On a knife edge

Yesterday on the morning of the boy's banishment we were chasing around trying to find some wrapping paper for Grandma in Wales' present. For some curious reason that meant I put my hand in his coat pocket (not an obvious place for wrapping paper I'll grant you). And therein lies our next problem.

A knife. No not a butter knife hidden away to avoid the washing up, but a full on 'blade'. Which locks into place to create a fearsome weapon.

Knife culture has become quite a thing in the UK recently, and there's many a teenager that has paid for it with their life. Of course, most youngsters who've been caught carrying claim it's for defence. As indeed it probably is. But simply the act of carrying a knife can lead to terrible, tragic consequences. In this case, I'm not sure the idea was to even carry it...it was simply an object to have and to hold. But for me that was irrelevant, especially as it had been bought surreptitiously on the Sorrento trip where he'd been tasked with keeping a record of everything he'd spent.

Having spent the previous evening doing father-son bonding by hanging new blinds around the house (Boys and men do DIY you know), it all fell to pieces again.

It was a very angry father who put his son on a train to Cardiff