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No More English, No More French.....

No More English, No More French.....

The countdown to the end of GCSEs has begun, we’re tossing subjects out of the car window like a couple of psychotic fly tippers. Science, done. Maths, done. History, almost done.

Hard to know who’s more excited about the long summer vac, me or the 16 year old.

He spends his days fantasising about the shed which he is converting into the ultimate teen hangout (a decision which will no doubt come back to bite me in the ass in about three weeks time). This is to be the den to end all dens, painted walls, carpeted floors, a lighting system, leather sofas, a cut glass chandelier (OK maybe the last one is just wishful thinking, it would be nice if someone wanted my grandmother’s cast-offs). Me, I’m thinking fire extinguisher, I’m thinking bucket of sand, I’m thinking bucket full stop.

Have to say, I’m pretty excited too. No more sullen trips to the Maths tutor, propelled by an epic, bone crushing resentment on the way there and a euphoric roller coaster ride on the way home. No more locking him up in the office on a hot sunny day while the rest of us linger over lunch in the garden or go off to swim in a friend's pool. Past papers, littering up every crevice and corner of our house, I won't miss you.

His last exam coincides neatly with a trip to see Elton John at the Eden Project– not admittedly an obvious teen choice, he’d prefer Royal Blood but I’m pretty sure the legendary diva can deliver what we need to celebrate -  Tiny Dancer, Rocket Man, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road….it’s gonna kick off. Funny thing Elton, as the gig approaches turns out he's everyone's guilty pleasure, sworn punk rockers, diehard acid house fanatics....

So here’s raising a big fat Elton John glass of Cristal to both our summers….and to yours.

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