Do you want my Autograph

I came home late tonight, I was enjoying working (why do I feel guilty about that?), and just carried on, past two viable trains.

I spoke to Boy this afternoon. What Is it about being a parent, that when your kids want to speak to you, you automatically think there is something wrong?

I was working away, when "Boy" flashed up on Skype.

"Mum"......

"WHAT????" I SHOUTED.

"guess what? "

"NOOOOOO DON'T DO THIS TO ME, TELL ME IMMEDIATELY".

My mind runs through "expulsion for racist singing", "extradition for telling English Lecturer that he knows nothing about English Language because he's not English". "Murder charge".

And then he says something like, "I got an A+ for my English paper".

Today, it was about shipping by Fedex. Why do these people make it so difficult? Don't get me wrong they do an amazing job. When Boy was down and depressed we got a box to him in 24 hours! They do what it says on the packet... but flipping hairies it isn't easy.

We had sat the night before, Waving Shipping notices at the webcame, filling in all the appropriate details, making up invoices (for gifts? really), and writing GiFT all over the place, just in case they were in any doubt.

He left it at the drop box, and this morning, it came back to him. He hadn't filled it out in triplicate! oh my god.

Anyways. Such was my day, and that was without the trauma of running half a mile to get a way from a Shouty face Junkie, who I thought had maybe picked up my phone!

I came home, I put my feet up, I ate left-over Tiramisu (thank you me), and then decided to have a lovely bagel. Smoke Streaky Bacon and Phillie. Yumsers.