She popped into see me this morning, all smiles and hugs. I gave her some flowers and cards. We had a chat, a coffee. Talked about old times, good and bad, her plans and hopes - and rather foolishly she left a few pictures with me. Some I’d seen, others I hadn’t. I knew she’d played Mary in the nativity, but not Joseph. I knew that she’d worked with the cast of ‘Casualty’ on her work experience, but not ‘Cold Feet’. I knew that she’d seen the Pyramids, but not that she’d sat on an eight foot penis in the sex museum in
My daughter Cloë is thirty today. I say it quietly, thirty is such a big age, it’s taken her thirty years to get there and now that she’s arrived I want her to know what a really good job she’s done of becoming who she is.
She’s well educated with a first class degree, successful and in demand in the world of the marketeer, liked by many, as secure as is possible these days (any days), well balanced, sensible, funny, a homeowner, in a relationship (a real one) – and of course she’s done it all for herself, which is the thing I most admire about her.
Mind you, she’s needed to - I wasn’t around much when she was growing, no excuses or reasons - that’s just the way it turned out. Still, as a result of that distance, I think I know her for who she is rather than a father’s image of his daughter - and I like that.
Her self reliance, her responsible approach, her work ethic (she always has and does work bloody hard), her common sense - I could go on. She makes me very proud.
That’s it. Thirty today. Happy birthday Cloë.
P.S. – I love you.