Mannequin Skywalker and Princess Layla v Didsbury Dad
Didsbury Son is having a love-in with all things Star Wars and is bringing me along for every elaborate twist, betrayal, and plot device.
I have been castigated for asking whether Garth Maul was the goat with the floppy ears and tutted at like the class dunce for musing on Jabba The Hut’s unresolved issues.
The first one is the 4th. When they did strike down Mikel John Obi it didn’t make him more powerful, it unleashed Liam Neeson and Ewan McGregor and The Clone Wars makes The Banana Splits seen like a linear narrative.
On the upside, Didsbury Son spent 5 silent hours on Christmas Day making something so complicated out of Lego Star Wars it had its own licence plate. This, with Didsbury Wife playing with Darcy Bussell meant I could slope off to eat turkey, read trivia and lie somewhere quiet navel gazing and shallow breathing from over-indulgence.
I know I have to engage and learn about the world of Star Wars. I sidestepped Harry Potter and his cronies finding it all a bit Alderly Edge. I have managed to keep us busy when Dr Who was onscreen and X Factor has not really caught on in our house. But. This seems like the real thing for Didsbury Son and it is my duty as a 21st Century dad to actively enrol in his new love. To embrace its passion until its inevitable demise sometime in the spring.
The shame being that I had only just worked out the difference between a grass and a water Pokemon. I am so last year.