Just hours after finishing a seven-day cruise of the Avon, I am in Queen's Hospital, Burton-on-Trent, recounting the trip- for the 20th time -to my dad. The conversation, which always starts with his exclamation of mild surprise to see me, mows to questions of what I've been doing that morning (returning a hire-boat to its Stratford base) and then inevitably on to me mapping the same potted itinerary (Stratford, Evesham, Pershore, Tewkesbury and hack) and fielding a few questions about the boat itsell. "And did you have time to catch a play in Stratford?" he always asks at the end. There's just time to describe a tedious performance ol Antony & Cleopatra before he's suddenly aware that he's in hospital, and wonders why. Satisfied by the explanation my mum offers, it's my turn again. And, predictably, we're back to the Avon boat-trip, which he's already forgotten all about.
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