Know where the Drambuie is, son? | BBC Radio Solent's Alun Newman

We’re not the kind of family to get too excited about world events but this one is a bit different.

I don’t live that near to them but I was keen that they felt loved and supported.

It’s a tough time with the endless stream of news.

On one level it can be really useful to get the latest and most relevant information.

However, it can generate anxiety simply by the never ending volume of ‘stuff’.

I called to touch base and put their minds at rest that they’ll be fine – my mum's been stockpiling since 1971.

I wanted them to know that they have people around them who love them and will make sure they get all the support they need.

So, I put in a quick call.

They were tipsy. Not blind drunk but they’d had enough to be singing and felt the need to ask where I thought the Drambuie (odd honeyish whisky) might be.

I asked whether they were worried and it would seem not.

In a rather noisy manner they explained that their generation had been through tougher times than this.

It seemed they felt that my generation was lacking the resilience to cope.

I told them I loved them and began to worry that they may have a drink problem.

I thought the sleepless nights were over, but...

I decided last year to ban all new pets. I appreciate the whole world is talking about the pandemic, so with that in mind I offer some light relief.

Even with the world gelling its hands, I still get drawn into ridiculous parental situations.

I announced at the dinner table that our dog would be the last animal to be part of our family.

We’ve had multiple fish, several hamsters, guinea pigs, ducks and now a dog.

I’ve done my porridge when it comes to pets.

I swallowed that parental nonsense, that it teaches children to care and love another life.

It doesn't, what it does is teach parents that children make knee-jerk promises that result in adults cleaning, walking, tidying and regretting that you fell for those panda eyes, begging that ‘this time it would be different’.

Well, not me.

I was drawing a line in the sand. I declared that no more animals would be allowed, final.

It was about a week ago that my daughter walked into the kitchen and asked my wife and I to sit down and listen to what she had to say.

She had written a speech about wanting a miniature hamster.

The speech was direct and impassioned.

It was straight from the heart.

She had saved her birthday money and promised that she would be fully responsible.

It would have no impact on my life apart from having a happier child in the home.

I huffed and puffed. Rubbed my head. Winced. Looked at my wife, who’s the softest touch on planet earth, and we said ‘okay’.

It’s my daughter, I’m her dad. These daughters have some kind of magical spell they cast over us. It is not the first time I get dazzled.

Pretty much every shopping trip I end up producing the credit card and not because I’m asked to, I’m hypnotised.

On Friday last week, we went to the pet store. We had the tutorial – it’s all very official now, you can’t just walk out with a hamster in a paper bag any more.

Soon we were home with two hamsters. Apparently this breed prefers to have company – they must have been given questionnaires.

It can’t possibly be a way to make more money, that would be cynical.

The cage was set up and, true to her promise, I didn’t have to dip into my pocket. All paid for with birthday cash. Positioned in her bedroom. Neat and tidy and nothing to do with me.

Until about 2am the following morning when my daughter appeared in our bedroom.

The nocturnal new arrivals had not understood our family values of sleeping when it’s dark.

In fact they were throwing caution to the wind and taking it in turns running on a hamster wheel. Even with that confiscated they continued to up-end the perfectly positioned housing that had been provided.

At 3am I was now sleeping in my daughter's bed and she was silently snoozing in our room.

She was on a king size double and I was on a child’s single with my size tens freezing, as they hung out of the duvet.

The noise didn’t stop.

I kept hearing what sounded like tiny footsteps.

I turned the light back on and both of these characters were hanging on the wire cage and they were throwing their food through the gaps.

They were mocking me. I asked them to stop. They didn’t.