Is it hard-wired into us, as parents, to get on our children’s nerves? I watched the Brit awards with my daughter and resolved not to make tart comments, because I remember, as a kid, finding my parents’ contributions on such matters excruciating. I was only eight when Bohemian Rhapsody came out. Even though I found the video a bit bewildering, I was still appalled when my mum said, “What’s this about killing a man? That’s rubbish that is.”
As a massive Led Zeppelin devotee in my teens, I was agog when their concert film The Song Remains the Same came out on video. With only one television in the house, there was no privacy in those days; kids today don’t know how lucky they are. Sure enough, in came my dad, asking what exactly it was that Robert Plant had stuffed down the front of his extremely tight jeans, and why Jimmy Page was playing his electric guitar with a violin bow. Yes, I knew it was all a bit ridiculous, but these men were my idols and I couldn’t bear having the suspension of my disbelief dismantled so brutally.
And here was I, with the opportunity to disrupt the repeating of history, to be better than my own father – so of course I blew it. I just couldn’t help myself. Here are some things that I said: “Why’s everyone wearing those big clumpy shoes?”, “What’s this Mo [Gilligan] bloke all about?”, “Who on earth is Dave?”, “Adele’s having herself these days, isn’t she?”, “It’s all a fix anyway”.
I ended up getting on my own nerves, as well as hers, so I left the room and went elsewhere to berate myself for being a grumpy old fool. When I returned, the aforementioned Dave was on, performing with a gospel choir. It was wonderful. I told my daughter as much, but it was too late to redeem myself. I’d passed the point of generational no return.
Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
