One is feeling a little low today - I don't know why. Maybe it's because we've just come back from holiday, first day back at work and all that. Let's just say I've got the blues and even chocolate hasn't helped.
On the way home from darn sarf we called in to see our son who, at the age of twenty-one, buggered off "to be independent" and live in Devon. I think he just couldn't stand my cooking really, which is understandable. He's just finished at university now, doing fine, but I still haven't got over the fact that he's living two hundred miles away from me so I don't have access to him as often as I would like. I suppose I always thought he'd come back to live at home one day. I try not to stalk him but it's really hard when he doesn't answer his phone, never rings up unless he's broke and doesn't come home unless we throw a sack over his head and kidnap him. With chloroform.
So it's not my fault if I've found a way of seeing what he's up to whenever I want. I've discovered Facebook. I sneakily get in (don't ask how) and have a look at his photos. He has about two thousand friends. And guess what else I've discovered? He smokes. He gets incredibly drunk. He has a lot of women hanging around his neck a lot of the time. He occasionally dresses up in women's clothes and wears makeup. He dances on tables. He chases sheep across fields, and many many other activities too dodgy to mention. He doesn't do much studying. But the thing I've discovered which shook me most of all?
The reason why he doesn't want to live at home ever again. It's called freedom.
Bloody hell, we might as well rent out his bedroom.