Father’s day went like any other Sunday. Swimming in the morning, brunch and playtime throughout the afternoon. An hour before dinner, we decided to go to the nearby park. I pick the raincoats, because it will likely rain - I was hopeful it wouldn’t. Fifty meters after getting out of the door, the first few drops start to fall. My son wasn’t bothered and was resolute in his goal - this is a very British trait. I had to fight my southern heritage to carry on. We arrived at the park and spent a good twenty minutes under two massive oak trees - the rain was getting heavier. I kept thinking how lucky I would be if I had a tree like that in my garden. We are now sitting against its trunk and gazing at two dogs playing with a stick. The sun is going down and it’s dinner time. My son asks me to carry him on my shoulders. He will get soaked, but I oblige.