Thursday, 20 August 2009


I am not going to bang on about a TV series, no matter how compelling Writer Dad's case for Lost has been in the past.

For the third time in successive years, and this weekend, Max is off enjoying the company of all his grandparents on the Welsh coast, and I shall be enjoying the company of about 89,999 others at the V Festival.

Very short consideration was given to changing those plans, when my boy's favourite band, The Killers, were booked to headline. But taking him would not have been a good idea, and would defeat one of the purposes of going anyway.

Instead I will record some footage on 4Music, for Max to enjoy at a later date.

I also have an evening wedding reception before the festival opens, I have some work I need to do, so when my parents offered to taken my son earlier again – they have done the same previous years – it made sense.

Coupled with the fact that we have been around each other such a lot for the holidays, which have been brilliant, but exhausting, time apart is no bad thing.

However, I feel bereft.

Strange, as when he is at nursery, I have time on my own, but I suppose I am off duty to a different level when I know I will not see him, or be in direct charge, for a few days.

This morning when he left – I always try and have him leave me for his adventures, rather than the other way round – I was nursing my recently factory-reset-laptop for over an hour, before I realised I still had Cbeebies, or some other children's programme on.

Noise, comforting noise.

I soon switched it over, but I find the de-parenting process a weird one, where I feel a little lost, rudderless.

Unusual freedom, when no matter what I decide to do, there is always still a feeling that I did not optimise the time I had.

The world, or perhaps my immediate surroundings, are my oyster this evening, I may take a stroll to the pub for a pint, or indeed, The Wire, fifth and final series box-set, may take over my life for the evening, must remember I can get up on my schedule.

After the conclusion of the weekend, and satisfactory progress in my sobering process, I will make the journey to rejoin my son.

Normality, or our version of it, will be restored.