’ve got lots left over so surely you wouldn’t mind buying me another car for much less with all the money you’ve saved.’

     She smiled sweetly, secure in the knowledge that faced with such irrefutable logic I would crumble.

     ‘I mean, I’ve had my Fiesta for almost a year now and it’s getting old and you wouldn’t want me to drive something unsafe would you?’ All the big guns were coming out now. She must have been practising this for days.

     My reaction must have upset her because she hasn’t spoken to me for two days, except for limping into the house like a decrepit old cripple when it was time to muck out her horse, bravely assuring me that it was fine if I declined on the grounds of selfishness. I have an idea the car thing isn’t over yet. In fact she’s just drawing second breath.