So we walked in, Jazzy Jeff and I, to the humble Western Suburbs rents’ home to pick up the pooches. With the pooches scratching my unclad legs, I went straight for the pantry where mum keeps the bottomless jar of BBQ shapes – seriously, it’s always full, like a glass of cheap wine at a wedding. This is great as it makes me feel that I’ve never finished a packet, hence my youthful, dreamlike figure (dreamlike is true). So anyway, Jazzy Jeff’s busy drooling over mum’s stove checking out what we might be able to take with us for dinner. I turn around from the pantry and nearly choke on every one of those BBQ shapes I’ve shoved in my gob and the jar almost crashes to the floor cos there’s dad, all 70 years of him, wearing a baseball cap – BACK TO FRONT. This is a man who thinks that insomnia is best dealt with by drinking a cup of espresso, who falls from the ancient fig tree after breaking a branch with his hulking frame but decides to chop down the tree out of spite and who still thinks that all of the Hollywood actors of the 50s and 60s were Italian (the films were DUBBED, DAD!). So, given that the man doesn’t watch nearly enough commercial TV anymore thanks to 24-hours of RAI-International that beams in on the tele from the super-massive bird-shit-splattered satellite dish, where did the back to front baseball cap come from?Has Papà’s been sneaking into our place on the sly when he SAYS he’s mowing the lawn and in between snips he’s been watching MTV Cribs and he’s now down with the homies, yo?