The Things You Learn When It’s Too Late To Matter

Start the day with a rare early morning quickie then onto the bus. No bike today as I have a company night out tonight.

Son armed with his GCSE results goes with L to enrol on his A level course. Apparently it was a good job she went with him because the forms were so complex that you needed an A Level in form filling to complete them. One of the advisors tried to talk Son out of chemistry, which we had already tried to do without success but this woman had more success and talked him into English Literature instead. The persuasive power of a female.

Of course he'll be totally oblivious to the opportunities this presents to him because when you're male and sixteen you are. Totally blind. The English Literature course should be 80% female and full of smart, sophisticated, intellectual totty. So not only should he be able to pull but it’ll be cultured piece to boot. So he ought to reconsider our offer to come and see War And Peace with us. Originally he speedily declined but that was before he had a harem of cultured classmates to impress.

Now if I redid my A levels, I'd pick Literature and other girl friendly courses and have a whale of a time. Oh, the things you learn about life when it’s too late to matter. Life's cruel rich tapestry.

Unaware that he has inadvertently hit the jackpot, Son heads home to tuck into a breakfast of celebratory treacle tart, which L bought him for dessert last night.
Daughter obviously gets wind of this treat, because in one of her ROFL emails to L, I'm afraid I taught her the ROFL abbreviation, she queries Son’s breakfast. She asks whether a tart is the same as a prostitute and would he be paying for it. I think L was a little shocked that Daughter's young mind has wandered so far into the deep dark depths of life but that's what watching ‘Skins’ does for you.

After work I meet up with the rest of my work colleagues and we go out for a curry and a few pints. L tells me not to run off with any girlies or pension salesmen because they both only want my money. She doesn't even speculate what a girlie pension salesperson would want. Could be fun finding out.

The curry is ok but I’m a bit miffed we don’t get starters. All my colleagues are keen to hit the bars, rather than hang around in a restaurant. Everyone argues about where to go. Eventually we head for some young trendy bar that is predictably full of old people like me. A couple of flat pints of Everards Tiger, some Cobra and some Singapore Tiger straight from the bottle (naturally). It’s not a terribly memorable night. I get the bus home to L and we split a 12% Bush beer.