This is 99% true. I've only changed one or two details to help the flow. As the title suggests, it's a bit of a ramble, but not too long. c1100 words. I wasn't going to post this to start with, but when I read it back to myself I realised there is quite a lot of me in here. To the egotist in me, that made it interesting. Hope you find it interesting too.

My oldest son has recently reached the grand age of eighteen and finally developed a proper social life. For this I’m very pleased. For years he’s been content to sit in front of a screen and play video games; sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend. Since his last birthday he has discovered that it’s a pretty big world out there (even Bolton) and he wants to explore – mainly pubs I think. Well I’ve been there and done that. No problem.

The problem at the moment is travelling. He asks at the most inopportune times, will you take me to such a place; or rings up half an hour after we asked him to be in, can you pick me up from here? -You’ll have to wait up for me anyway, I’ve not got my key.

Being close in spirit if not in mind and practice to the perfect father, I usually don’t mind. There’s just the odd occasion when I want to go to bed or have a drink, or both.

Tonight, he wanted to me to take him to a friend’s house about three miles away. I duly obliged saying I’d take him during the half time of the football. He objected, as he said he’d be early. I replied, he could be early or walk. He took the lift. So negotiation goes at our house.

Half time came and off we went. I dropped him at ‘the first lamp post on the right.’ I don’t think he’s too ashamed of me, but he’d rather I pulled up at a lamp post instead of a front door. The chances of his friends coming face to face with me are then lowered. As I dropped him I told him that his mum and me would be having a drink tonight, so he would have to make his own way home.

‘But I’ve not got my keys,’ said son.

‘No matter if you need to catch the last bus son,’ said I. ‘They don’t run that late.’

He grunted in appreciation of my logic. I do admire that in him, he usually does acknowledge when he’s been outmanoeuvred.

Anyway, to get to the point. Mrs Phil and myself had decided to have a drink. We’ve both stopped smoking since Friday. No patches or gum, just stopped. We’ve not been doing so bad, not even had a cross word, but we were both gagging by this evening and so decided a drink was in order to take our minds off it.

Like most towns, Bolton has grown rapidly in the last thirty years or so and once prosperous parts of town have become run down. Rows of discount stores, ethnic groceries and Bargain Booze shops front large terraces that above shop level are now cheap and run down bed sits. So, as it was Sunday, I parked in the bus lane and went to the nearest off license.

Just picture it: cold, dark, I could see my breath. Next door to the left was a closed Chinese takeaway and to the right, a pub car park. The lights from my shop called out to me. This was no Bargain Booze, Thresher, Victoria Wine, Oddbins or whatever other trendy off license you have in your part of the world. This was a throw back. Believe it or not I was actually thinking this before I actually opened the door. As I entered there was a brief tinkle deep in the living quarters that were behind the shop. The lino was worn through in places showing bare floorboards. There were two sacks of potatoes just behind the door with their thick brown paper tops turned back. On the shelves were just one example each of a variety of tins: pears in syrup next to baked beans next to rhubarb next to chicken soup. There was a fridge, but not the all pervasive Coke upright obelisk, it was one of those chest high, glass fronted grocery display fridges from the seventies. In it were a few tubs of butter, cheeses (wrapped/processed) packets of ham and about twenty tins of assorted beer. Behind the fridge was the cigarette shelf and above that two shelves with bottles of wine and spirits – again, only one of each. The overhead light was a bare bulb, but it wasn’t over bright. I might be describing something that sounds a bit shabby and cheap here, and I guess it was, but what I’m trying to get across was that it was an anachronism that pressed quite a few buttons and took me back to my childhood running errands for my mum.

The proprietor walked in. Asian, perhaps about thirty, friendly smile, underdeveloped English.

‘Yes boss?’

The detail of my purchases is unimportant to the story. As I was paying, a boy, perhaps about two years old in well washed, fading pyjamas, came in to the shop from the ‘back.’

‘Abbu,’ he said.

‘Wait,’ replied the shop keeper with a smile for his son.

‘Abbu,’ more insistent and a shy grin at me.

‘Wait.’ This time a smile for me.

‘Abbu,’ again, big grin this time.

I was leaving by now.

‘Yes boss?’ he said as he picked him up.

I guess this is my long winded way of celebrating the unexpected. Like most of us, I suppose, I enjoy the convenience of modern life but I miss the personal touches. Everywhere is so much like anywhere else now. You go into a shop, you could be in a shop anywhere. Pubs are the same. Once you get past the hanging sign and stand at the bar you could be in any pub. I think that’s why I like my drinking houses rough and ready – a bit of variety.

Here I’d unexpectedly found a little bit of the past. Corporate products were there, but they didn’t overpower. The owner (educated guess) had a stake in his own business. The child coming in to attract his father’s attention in such a teasing way just added to the traditional atmosphere.

I suppose in time some grocery chain will come along and franchise the place. There’ll be no holes left in the flooring. The wine will be chilled. Everything will be outwardly better. The owners will probably be better off. But will the son feel able to come into the shop to tease his father (or employees) when he’s busy? Will I be transported to a version of my youth that probably never existed? Does any of it really matter? Are we happy for society to meld into one homogeneous corporate landscape? I don’t know and I’m also confused because although the shop triggered many memories and feelings, I know I never went into a place just like that in my youth. Maybe what’s brought all this on is simply thinking about number one son growing up.

While writing the previous paragraph my son has arrived home by traditional methods: bus and foot. I don’t think he approves, but I do.