All quiet on the western front (2)

I'm annoyed. Really annoyed. The boy has really p*ssed me off.

We went to a school meeting this week - planning for the school's sports tours for the next three years - anyone for cricket in Namibia? Rugby in Malaysia? Netball in Australia? We bumped into the Deputy Head. Mr Bromfield to the boy. Jeremy to me. When I was at the school he was my history teacher and boarding house master. We all thought he was ancient...turns out he was just half a dozen years older than us. He still looks the same.

Jeremy said to me, "He's taller than you now."

How dare he. The boy, not the teacher. How dare he. I've told him time and time again that he will never be taller than me. Even if he reaches the height of 6', my 178cm will always tower over him. Always. My little boy will always be my little boy.

P.S. Four days to the Kings of Leon

All is quiet on the western front

The boy has been quite low profile in recent posts. And in just the same way as the newspapers never report good news, so it is here.

After some challenging moments through the spring, he's turned the corner. Every day I get a text shortly before I leave work to say what he's been doing after school, and what homework needs to be done/is being worked on.

Domestic chores are being completed without chasing....well nearly without chasing. Almost.

And generally all is well.

On the one hand, that's just fantastic. But on the other I hope the teenagerness has not been too tamed. And teenage years are the time for rebellion, and character formation. I hope he will continue to challenge and push the boundaries...he'll need to do that when he's older, so he needs to get the practice in now.

But I have to say it's a nice calm atmosphere around the house which I'll enjoy whilst I can....

Vive la revolution (2)

On the other hand, I've just come back from a speech by Lord Digby Jones. Who made more sense than anyone I've heard for a long time. On just about all the issues that get me going. He gets my vote. Except as a Lord he doesn't need it.

It may have something to do with him being Lord Digby Jones of Birmingham. A place not known for its airs and graces.

So I can cancel the boy's application to the Socialist Workers Revolutionary Party (I wonder if I should have told him that I sent it in).

As for the previous Lord, a letter to David Cameron has resulted in a call from 'Dave's' office...hopefully there'll be a result in this peasents revolution.

Vive la revolution

Time to re-introduce the guillotine and storm the Bastille.

We had a call from someone purporting to be Lord Tim Cavendish today.

He was demanding some information we didn't have.

Poor Clementine who answered the phone was verbally abused. Anyone called Clementine who works for a company called Mandarin should never be abused.

I took over, deciding to call him firstly Tim, then Mr Cavendish and then Mr Cavendish again.

He bellowed "Fuck off you little oick".

I know where he lives. I know where he works. He'll be one of the first lined up against the wall when the revolution comes.