I am my Father's daughter

Last night Dad came round to my new house for dinner for the first time. He has just got back from a 5 week trip to South America, namely the Galapagos, Ecuador, and Peru. He is now slightly obsessed with blue footed boobies, and I now know more about them than I ever thought I would (namely, nothing at all). Hopefully a quiz night I am going to next week will have a whole category based on them.
Anyhoo it was nice to show him the house (he approved) and he helped me connect my new garden hose. Basil gave him lots of smooches (purely because it was dinner time, he’s such a food-whore) and we had a good chat about stuff.
My parents divorced when I was 14 and Dad moved up to Tauranga from Hawkes Bay pretty much straight away, so we haven’t been enormously close since then. But we get on well, sometimes, although Dad has some idiosyncracies that are completely unique, such as not allowing cell phones in his home, and always having to know which direction the winds are going. He is a general knowledge geek, and nothing pleases him more than a Reader's Digest book of facts.
Last night Dad displayed some vintage Dad behaviour as I was about to get dinner ready. “Do you want to watch the News?” I asked him. “No,” says he. “I know everything already.”