Why didn't he and his bruv pop out to our local for a couple of pints beforehand? “Yes, Daddy, you go to the pub with Uncle Kevin,” suggested smallest child, smiling sweetly. POTUS (Poor Over-trusting Totally Unspecting Sod) concurred, they went, and it was all systems go.
We had one hour for everyone to arrive, get tables and extra chairs set up outside, transfer booze across the road in a fireman’s chain, blow up balloons, stick up banners, unload food, and pour out the fizz for the toast - all before we got the call from the pub loos from brother-in-law saying: “The Eagle has landed, I repeat, the Eagle has landed.” (not a euphemism for his toilet activity - rather code for “We’re coming back”).
It was my daughter, yet again, who had provided all the real surprises.