Moving Days...

Friends following me on Facebook already know of this week's woes.

A week last Saturday, we moved our man-child, Grizz, into his student accommodation for the commencement of Freshers' Week.

This is where they drink themselves through half their student loan, eat nothing but toast for a fortnight, and cavort about as if they were at a Bacchanalian orgy.

That I managed this without turning into a sniveling wreck is to my absolute credit. Of course, the fact that he's really not that far from home, and studying in the city where I work, is the reason why.

Mind you, we've had a number of run-arounds with Grizz this week. Thank the Goddess that he moved no further from home than thirty miles!

1. I rang him on Monday morning. Just to ensure he was up in time to catch the shuttle bus to get to his very first lecture. He was just about to leave his digs. Wonderful.

He rang GJ an hour or so later. He'd over-shot his bus-stop and didn't know where he was in the city. Unable to describe his surroundings, GJ was unable to tell him where he might be. He set off at marching pace in the direction he'd come in, now late for his lecture.

He texted GJ half an hour later to say he was standing outside of a filled lecture theatre, frightened to go in. My husband's text to him might have turned the airwaves blue.

So, not only was he late for his lecture, he couldn't find the University building.

He's only a Geography Student, FFS!

2. I rang him on Thursday, just to ensure he was up in time for his field trip. He was.

He texted my husband an hour or so later, to ask where Hadrian's Wall was.

Repeat the refrain, "He's only studying Geography, FFS!"

And we live in Northumberland, so there's no excuse for him not knowing the county's history!

3. I was about to ring him on Friday, when he rang me in the office in a panic.

"Mum, where's my boxers?!"

As I hadn't really been with him all week, this was an impossible call for me to make. I started to fret. If he was down to his last set of boxer shorts, how would he fare?

It turns out that, in spite of my constant nagging for him to do this all summer, he hadn't taken enough supplies, like underwear, with him from home, where they are breeding like rabbits... And he had ignored the bubbles of washing liquid I left him with, so he WAS down to his last pair of undercrackers...

My lovely, sweet colleague, a long-suffering Vicar's wife, parent to happy, healthy children in their twenties, and still relatively sane, talked me down from the roof.

"What's the worst thing that can happen, Fhina?

Is he naked out on the streets of Newcastle?

No.

If he isn't, there's not a problem.

If he is, the Police will put him in a cell, then at least he's got a bed for the night!

Stop fretting. He'll survive. He's got to learn..."

I know she's always right. I am grateful to her, always.

Could someone pass me a tranquillizer, please?

Life In The Fast Lane...

Now, Hairspray was just F.A.B, complete with wonderful and cheeky ad-libs from Michael Turnblad and Les Dennis, which made the show.

I had a wonderful evening with sweet, sweet girl-friends.

I might even find meself auditioning for the meaty part of Edna Turnblad in the future, given how hard I found it to squeeze into the, oh-so-bijou, seats in the Upper Circle...

How the bar at the Sunderland Empire can charge £19 for pre- and interval drinky-poos, (two glasses of wine and two G and Ts), was beyond us.

Me? I was on the half pint of lime and sodas, (that's cordial for my American friends, tres refreshing!), nursing a humdinger of a bug that's been in my system since Sunday...

Pshaw!

Rotten awful virussusses...

I think I also forgot to tell you already that ,with my rapidly growing Pot-Leek-A-di-Mundis, I found myself picking up 9th Prize in our local's Leek Show last Saturday...

Yay, me!

When I arrived to 'present' my three leeks (selected from the soil by dint of their pallor, versimilitude and sheer looky-likeyness), I was astounded to see countless giant leeks lying, ready for display, at the back of the Leek Shed... I thought I was doomed to failure.

Of that, there was no doubt.

Imagine my surprise, dear Reader, when I found I had scooped 9th position, (my lucky number is 9), and a gent's razor as a prize. (I think I can exchange that for a cash prizelette... I do hope so, or else I'm not sure how I'll look with a beard?)

Soooo, I was far from green with leek-envy last weekend, and I paid my subs once more for next year's entry.

I'm obviously hooked!

Roll on next year's competition. Ooh the excitements of Life In The Country!

This weekend I shall be mostly getting Grizz ready for the off to his move to his Uni digs on Saturday.

Wish me well, (in more ways than one!)

My best to you all.

More laters, after I have dried my tears about this rapidly emptying nest, and eaten this big bowl of leek and potato soup!

Mwah!

Prize Leeks picture courtesy of Google Images, culled via The Jim and Val in England blog. Merci mille! Yes, I am still crap at taking and uploading my own pictures. Sue me!

The Baby Bird Flees the Nest...

Little by little, I have been gathering bits and pieces together in preparation for my son leaving to go to College later this month...

I have been super-super-organised and have already filled a big, lidded cardboard box with booty: Crockery and cutlery, toiletries and stationery requisites and earlier this year, I bought the aforementioned vintage trunk, currently residing in the garage...

I am washing and drying laundry ready for the filling of a wardrobe, or three, and we still need to get him a couple of items so that he can take this new step in his life. We were supposed to do this on Friday, when I took a day's leave from work to spend time with my son, whom I've seen very little of lately, as it happens.

He felt ill after a stay-over at his girlfriend's new student house, and was tired after a night of coughing, unfortunately, (I think he's caught a bug from my husband), so we're planning to do things over the weekend instead.

And on Friday night, I found myself enjoying the veritable tippy-tappy, and talking to my friend over Facebook, which is very handy for that, if for very little else!

Talking.

And crying. Mainly crying, as things worked out...

I'm not sure where that came from, because I'm all right about Grizz leaving, I am. We've seen him so rarely recently that it's almost like he's already moved out, except I keep finding dirty dishes and half-filled glasses on, around and under the sofa, and rogue, smelly socks roam the floors of my house like pilgrims in search of the Holy Grail!

But I'm obviously moping a tad, in spite of my sanguine, ordered and organised, exterior. And a few words from a dear friend who's plotting her daughter's departure to College in Leeds, to read journalism, were enough to turn the taps on late last night...

Grizz is off to read Geography. Did I tell you already that I'm very proud of him? He's only off to Newcastle, so not very far. Still in slapping distance, actually! (I jest, I jest!)

I expect I shall be meeting him from time to time for lunch while I'm still working in the city. I shall be dispensing sound advice and ten pound notes, I should imagine.

This is the role of a mother, is it not?

To love them and to let them go.

To cry tears that are a mixture of joy and regret...

For what has been, and for what shall probably never be the same again.

Bon Voyage, my treasure!