Homecoming tour

When the prodigal son returns to the nest it's all fun and games until it's time to enter the laundry.

- PAT MCDERMOTT

Ruff Red, the youngest of our five children, was born knowing the difference between a cheese stick and a chocolate biscuit. He also knew which one he preferred.

Like all babies, Ruff Red had his moments. He’d take one bite of an apple and then throw it at someone. When we went out for a walk, he called every man we passed “Daddy”. Loudly. This caused much amusement as well as an occasional worried look.

The Baby Health Sister called him ‘Mr Congeniality’ because he wandered about saying hello to other mums and patting their babies politely before asking if they had any biscuits.

A few years later he was turning our kitchen into a cafe most afternoons, arriving home after school having lost his blazer and his new football boots but with a bag of high-end groceries from the local deli. Apparently, he’d opened an account. “He’s got great taste!” the owner assured me. “Only chooses the best!”