He can’t be! I don’t feel much older than 25 so how can I have a son that old?
But he is. Having been born two months premature, he once may've looked like a piece of raw chicken that fitted into one hand, but now he’s a strapping, six foot lad.
In January, it really depressed me that I wasn’t in Cape Town when he started his last year of school so one would have thought that my not being there for such a ‘big’ birthday would be even more depressing. Strangely enough, it isn’t. I really wish that I could be there but accept that I can’t.
Next year, he’s hoping to spend his gap year in the UK, based at my place. Of course, he’s much more than welcome to but it’ll mean circumscribing my lifestyle somewhat. I doubt that my red wine stories will cease completely but there’ll have to be a bit more self-control in my life. I have, however, warned him that should I get offered a decent job in South Africa, his being here won’t stop me from taking it. If that were to happen (I certainly hope it does), he’ll have to base himself at his aunt’s place in Surrey.