My son, Gregory, is thirteen. He desperately needed a hobby to keep him out of trouble and give him something to think about rather than locking himself in the bathroom for long periods of time of an evening. Army cadets was the perfect answer. He loves it, possibly because of the inordinate number of females. Today I saw him and his friends dressed up and putting all those hours of marching practice (honestly, they spend two hours a week practicing… how difficult can left, right, left be?) to good use. I was surprised to find that I had tears in my eyes as I watched him stomp off in formation towards the cenotaph to lay wreaths, sing hymns and do prayers. I am not usually weepy but he looked so grown up and big. My baby is a young man, with bum fluff and a healthy bashfulness in front of his female counterparts. I am proud of him, my ickle pickle, grown big.
Now, if anyone has any idea how to stop the little blighter cracking the Talk Talk settings so he can look at porn on my computer I would be most grateful.
Brit Army Bird
British Army Bird Blog 