They have told a story in public that we wanted to be kept private, they have shown us a lack of tact, they have forgotten an important occasion, they have failed to listen to us.
It has served an extemporary apprenticeship; it wants no drilling; it never ranks in the awkward squad; it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no blind side.
Without really realising what they are up to, the parent grows inflamed and incensed by this child's apparent stupidity — and starts to mock and attack in another person what they fear and hate in themselves.
Perhaps the way to draw this to the attention of the gormless son, GS, is to perhaps withdraw some of the more onerous of the midweek expectations, particularly those that will affect the wife or other half of GS.
So doing something like a crude semantic segmentation, trying to just assign a bunch of words to an image that have almost like a dumb entity explaining as much as it can about the image.
In the afternoon they must return again, this time in a carriage, dressed in another livery, and for an hour they must pass slowly to and fro in foolish procession.