The little fella

Well, I realise he's not so little anymore. Six foot three or four, I guess, and sixteen years old, today. The Minx and I met him after school for afternoon tea at the Royal Hotel, which turned about to be one of those 'death by a thousand cuts' type of meals; it didn't look *that* much but, Lord, it was filling.

Afterwards, I took him down to his guitar lesson in Lancaster. He has a lot on this week and he was unusually stressed* by everything that he has to do: exam revision, plus preparing musical arrangements for a school open evening on Thursday and then for a concert at the weekend. He suddenly seemed a lot more grown up.

Not that we didn't have a few laughs and, as I dropped him off and watched him walking up the road with his guitar, my heart swelled with love and pride for the little fella.

*By which I mean he was a bit concerned. His usual philosophy is "It'll be all right" (which, to be fair, it usually is).

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Reading: Picked up Bill Drummond's 'How To Be An Artist'. I wasn't planning to read anything I've read before, this year, but I need my mojo back.