The Boy has gone off to spend sometime with Grandma in Wales (as opposed to Grandma in Cyprus). It's become an annual ritual, providing me with something of a break...and indeed him too. We were up early on Saturday to ensure we had time to stop off at the designer discount outlet in Swindon...I'm not much of a fan, but it has given us two pairs of Quicksilver trainers for a grand total of £18 in the past, so I'm not one to turn my nose up at it. Unfortunately, declining to purchase a pair of jeans that he would have grown out of in a fortnight induced a sulk meaning there were no trainers deemed worthy. I, on the other hand, managed three shirts and a pair of shorts for 30 hard earned quids.
At the outlaws (a phrase coined by the boy's mum...my own phrase for the grandmother is 'Wicked Witch of the West' in honour of his mum's love of Wizard of Oz) there was only one embarassing moment. Somehow over lunch the topic of the boy leaving home came up...the boy asserted that I had said he was being thrown out when he hits 18...my defence that I hadn't said that, it was just that I couldn't see why anyone would want to stay at home when they grow up was met by a stony silence...particularly from the 51 year old uncle who still lives with his mother, The Wicked Witch. We moved on.
I left to go and visit Hereford friends, and a joyous paddle down the River Wye. Very much to be enjoyed, and for once I didn't fall in. Commenting on the scenery, one of our party stated quite clearly, 'Look there's a Dalek'. Two of us heard it quite distinctly. Her defence that she had in fact said, 'Oh smell the wild garlic' was dismissed, and we spent the rest of the day looking for Daleks.
were you on the Welsh border of Herefordshire by any chance? If so, as all good Torchwood fans know, you could have been near the rift in time and space, and the Daleks could well have been lurking?
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