Sweet sweet, the memories you gave to me

What can I do but prostrate myself before you all by way of abject apology? I haven’t blogged since, well, the last time, which was absolutely ages ago. I have no excuses other than to say that nothing much has moved me enough recently to warrant it being broadcast to the four corners of the earth – not that the earth has four corners, of course, or any corners come to that, but you know what I mean. Also, I have been very busy (that might be a feeble excuse, by the way). Sometimes, something prompts me to think about something and, sure enough, a discussion in the chatroom about Sparkly’s uni offers prompted me to think about something. Just goes to show how right I can be! It revived the memory of my eldest son’s three years at Bath. I remember the wonderful time he had. I remember the unutterable sadness I felt when we took him there on his first day and then left him – in a strange place, after 19 years at home (I'll never forget the image of him in my rear-view mirror standing in the car park alone). I remembered how I thought it was stupid that they had to drink loads of vodka BEFORE they went out. I remembered the love and camaraderie they had and that I never experienced in my youth when I was too much of a tosser to realise that I shouldn’t have done what I did at grammar school. And I remembered the pride when we went to his graduation ceremony. His brother is not going to university (and I am no less proud of him because of it); he is by no means stupid, being talented in a different way. They both have the same ability to wring the humour out of a situation; I wonder if that’s all they got from me? Hopefully not - they know right from wrong, and that Manchester United are the spawn of the devil! I am very proud of them both but, regrettably, I could never say to their face that I love them – that would just embarrass all of us. But I do, of course.