My dear old Dad used to say he was always happiest when “all of his birds were in the nest”.
His birds were, of course, his kids. He’d have done – and did – anything for those little birds. Right or wrong, he’d protect, support, help and nurture them and he’d flap and flutter whenever one of those birds left his well-kept nest.
I used to think that this was really funny, especially given he was a pretty tough cookie, unnervingly street-wise and the youngest of six kids from one of Birmingham’s harsher neighbourhoods.
