I’m sitting here of the sunset glow of my fake sunset lamp, on the evening after my son’s 13th Birthday, listening to Can. He is in the bell tent in the garden with 6 mates, sleeping on cushions, blankets and duvets, as well as flat blow up mattresses, the stuff of childhood dreams. We’ve started to build a gym in the garage, he’s going to be my personal trainer, as i’ve been told by my neighbour that  “it’s” worse after you turn 50, by which he means everything health wise , although i’m very much enjoying not really giving much of a shit about what my daughter thinks anymore, which is happening imminently, me turning 50 I mean, that is as imminent as is me not caring what my daughter thinks. So unless I end up with some unpleasant Bowel conditions such as diverticulitis then I think you can count me in for the parent’s and children’s retirement and moving out camping piss up in 5 years time (he thought hopefully more than factually).

Number 1 Boy has had a belting day, they’re in the tent telling stories of what may happen over this summer holiday, deepening voices, party by the river, maybe someone is smoking, and in which case may they be damned to hell (their words paraphrased by me)

It’s so lovely to see them as they are now after having an awful year and a half off for the plague. Things such as girls, farts and sweets back on the table of importance, Xbox off while the weather is good, and you know what all is well in the world as the boys in the tent out side my back door fart and boast their way back into the world they should inhabit oblivious to the pinging of the NHS app which has been downgraded by the government because its a nuisance now.

Let the kids enjoy the summer, they’re all so happy tonight and weirdly i’m not getting too stressed out about it all. Which is a good thing.

Love to all apart form the anti vaxers who can fuck off.