Proms, Paracetamol and Plenty of stuff going wrong.

There can be little surprise about the subject of this week’s diatribe.  Anyone even close to following or friending any of us will have guessed already.

That’s right, I have a cold.  I am deep into day three of this hell, and there is little sign of any escape.  I have barely mentioned it I know, but this is because I am as weak as the proverbial kitten and find it hard to press those tweeting buttons in this life threatening state.

Sure, the irony of having a cold on the hottest days of the year have not escaped me.  I add to the ironic list of “crap” that has befallen us in recent times.  Allow me my persecution complex, with the usual caveat that I’m lucky that these are my only troubles.

We’ve replaced a dishwasher, a shower, two tyres and paid for a prom and all it entails in the last two weeks, and today whilst out with the dog he’s gone and hurt his leg which will involve a costly visit to the vets no doubt, with a fee just nicely below the excess on his insurance policy.  Sigh.

There is little worse than a me feeling sorry for himself, and the only thing that is, is a me feeling sorry for himself with a cold. Meh!

Speaking of paying for proms, I shan’t let this post descend into a gratuitous moan about the ridiculous sums parents (of girls especially) are pressurised into paying.  Instead I shall celebrate the glorious glamour and maturity of my youngest daughter, much as I did with my eldest just a couple of years ago.

With literally months of preparation, the big day came last Thursday.  How handy it was that another of these seismic landmarks happened the Thursday before (Emily passing her test) as Rebecca had an appointment list longer than Max Clifford at the BBC all day.  She’d had her nails done, and needed a spray tan, hair appointment and to be at the pick up point at around 5pm.

Emily then was designated chauffeur for the day.

On that point, it does appear to be an epic summer event wise with leavings of schools, exams, driving tests, proms and if things carry on breaking, bankruptcy.

At around 4.30pm Rebecca emerged looking like a million dollars, which is ironic as it had cost……OK, I said wouldn’t do that.

She looked beautiful.  I would say that even if she didn’t but she did.

We then all took her to the limo collection point, a friend’s house, where eighteen “kids” were gathered along with countless relatives and friends all keen to get the photographs and memories that they had invested so much in.  (I’m having that one!).

Luckily it was a lovely evening, and after an hour or so of a multitude of dresses and suits arriving they were ready for the off.  The limo parked up outside, and more photos happened.

Rebecca’s boyfriend Tom had come along to see her off.

The sense of relief as they all got into the limo and drove away was enormous.  Mums and Dads all breathed huge collective sighs of relief.  Thankfully with both mine now done that should be it till they get married.  As I am insisting on Florida weddings for both that doesn’t bother me too much!

Of course it is odd and nostalgia filled to see your own child all grown up, leaving school and all of that but when you group together eighteen of them, most of which you’ve had at sleep overs, parties and all sorts of events for the past twelve years or so, it is fairly surreal.  Most of the gathered parents waving off the limo were also stood together outside of nursery, primary school, brownies, guides and eternal school discos over the years.

It felt like we should have a prom to celebrate the fact we may never see each other again!

To cement and confirm my fast acceleration into my inevitable old age and death, at the end of the night, Emily drove to pick her up.  I went with her as

• She didn’t know where she was going
• She had never driven in the dark before

It was just a surreal night all round as I sat next to my daughter in the car waiting for my youngest to appear.  The night was declared “OK” with all the usual enthusiasm of a teenager, and with that the night was done.

Just the collection of A level and GCSE results to do, and our connection with the school will be done forever.  Unless one of them becomes a teacher and works there which I have to say is an unlikely career choice for either of them, but you never know.

With those thoughts and wise words I am away to indulge myself in the fallacy that you should feed a cold.  I for one am not likely to disobey such sound medical advice.

Pass me the Bourbons.

Till the next time….