Leaving...

Well he's gone.

I watched him pull out of the drive at 7.00 yesterday morning, his head tilted at an obscure angle courtesy of the full length mirror he insisted on buying, and headed back upstairs...

...with two dusters, some multi-purpose cleaner, the hoover and a couple of bin bags.  

Opening his bedroom door slowly, I prepared myself for the worst, but was pleasantly surprised (this is an understatement of the biggest kind, and it was only Reg licking my face which brought me back to consciousness.  So what shocked me?  Well, firstly there were no empty glasses on his bedside table. These are not limited to this poor oversubscribed piece of furniture, but tend to also find their way onto the window sill, his desk, and his hair drying area (don't ask).  But there was not a single glass or bottle to be seen.

Having got over this initial shock, the second followed quickly behind.  I could actually see the carpet.  For the last eleven years, I have known that there was carpet there, but it had been obscured by the four purple towels which reside in the bathroom on the odd occasion. But where were the towels now?  Only hanging up in the bathroom - returned there by him for probably the first time in ten years.  Now if he was trying to impress me, he was maybe leaving it a little too late as he headed up the M1 to pastures new.

I'm sorry to say that there was a distinct lack of loose change in the bedroom - I consider any finds of this nature to be Cleaner's Perks, and have been known to find enough to keep me in trashy magazines for a week.  But of course, now son number two is a student, the room had been scoured for money before departure, and all I came across was a few euros.  OK, hands up, I thought they were pound coins, until I put my glasses on, so what a disappointment that was...

So no surprises, nasty or otherwise.  Just the incredible shock of having no more children in the house.

And boy, does that make me sad...


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