Organising playdates for our elderly parents is an irresistible idea
If your folks forced you socialise with their friends' random kids, now's the time for revenge
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the 1985 July holidays. I was a scrawny 13-year-old in standard 7. Quiet, brooding, a bookworm, nerd and a hopeless hermit.
For the past fortnight I had been religiously following the championships at the All England Lawn Tennis Club in Wimbledon, where an unknown 17-year-old flame-haired German called Boris Becker had been on a giant-slaying mission. His semifinal match against Swede Anders Järryd had been abandoned the previous evening and would continue on the Saturday...