It’s the first time they’ve left home for a lengthy period and was particularly traumatic for management as she had to say two goodbyes in as many days. The brats, on the other hand, were as excited as monkeys – ‘uni’ was going to be fun with a capital F.
We drove the first brat down to Southampton where he’s studying law. The drive takes an hour and to lighten up the mood for management I put on a Beach Boys CD.
Big mistake – the first song was Sloop John B with the chorus ‘this is the worst trip I’ve ever been on’, which set management off.
We arrived in good time as you only have a half-hour parking slot where we had to unload everything the brat owns, including duvets, pillows, groceries (they would rather starve than buy their own food) and a guitar.
So my car was packed solid – so much so that the brat, knowing his mother was going to get emotional, suggested there wasn’t enough room for her. He only said that once (heh).
We arrived at the residence halls and were greeted by four smiling graduates who’d been hired to help ‘freshers’ off-load. I was gob-smacked.
When I went to university in the Jurassic age, there certainly were no helpers. In fact, I had no linen, let alone the duvet I was carrying for the brat. I lived out of a sleeping bag for the first few months.
We entered the brat’s home for the next year, which was an extremely comfortable en suite room. Hmmm … in the Jurassic days (I reflected grumpily) we all shared toilets and showers, not far removed from an army barracks.
We said hurried goodbyes as I could see management was getting unhappier by the minute. The last words the brat said as he hugged her tightly were ‘see you at Christmas’, which was not exactly right up there in tactful statements.
The next day we did it all again – this time in Birmingham. The parking slot we had was 8.30am, which meant setting off at 6.
Management seemed a little stronger so I suggested we look around the halls.
Again, compared to the Jurassic age, this was five-star stuff.
Chip off the old block
Apart from luxury rooms, there’s a kitchen-cum-lounge shared with four other students. It was kitted out with space-age stoves, microwaves, dishwashers and three different deep freezes – which the brat seemed pleased with as that ensured cold beers.
He barely looked at the other machinery, which led to some ‘chip off the old block’ retorts from management
Then she hurriedly decided it was time to go. We drove glumly home.
The house was as silent as a gecko. I also noticed that true to form, both brats had left their bedrooms as tips, which brought a wry smile. No one is going to accuse them of surprising us.
Except they did. Soon afterwards our phones were ‘beeping’ with texts. The Southampton brat said he and some new mates had gone to town the night before and had an ‘insane’ time.
Then the Birmingham brat sent news about his neighbours, one of whom is also a twin. And this was barely hours after saying they would only see us at Christmas. I always know the blood bond was good, and they’re proving just that with regular contact.
But still, the house is as empty as a holed bucket. It was so bad on Sunday that just to get out management and I walked to a nearby Indian restaurant for their all-day curry buffet.
One thing about management, she never lets her emotions get in the way of a good lunch.
So now we’re Darby and Joan.
But hey, in three months time the doors will be banging, the lights will all be left on, the TVs will be blaring and guitars will be clanging. Clothes will be strewn everywhere, the kitchen will look like an earthquake aftermath and on weekends we’ll find an extra body of some friend in the conservatory bed. It’ll be anarchy again.
You know what? I’m already looking forward to it.
