The difficult art of the "selfie"

The first day of the summer holidays: Last night, we got a message from one of Ottawacker Jr.’s friends inviting him to the Calypso Water Park to celebrate the end of the school year. This, you will be unsurprised to learn, was gratefully accepted. So, this morning, lathered in sunscreen, he was driven to Wyatt’s house to be taken to the water park there to be submerged in water until he, Wyatt, or more likely Wyatt’s mum, was sick of it. That didn’t happen until around 9 at night, and so Mrs. Ottawacker and I were left staring at each other wondering if this “patiently waiting for him to return” was going to be the theme of the next 5-7 years.
 
We didn’t really do very much. We had planned to take him out for lunch and then do something in the evening, but (even at my age) I understand that an invite from a friend to do something fun is nothing to be sneezed at. I had to console myself with a catch up with my friend Mark in London, and a visit to the alcohol-selling store to stock up on beer, wine and spirits. I’ve been on the wagon for about 7 weeks now, but am looking forward to falling off it for Canada Day.
 
Mark is a respected political journalist, and so it was interesting (if very depressing) to hear the inside scoop on things like the US Presidential debate (WTF was that?); the French repeat of the Brexit debacle; and Nigel frigging Farage. The mere thought of any of those drives me into a near-Tourette’s condition, so I’ll stop there…
 
At 9, we went to pick him up; he showered, then I covered him in aloe to make a start on repairing all the skin we had managed to not lather in sunscreen. There was rather a lot of it.