A young man becomes the master in his girlfriend's house.
Enjoy..
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I never really got to know my wife's father Martin, but from the little I did see of him, he appeared to be a real tartar: Martin would invariably be glaring out of the window when I arrived to collect Alison for our dates and be standing there again when we returned. That return had to be no later than ten o'clock on midweek nights, or 10:30 at the weekends and with no 'loitering in the driveway making a spectacle of yourselves' when we did return.
The only times I ever crossed their threshold were to attend the occasional Sunday lunches to which I was invited and though Alison's mother Joan was a fantastic cook, pleasant memories of those meals were sparse. The lunches put me in mind of a job interview, or those
