Because the Eurovision Song Contest ran way past its schedule, Wilson had a very late night; by the time we'd chatted about the outcome it was past midnight before he headed off the the tumble dryer.
This morning he told me that, now he is six, he thinks he should be allowed to stay up late every night. I've told him 'we'll see' — I think we've known each other long enough for him to know what that really means, and he didn't persist with his argument.
To prevent him brooding about Bonnie Tyler's poor showing we went to the park and flew his kite. I'm still very aware of the advice his psychiatrist gave me about physical activity and hobbies appropriate to an anteater. He's painted a picture on the kite since we last flew it — he's made a brilliant job of it, don't you think?
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