Ton of Bricks

It seems I am to have an action packed weekend, today Dad phoned up with an impromptu invite to Blackpool's ice rink for 'quality time together', followed by a hearty chortle. Dad is big on physical activity so this plan was either hatched with one of two things in mind. Either a) for me to tear my lardy behind away from the computer or b) so he could publically humiliate me infront of his wife to be. My polite refusal fell on deaf ears and he was round at my flat in ten minutes flat, urging me to jump into 'that pair of grubby slacks' on the radiator. I felt like I was five years old all over again as he shoe horned me into the back of his car and hurtled off in the direction of the M55. I really wished my daughter Louise had been present to calm my nerves and steady me on the set of precarious blades I was loaned by Dad's fiance, one size too small they hurt like hell. However my beautiful daughter isn't back from Europe until next week, so I had to make do with clutching at Dad's oversized man bag as he deftly skated around the rink with me in tow. After thirty minutes of warm up he tore off across the ice like Robin Cousins after one cappucino too many and twizzed his lady love from one side to the other. She, like me, was a little less confident than Dad and kept asking him 'put the brakes on' when suddenly there was an almighty crash and all thirteen stone of her came down like a ton of bricks ontop of an unsuspecting chap in lycra. Thanking my lucky stars it wasn't me, I confidently skated over to find the poor figure skater nestled deep inside Dad's fiance's busom, his arms flailing like the panicked wings of a fly caught in a venus fly trap. A highly unsavory yet somewhat memorable end to the day.