Dad: I’ve never fancied goin’ in a cruise, me. Have you?
Me: Nah. Never. And after all of that stuff in the news this week – there’s no way you’d get me on one.
Dad: Hmmm… They’re not for me. All that dressin’ up for dinner.
Me: What are you on about? You’re the one who goes and has a shower and gets changed into a new set of clothes, just to pop to Morrisons for a pint of milk! I would have thought you would have liked the chance to be able to get changed five times in a day, rather than your usual four times…
Dad: (looking offended) Well – at least people of my generation aren’t scruffy swines like your lot. Can’t believe you married a bloke who had no tie on an’ who ‘ad a bloody great hole in the crotch of his trousers.
Me: Oh that wasn’t his fault. His suit had been in storage and a moth got to it. The hole wasn’t that big. We only noticed it when we kneeled down for the Blessing.
Dad: Anyway. You cheeky sod. If I want to look smart to go to Morrisons, then that’s upto me. You never know who you’ll bump into. One of me old girlfriends or somebody. Though none of ’em are wearin’ as well as yer mum.
Me: Jeez. Morrisons as some kind of Pensioner-esque Swinging Club. The mind boggles…
Dad: Oi – watch it Gobby. But – what I mean about the Cruise thing is – I couldn’t be doing with all o’ that dinner stuff. Prancin’ about an’ pretendin’ to be posh- when we all know that most of that lot on the bloody cruises are all on benefits anyway…
Me: Hmmmm (not rising to the Daily Mail-esque bait) .… Well personally, I wouldn’t go because of the safety thing. It’s incredible to believe that you’ve got no legal protection whilst your out at sea. I mean, once you’ve been murdered – you’ve got no comeback have you?
Dad: (gives me a look) Once you’ve been murdered you’ve got no comeback? Bloody hell, you’re a sharp one aren’t yer?..