Cynical, Snarky, Moi?

Once upon a time there was a Princess and she fell in love with a Prince. Then another woman came along who also fancied the Prince so she charmed the pants off him, well not literally, with a magic potion, silly. So the Prince thought it was great having two dumb females after him and played it for all he was worth.

The Princess wept and wailed and gnashed her pearly white teeth and tried all sorts of ways to win back the Prince. He was too into himself to realise he was not just playing with fire, but also chucking away a diamond so he could play with Frosties.

One fine day, actually it was teeming with rain, the Princess blew her nose, squared her shoulders and thought 'stuff this for a game of thrones'. So she went out and found herself a big black friendly Labrador dog because they are the absolute best, travelled the world, became an eco-warrior, watched re-runs of Star-Trek every evening, wrote dozens of meaningful, inspirational, best-selling novels and had a merry old time. When she wanted company she visited a school and told the children stories about her travels, when she fancied a curry she ate out, and when she got fed up with life she went for a very long walk on the beach with her fabulous dog-person.

The Princess and her dog lived happily ever after and were loved by everyone.

The Prince settled for a boring half life of discontent, malaise and a whole string of greedy wives.

Actually, late in life the Princess may have found a quite ordinary kind man who loved her enough to take her as she was without playing stupid games, but then again that's her private business.

There is no moral to this story except if you watch the 'Mirror, Mirror' film in a bad mood, in which case you'll get the moral without it being explained.

Not a Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was an independent little shop. The shop started small with a range of reasonably priced, reasonable quality goods. People liked it because it was not a franchise, a supermarket, a rip-off, had all sorts of useful items and the owner knew both his customers and his stock! He would rummage for items, reach off high shelves, unstack if the colour you wanted was at the bottom of the pile, discuss merits of brands, shoot the breeze, have a laugh, tell stories, give you directions if you were lost, or suggestions if he didn't stock what you wanted. Everything was good value, including the owner!

The little independent shop grew upwards to take in another floor and stacked all sorts of new items. It followed trends, but not slavishly, and was slow to abandon old trends. If you wanted an item out of season, or out of popularity, there it was. It was always a cramped little shop because of stocking such a variety of items, but that was part of the delight of going in. It was possible to buy such a variety of goods there that it saved time dragging all over the town with cross children and paying buckets of coins in parking fees. And what's more, being a dad, the owner was pretty tolerant of cross children and even better at making them giggle.

Time passed, the owner began to show his age and it became apparent that his memory was failing. He got confused easily and didn't know where to find items, which was, naturally, distressing.


Then one bright day a daughter returned  to the shop full-time, unobtrusively taking over the ordering, organising, stock taking, locating items and keeping an eye to things. She stayed in the background whilst her Dad ran the till, chatted with the customers, told stories and jokes, and became almost his old self again, except for frequently calling on her when something was needed that he couldn't remember.

She's still there, running the show completely. She never laughs at him or makes sarky 'Dad jokes'. She never lets on to customers that she is the power behind the throne, though most people guess. She treats her Dad with respect and love and knows his frailty, and cussedness, and covers for him.

Its still an independent little shop, run by an independent man and his strong, loving daughter. Its still a great place to do all the odd errands in one place, hear a story and catch up on the chat. Its also a really heart warming place to mosey around and listen to the pair of them.


This is not a fairy tale. It will end sadly. But with dignity and self-respect intact, one man is growing old in his own kingdom, passing his time being useful and cheerful.

I don't know the daughter well enough to tell her how much I admire and respect her for each day she gives her father. She'd probably laugh if someone praised her for just selflessly doing her family duty.

But from where I stand, she's a hero.