Rockabye, sweet baby James?

Ned was emailed a picture which has caused great consternation at Genie Towers. Ned studied it carefully and couldn't be certain; I studied it carefully and couldn't be certain. So we called the Boy to have a look and see what he thought. He too studied it carefully, and finally decided that no, it couldn't be him because his trousers don't have a white lining to the pocket.

I'm not sure if that was meant to reassure me or not.

On Wednesdays he goes shopping

As you may or may not know, The Boy's halfway through his Arboriculture course, with plans to be a tree surgeon after qualifying. He's being taught how to handle a chainsaw properly, with minimal risk of careless self-mutilation, and is learning a lot about the different species of trees and their ideal environments. His holiday placement has involved a lot of clearance with felling and logging, so when he had to fell a particular tree that had grown in a certain shape, he decided to keep part of it as a curiosity. He turned the section upside down and carefully trimmed it so it balanced. A friend (so he assures me) whittled the final detail, and now this charming sculpture graces our patio.

He's got the key of the door

Twenty-one candles on a cake generate a lot of heat ...

... and need a lot of breath to blow out!

Happy birthday, Boy! Where did all the years go?

Slow down you're gonna crash

So, a couple of weeks ago there’s a squeal and a bang outside the house as a twunt drives into the back of Boy’s car when he came home for lunch. No injuries thankfully, and only minor damage. Independent witness standing by, and bloke accepts liability (“Why did you stop?” “Because I live here” “Sorry, the sun was in my eyes”) and I get all the details and photograph the 57' skidmark and start dealing with insurance. The garage estimate is a touch under £800 as long as nothing goes wrong; the car’s not dangerous – the main problem is that the tailgate doesn’t shut securely so the back panel needs pulling out, and possibly a new tailgate. Parts are cheap* – labour and VAT are expensive. I refuse to allow them to say the car’s not worth that much and write it off, because they wouldn’t give us enough money to buy a suitable replacement. We’re still waiting to see what the various insurance companies decide as to who’ll pay what, but if they won’t play ball we’ll have to cancel the claim and try to come to an arrangement with the other driver to get repairs done ourselves. Surely they can't force us to hand the car over if we don't want to? Surely the other guy's insurance must cover the repairs?

*comparatively speaking.

And who knows which is which

The Boy saw the New Year in with a bang.

Don't worry, it was self-inflicted. Apparently there's a stage of inebriation where, when you trip up, you fail to put out your hands to break your fall, and use your face instead.

School's out for EVER!

The Boy's first day at school 

Today saw the Boy taking his final A-level paper, and henceforth he has now officially ‘left school’. It’ll be very strange for all of us for a while. He’s taking a gap year* to try to earn some money to help pay for Uni**: I imagine the longer hours and shorter holidays of a working life will come as a bit of a shock to him! To acknowledge this momentous day I have posted a picture of him. He didn’t really want to be recognised, so I’ve only put the one I took on his first day of school. He’s changed a bit since then.

We received our 4th ‘stalker’ postcard today; a picture of Plymouth Hoe and just the message “Hey Hoe!!”. This time the message and the address are written in different hands – and the message of this is by the same person as wrote the one from Edinburgh. Curiouser and curiouser …

*As long as re-sits aren’t called for.
** Unless he changes his mind about going.

CNPS: Still 74. Where are all the 75s?