Back to school. Ha ha ha. Bet your moany-faced kids aren’t whining about how bored they are now.
No doubt they’ll be a day or two into their life-threatening withdrawal symptoms from checking Facebook, Twitter or Snapchat on their smartphones every five seconds.
I’d imagine sitting next to them in maths this week has been like being trapped at sea on a rubber dinghy for a week with a heavy smoker who tipped their last packet of fags into the water on day one.
A couple of days before the kids went back to school, daughter #1 turned up in our lounge in full school uniform. After six weeks in civvies she looked so out of place she might as well have been on her way to a fancy dress party. We were so shocked we laughed.
So the endless summer is dead. Kids across Lancaster have to get out of bed in the morning and go through the teeth-grindingly, to-me-to-you, clichéd routines of getting dressed, getting fed and getting out of the house before The Bell That Must Be Obeyed rings.
Teachers moan about going back to school as well, you know. But if I got 13 weeks paid holiday every year (including a big block of six weeks every summer) and every weekend off then I’d have the good sense to keep my trap shut and thank my lucky stars.
Our kids had a passable summer and didn’t whinge about two weeks in a beautiful Mallorcan hotel too much. You’d think that would be the highlight of the summer, wouldn’t you. Wrong.
Daughter #1 binge-watched Breaking Bad. All 62 glorious episodes of it on Netflix. And the outrage button got pressed in our luxury hotel when she discovered Netflix doesn’t work in Spain.
She was genuinely gutted when she got to the end, so then she watched all three series of The Inbetweeners, the first film and then I spent an uncomfortable afternoon at the cinema sitting next to her watching the sequel. All in five days.
Misspent youth? I can’t talk. When I was her age me and my mates watched The Young Ones so many times we could recite entire episodes to each other from memory. Happy days.