I’m diluting my parents’ Blitz spirit with Dettol, says Matthew Norman
Nothing in this world is more repellent, as the philosopher Larry David posits, than the ostentatiously happy family that coexists in a cocoon of unbroken serenity. In this regard, if no other, my family is anything but repellent. We love each other deeply. Yet, regardless of what Ali MacGraw told Ryan O’Neal in that movie, love doesn’t mean never having to say you’re sorry. What love means is ceaselessly having to say you’re sorry – but generally being too pig-headed, obstreperous and dumb to do so. All of which is a preamble to the declaration that this column stands proxy for a giant mea culpa to my parents for the dementedly overbearing behaviour of recent weeks. It would be distasteful for any writer, let alone a Jewish one, to describe that behaviour as ‘Hitlerian’. Even so, the remorseless screeching of rebukes and instructions has eerily reminded the three of us...
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