The bosom of home

I've spent much of this afternoon visiting my lovely parents for a long lunch. They are so lovely that I can't believe I am their product at times.

They understand me, feed me, never judge and never let me feel that I have to make an effort if I'm feeling low/tired/rubbish/stressed/irritable. I am a lucky, lucky, lucky person. I know this and it makes me tearful at times.

Don't get me wrong – I'm not some brat who has sailed through a privileged, moneyed life. Some horrible things have happened. Anyway, my parents worked harder – uncomplainingly – than most people I know, to get by.

If it wasn't for my parents being who they are, I dread to think what might have become of me. They are the best. I would have to damage anyone who said otherwise.