Half Past

Ollie’s graduation evening was – and I’m not ashamed to admit it – one of the best evenings of my life.  It was a mixture of relief (the pressure of the exams over), pride  and happiness; happy for all  those gorgeous, smiling 18 year olds full of promise and enthusiasm for life before the onset of adult responsibility hits them and makes them tired and cynical. 

He is 48 hours into his holiday,sunning himself in Ios with the whole grade from school in a hotel that has headings  entitled Party Zone and Wet T-Shirt Competition on its website.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, the working population are lying on the bed watching The Apprentice (If gormless James can get that far then I am destined to be Prime Minister…no better still with my maths ability Chancellor of the Exchequer) when Mr. J’s phone beeps.

“Hi Dad.  It’s great here.  I’ ve run out of my own money.  How much can I put on the credit card?”

(The very same one used in times of emergencies would that be Oliver?)

Mr. J. lets out a belly laugh and replies,

“How much do you think you need per day?” 

 (Big mistake but then again this was the man whose father used to reply only half-past whenever he or any of his siblings wanted to know what time they had to come home.  The reasoning behind this being that you are giving the child responsibility because  the child knows exactly what time, how much money etc).

Beep.  “Anything from 65 to 105 euros, depends what’s going on.”

Both belly laugh at this stage.

“Read your book, stay away from the bar and you’ll be amazed at how little you will spend.”

No reply.

No reply.

“Yeah right.  Haven’t read a page, having the time of my life.  Will try not to spend too much.  Love you.”

I think Mr. Jules may have to review his parenting skills.