The Budgies have Landed

“The Budgies have landed we are on holy ground.”  Read a text from Mr. Jules and Oliver in Dover.

“Good.  So am I in Harvey Nicks,” I replied.

The next morning we stopped by at Madre’s in Hertfordshire so that she could partake of this moment in history and she laid out the red carpet with bacon butties and lashings of tea and…er…advice.  Just before leaving she played her trump card and presented Ollie with a Care Box which would provide enough calories for an artic expedition including a spot of base jumping should the urge take him.  This is a lady after Ollie’s own heart and he was as they say in my family’s vernacular, chuffed to bits.

Luffbra University is a mix of 1960s higgeldy piggeldy red brick buildings and state of the art sports facilities.  As this was  Master Ritter’s second university choice on his UCAS form they had quite rightly turned their noses up and put him last on the list for accommodation as his was undoubtedly the worst on campus.  He couldn’t care too hoots about the vile colour of the once grey carpet in his 2.5 x 3 metre room or the fact that the water from the tap emerged as an orange dribble and I suppose Mr. Jules and I should congratulate ourselves for raising a child who thinks this way.  I, on the other hand walked along the narrow corridor towards the kitchen,  inwardly shivering at  the barrack like shower and loo ensemble only to find an anxious mother cleaning out the fridge. 

 ”It was a bit mucky,” she said red in the face from exertion. 

I only cried a little bit.  I was fine over lunch (jacket potato and vegetarian bolognaise) and felt quite grown up about the whole idea of leaving him until I folded my five foot three frame into his six foot one inch chest and in spite of my best efforts I sort of, ahem, crumpled and big fat tears escaped from under my Gucci sunglasses.  It was his first day of school all over again.  All the other parents appeared quite relieved scurrying jovially back to their cars but then I suppose they still live in the same country and would be seeing their offspring in the probably too distant future. 

On pulling out of the campus Mr. Jules, who had been unusually quiet, uttered the fateful words,

“Shall we go and buy him a rug?”

 And that was it.  A rug, a heavy eiderdown, an if not fluffy then shaggy cushion, and a six litre pack of water later, we were sheepishly back in his room performing the quickest make-over ever.

So far the few text messages we have received have included the adjectives ”blast” and “brilliant” and when I enquired about the weather he replied,

“Just perfect, cloudy and grey.”