I’ll have no one to watch Deadwood with any more, but at least we can fix the ceiling in his bedroom
F
or the last couple of months, a dining room table has been squatting over the coffee table in our living room, like one animal threatening another. It’s not in the way exactly, but it’s still a strangely oppressive use of space. Anyway, in a few days it will be gone.
The oldest one is leaving home for the third time – or the fourth, if you count going to university, which I do, because I cried that time, my vision blurring as I tried to punch my registration number into a car park ticket machine.
The other times were less fraught. In 2018 he left in a taxi on a snowy night; in 2019 he returned and stayed through the pandemic.
