Number One Son, Bigson the fisherman-come-Casanova, has not been in touch too much recently. For several years I have found that his life tends to 'get in the way' for seven or eight months at a time, so I have long conquered the urge to behave like the joke version of a Jewish mother.
"What, you lost your memory?"
"You broke all your fingers already?"
I'd like to say its always nice to have news of him. I AM immensely proud of him (or at least immensely driven to be proud of him), but somehow when smiling, kindly people mention they have seen or heard of our boy, my instant reaction is a tiny, unseen flinch; exactly the same one I used to get if I even heard the school secretary's voice on the phone.
He's not a bad lad, honestly, its just that his un-mentored entrepreneurial spirit was never rewarded at school. Somehow they never saw the funny side of him setting up shop at the back of the playing fields and selling my dried oregano as 'herb', for example.
I didn't even know he'd been to the Glade Festival this year. I didn't know the ticket had been his pride and joy, nor that the trip went wrong and he and a mate arrived late and drenched from the rain, without any money.
I certainly didn't know that he'd proceeded to have an impromptu mud-wrestling match instead, for eight minutes, against a taller, seemingly bigger-built guy, in nothing but his trousers (whilst the crowed hugged themselves in warm jackets), WON, and got himself posted on youtube.
I do now.
Here's the last minute:
There is a longer video with better sound, that shows the other guy calling for a match. It also shows that this was organised, with referees and rules. There's another eighteen second close-up that shows half of Son's moves are dancing to the music, to wind the other guy up.
Here he is, the numpty.
OK yes, it was all in good fun, he toppled a taller bloke with no grip underfoot and I am BLOODY PROUD - just nobody tell him I know, right? I'd never live it down....