I've just got in - 1.20am - from taking my lad to catch his coach. School trip to France. I remember the thrill and homesickness of mine, 25, 26 maybe, years ago. Lucky him, sitting alongside his mates and waving me home. He's as tall as his mum now. It just goes by so fast, look around and they're almost young men and women. We sat tonight choosing tracks to load on to my ancient ipod shuffle for him to take... picking No Surprises, the track off OK Computer he first loved when he was three. Used to call it the Twinkle Star Band.
Reasons to be wistful. I can't help it. But a bit of wist isn't so bad.
I was clearing out a toilet bag for him to take, and I found a minature bottle of Obsession for Men. I must have bought that 20 years ago. It still smells as rich and sweet as the time I wore it to try and be cool in front of the Polytechnic girls I so desperately wanted to impress. It all seems so long ago, even though I imagine myself to be in my late twenties still.
And a reason to be cheeful too. I've had a very good date with a woman who could have been one of a bunch of my friends, just five or ten years younger. I think she liked me too. We're going to meet again soon. Not fireworks and butterflies at first sight, but something to start gently on (and anyway, fireworks and butterflies don't mix and certainly don't last very long).
