You recall that I'm now preparing myself, and Grizz, for his entry to University in late September? Of course, the man-child has reverted to type, expecting me still to take charge of things for him, while he's out there partying heartily and meeting his mates at all hours... (What is it about the young that makes them practically nocturnal?!)
Anyhoo, I've already advised him strongly that getting a BSc in Geography is beyond me, so not to expect any further support in that quarter! Still, I found myself applying online for student accommodation earlier this week, guided, of course, by him barking instructions from the other end of our corner sofa!
It turns out that some of the accommodation I'd ear-marked as suitable for him has received a very vociferous 'thumbs down' from his girlfriend, who's about to go into her second year at the same Uni, so I guess she'll be right...
And I almost found myself adding a comment to the Special Requirements section of the online application. Taking those dizzying 360 degree virtual tours of student rooms, I was staggered by how really tiny some of them really are. Now, Grizz doesn't have a big bedroom at home - (ours was originally a 'two-up, two-down' cottage, and the footprint of the house upstairs hasn't changed since the Nineteen Twenties and we claimed the bigger room), but some of the student rooms would fit into his room twice over!
Last weekend we measured Grizz's height against the door frame in the kitchen, where we've been charting his progress for the past nine years. The latest reading on the retractable steel tape, with my husband standing on tip-toes to read it, shows that he's now 6 foot 5 inches tall.
We made the child sleep in a grow-bag, I swear!
So, part of me desperately wanted to write specifically on the form, something along the lines of:
'This man-child is very, very tall, please can you give him a bed he can fit in, and a room big enough to swing a huge cat in..."
Call me daft. Go on!
