EVERY family has their traditions.
Something I am learning more of as the manfriend and I spend more time between our family’s houses.
It can be the little things like roast dinner – cauliflower cheese at mine makes way for bread sauce at his.
To the bigger things – like Christmas, when his family dives in and mine makes it last as long as possible.
As it turns out opening presents
at 9pm is not everyone’s idea of
‘festive joy’. Who knew?
Last week saw one firm fixture in the Cartledge calendar take place – the Bognor 10k.
I love it. But I should explain that most of my enjoyment is down to the fact I don’t actually take part – my dad does, with this year being his 14th in a row.
My role as ‘supportive daughter’ includes a variety of tasks from looking after his car keys during the race to pestering him to wear suncream.
It sounds simple, but you shouldn’t underestimate the importance and danger some of it involves – like attaching his number to his shirt.
Get it right, all fine, get it wrong and he could end up with a piercing punks would be proud of.
So needless to say, we both want
me to get that on point – if you pardon the pun.
Then, with a wave, he heads to the starting line and we rush to take up our positions.
And this is where my favourite bit comes in, and not only because it means getting to shout at my dad with no risk of getting told off.
People flood past, along with a couple of gorillas and Peppa Pig, as you scan the pack.
Camera poised, ready to snap, it’s hard work.
So luckily we have 20 minutes or so to sit on the beach before repeating the same again for the return leg.
It’s always inspiring and always makes me feel like I want to join dad.
If only he would wear a harness and I could wear rollerblades...