Wednesday 17 December 2008


I've decided at long last to turn to Jesus for salvation.

The decision was prompted this morning by turning up at the tube station (no Vespa or cycle for me today as I'm meeting the old boys for a stiff drink) to find the local churches handing out lovely hot coffees in plain white polystyrene cups (memo to self: sue like the McDonalds customer did on the basis that they failed to say that the coffee cup she bought contained hot liquid...she got $millions) and delicious home baked chocolate biscuits (memo to self: remember to sue; packaging doesn't say 'may contain traces of nuts'). The merry band were not collecting money, or forcing themselves or their views on dejected commuters in any the refreshments, accompanied by hearty smiles were more than appreciated. (memo to self: remember to complain to Transport for London, as I'm sure they must have offended many non-Christians.

The boy remains away for a second night, hopefully completing his Christmas shopping with the ex-nanny, returning tomorrow. When he's in bed and asleep, I doubt I'll be able to resist trying to sneak a look and see what will be waiting for me under the Christmas tree on the 25th...

Monday 15 December 2008

Party on

The boy did as he had been instructed, and was home by 10 on Saturday morning having stayed at a friends over Friday night.

And that was where it all started to unravel. The parents had gone away, leaving the 17 year old brother of the boys friend to look after them…some other 13 year olds, plus some fourteen year old friends of the friend’s sister. I think. Bed time, it transpires was about 6.30 in the morning.

For sure, I’m grateful that there was no alcohol involved, and nothing more addictive than X-Box 360 was consumed. And in general, I can’t deny that there appears to have been no shenanigans of any sort. So as all night parties go, this goes straight to the top of my list of things not to worry about.

But a boy who hasn’t had more than a few moments sleep is a very grumpy beast indeed. Saturday was largely devoted to the boy snoozing whenever he got a moment…and the car journey to Brighton was a good long snooze. But even an early night on Saturday, didn’t make up for it, so Sunday was full on ‘Kevin’ (Harry Enfield) mode. And as we were traipsing round the shops trying to buy imaginative, desirable presents, it made for a fairly grim weekend.

It’s a right of passage I suppose...and that is reward in itself. But as we ate pizza for lunch on Sunday, I was left thinking about how many more rights of passage I've got to look forward to. Uuurgh, there seems to be a long list...

And he does look quite sweet in the picture I took as he lay in front of the open fire…even if he has promised to remove parts of my body if I show it to any body. So please don't look.