I’ve just been down to school to pick up Son and his friend who’ve been on a camping trip. It was the expedition for the bronze International Award (this is the equivalent of the Duke of Edinburgh Award but goes under a different name here.)
I was waiting in the café with another Mum, a French woman who came to Bangkok at the same time as we did. They are a lovely family and our boys, despite being chalk and cheese (brie?) are friends. D rang his mother to say they were back. Five minutes later D appeared in the café. He looked fantastic – as though he’d been on a five star spa break and not camping in the Sam Roi Yot National Park. We chatted for a bit while my son didn’t turn up… (Son lives on a timescale unique to himself.) Then they left, with the parting words from D, that Son, wasn’t looking quite as clean…
Some twenty minutes later, Son appeared in the distance. ‘In the distance’ was the safest place to be but I had to confine myself to a taxi with him. He looked like Pigpen from the Charlie Brown cartoon, walking in a cloud of debris. I'm glad to report he had a great time, but had he changed his clothes all weekend? Who knows? He had tide marks of grime in his neck. Ewugh.
I was waiting in the café with another Mum, a French woman who came to Bangkok at the same time as we did. They are a lovely family and our boys, despite being chalk and cheese (brie?) are friends. D rang his mother to say they were back. Five minutes later D appeared in the café. He looked fantastic – as though he’d been on a five star spa break and not camping in the Sam Roi Yot National Park. We chatted for a bit while my son didn’t turn up… (Son lives on a timescale unique to himself.) Then they left, with the parting words from D, that Son, wasn’t looking quite as clean…
Some twenty minutes later, Son appeared in the distance. ‘In the distance’ was the safest place to be but I had to confine myself to a taxi with him. He looked like Pigpen from the Charlie Brown cartoon, walking in a cloud of debris. I'm glad to report he had a great time, but had he changed his clothes all weekend? Who knows? He had tide marks of grime in his neck. Ewugh.
6 comments:
Sounds like he enjoyed himself. And who wants to be chic anyway? Pah!
That made me smile... my maiden name is French, as was my grandfather but I can safely say there are no French Chic genes lurking.
Wearing the evidence of having a good time is to be commended. Cleanliness is highly overrated.
Helen, chic is so overrated. It's such hard work.
Jen, I do think D had a good time too, he just cleaned up a bit before he came home. Son said 'D went into the bathroom to wash up a bit... I didn't need the bathroom, so I didn't go in.' I said to Son, 'you know what mate? You did need the bathroom!'
I remember packing for J to go on holiday with his father for a month, a couple of years ago. I couldnt believe it when he returned and I went to take out his dirty clothes, to find he'd pretty much worn the same few things the entire time!
Sickening, isn't it. Mine is the same. Vest hanging out, collar stuck under, scuffed shoes, and coat hanging off his shoudlers...and that's just on his way into school. Perhaps I should leave just a leetle more time to get ready.
Yes, all Frenchwomen have an inbuilt sense of chic, but they work at it too. I found it most exhausting having to keep up appearances in Paris.
(Good news about all your new books!)
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