Time is on my side...

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Well, as Sarah Brightman would say, it's 'Time to Say Goodbye' as son number two heads up to Leeds to start his degree.  I don't know why this makes me feel a little bit weepy, after all, I've done it four times already (this is the second attempt for son number two), but somehow, it just doesn't get any easier.

Cramming all his possessions (and a lot of mine it would seem) into his car yesterday, he hit me with the bombshell that he didn't need me to come up to Leeds with him, when he goes later today as a)there was nothing to go in my car and b) it would be a waste of time and money. 

This was my response...

'But I have to come with you.  I need to hang all your clothes up, sort your bed out, make sure you have photos of us dotted around the room and generally just make sure that you're settled in'

A good argument for an eight hour round trip I felt.  But apparently not.

'These are exactly the reasons why you don't need to come up', said the new undergraduate.  'I'll only re-hang the clothes the way I like them (this is something I have never witnessed in all his days.  He has a special place between the wardrobe and the dirty wash box called The Floor where he likes to 'hang' his clothes).  I made my bed when I went up on Wednesday and whatever you put out around my room, I will move.  So far better I do it myself and save us doing everything twice'.  

This is why he is studying law - I had absolutely no response to this.

So for the second time in 24 hours, I find myself with spare time.

The first happened on Friday.  Master P and Master J (the new boy) were both out all day so yours truly was running the office.  I'm not saying I was busy, but by Friday lunchtime, when I was due to go home, I had just about managed to clear Wednesday's emails.  I had to leave on time because I had a hair appointment at 1.30.  I did toy with cancelling this and working the rest of the afternoon, but decided to go and get my hair done.  Priorities, and all that.

'Is it Mrs R?' asked the lady with her hands wrapped round some poor unfortunate's head in the sink.

'Yes', I replied.  'I'm booked in for half a head'.  (Sorry gentlemen, this will mean nothing to you - ask your wives).

Without breaking stride in the vigorous washing, she said, 'We didn't have your number - your stylist had to go home as she was ill.  Ever so sorry'.

So what did I do with this unexpected two hours which the dicky stylist had gifted to me?

I did the ironing.

Such is the excitement of the life I lead...


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