Time after time...

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As you know, son number two is back in the building for 72 hours.  He says that he's here to see the family, and to catch up on what's been happening while he's been away, but I am more inclined to think that her's here to simply stock up on food like a 6'4" hamster before heading back to Leeds.

So far, he has managed to squeeze in a full English breakfast yesterday morning, a curry last night and there's a bacon sandwich, full roast dinner and toasted marshmallows booked for today.  As well as all this feasting, he also has two carrier bags full of 'scran', as he now calls it, to stave hunger away till Christmas.  I've also paid for a tank of petrol and some wine.

All in all, I have been bled dry, and although I will be sorry to see him leave on Monday morning, my Bank Manager may get the bunting out in celebration.

His beard is continuing to cause issues.  It keeps catching my eye, and I want to do what my nanna used to do when faced with a child's dirty mush.  Handkerchief, spit, wipe.  There is a problem with this though.  Firstly, no one does hankies anymore, and I'm not too sure that Handy Andies have the same resilience as a neatly pressed cotton square.  Also, I can't reach him, so the element of surprise (always vital in impromptu face wiping) is gone.  

I don't know how long he is planning to grow this for.  I have an awful feeling that by Christmas it might have grown into something housing a couple of birds and some spaghetti from a night out the week before.  As Terry Wogan used to say, 'You never go hungry with a beard'.  

Anyway, it's all part of growing up, and finding out what living on your own is like.  Between you and me, I believe that the beard falls into CBA Territory.  Shaving each day is just one more thing he can do away with, releasing more time for cheap beer and kebabs.

It's a skill, you know.  

 Time Management...



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