Elsewhere in England this weekend, grimly sweating middle-aged men were planning Operation Save Big Dog, Operation Red Meat and Operation Decommission Shopping Trolley. In our house, though, the only game in town for grimly sweating middle-aged men was Operation Racing Car. My son Jonah had received his Covid-postponed eighth birthday present from his cousins and it was – retro! – a Meccano set.
‘Dad, can you help me build it?’ he asked, heteropatriarchonormatively. And of course I gladly forwent my planned afternoon doomscrolling Twitter to see how many new Downing Street parties would be unearthed. Because I had never done Meccano and I thought here was an opportunity to spend some quality bonding time with my son and heir and, besides, an opportunity to show off to him.
Doing Meccano – there were 38 steps in the kit I ‘helped’ with – is basically like assembling Ikea furniture
A larger version of the experience that followed will be familiar to almost everyone.
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