"Going once ... going twice ..."

Growing up, my brother and I would often accuse my Dad of being a member of the SAS (the special forces regiment, not the airline).

The reasons for this were that he was often “working abroad”, had an air of secrecy about him when he was home and he would also disappear off on a Saturday morning to “do some running around”.

We have since found out that on Saturdays he would always go to the bank where he could be found, snatching his deposit book back from the bank employee and flicking hurriedly to the page which displayed the balance, before throwing his head back and exploding into maniacal laughter.

(We have also since found out that he really isn’t with the SAS but we are unlikely to drop our suspicions entirely at this point in our lives).

Another little family gem that always makes us chuckle is that we, as a family, could’ve gone abroad with our Dad at various times over the years.

There was beautiful Panama in the mid 70’s. There was sunny Spain in the late 70’s followed closely by picturesque Norway in the very early 80’s.

My Dad however, thought it would be nothing other than a total wheeze to take us to bleak and wet Paisley in Scotland, just outside Glasgow circa 1983.

Oh, how we laughed.

As it happens, Scotland itself was beautiful.

Being the son of Londoner who has come to Scotland to “take oor jobs” wasn’t all that great however. Being in a school full of boys who just happen to be a different religion to me wasn’t a whole heap of fun either.

(Up until that point, I hadn’t really taken much notice of my religion until I realised how much of a big deal it is in Scotland, especially where “fitba” if concerned).

Where am I going with this?

Oh yes.

When we arrived in our “hoose” in Paisley, we found that there was a lovely old piano in the corner of the living room which we proceeded to play, well, bash, whenever we felt like it.

Of course, looking back, I wish I had actually learned to play the thing properly (instead of just occasionally hitting the keys in order to make a noise) and the desire to play the piano has never really gone away.

After speaking to a colleague of M’s recently who knows all things ‘piano’, he suggested I consider buying a digital piano. They’re cheaper, no maintenance costs, easier to move around plus you get the bonus of being able to practice “chopsticks” with a pair of headphones on, thus saving your marriage in the long run!

With this in mind, I have been trawling the interweb for such an instrument and had been monitoring one that was perfect on good old ebay.

Anyway, the auction was closing last night so I sat in front of my PC to try and outwit the other bidders. Just prior to it closing however, M and I enter into a discussion about buying it, how it would be great for the children to learn on, they could take lessons etc and she follows me into the room to see what happens.

Joseph by this point has caught wind that were considering buying something and he has also heard his name mentioned.

“Are you buying something? Is it for me?” he asked.

“Well, you and Annabel. It’s for all of us”, I replied.

“What? Can you buy one just for me?” he whimpers, bottom lip quivering.

“Look, let’s all just be quiet a minute while I concentrate on winning it ok?”.

(I take ebay auctions very seriously by the way!)

The bottom line was I just missed out (as you do) and slumped in my chair slightly.

“Oh, shame”, says M.

Joseph picked up on this failure immediately and freaks out. “WHAT? You didn’t get it??? WHAT!!?!? You didn’t win my piano??!?”

Normally I would try to calm him down a little but I thought it was absolutely hilarious. He went from being blissfully unaware we were even considering this sort of purchase to body popping in a rage because he “lost out”.

Keep smiling Poops. We’ll get one eventually, you’ll see.

Always look on the bright side, right?