I live my life by a simple rule: my Dad can fix everything. This is the Rule of Dad. He can just do stuff. It comes with the territory and I shall live all my days believing it, because it is truth.

This same truth was born out over a teary phone call this morning to my fix-all, know-all Dad.

I shall not bore you with details, but let’s just say Ladyshambles was at the end of her tether, feeling ill and despite all efforts, was failing miserably at being stoic and positive. So I phoned my Dad.

Cut to half an hour later and the tears are dried and I’m just about back on track, albeit a bit wobbly and perhaps still in need of some stabilisers. (This is where my lovely Mum comes in, who is going to phone later to seal the deal.)

So to my Dad: Considering how little tether I have had of late, you have done a truly miraculous job with picking me up, dusting me down and sending me once more on my way. I s’pose your job never really changed in that respect, did it? I’m just a bit taller than you now.

Thank you. I love you loads.

PS If you find a way to bottle this Dad stuff and sell it, then I want a cut. Capisce?

PPS Mum - you’re equally ace and I love you loads too. Talk to you later.