Life has been taken up by the assignment from hell for the past two weeks but I finished it in the end and sent it off to my tutor with condolences.  This was the first time in nine years of OU study I’ve sent off an assignment and had doubts as to whether it would pass.  That sounds a bit arrogant but if you check that you’ve met all the criteria you’re usually onto a winner and I haven’t failed one yet – yet.  Uni Boy was very helpful with the sums bit – he gave me quite a few pitying looks (far worse than the fluent sarcasm) but did eventually admit that he may be an A* student but statistics was the one section of his Maths ‘A’ level that he hated.  Gave lovely Hub the first draft of the assignment to read and he had to go and sit in the bedroom with the curtains drawn.  He was gone for ages and when he emerged, his face was grey and very serious.  He handed me back the assignment and very solemnly informed me that his head was about to explode.  Shades of ‘Blazing Saddles’ – “You’re on your own”.

I like a challenge.  My own head nearly burst a couple of times but the relief once I’d finished it and sent it – and all its little attachments – tremendous.

Uni Boy has now gone back to Uni.  There have been a few fraught moments between him and College Boy over Easter – the green-eyed monster reared its ugly little head and they actually came to blows on one occasion.  I sought counsel from a mate who is a one of those policemen types – worried in case the boys did each other any damage or Hub got caught in the middle of the melee.  My mate was very practical and advised me to get a large alcoholic drink and tell them to take it elsewhere but not to call the rozzers because when all is said and done – it’s just testosterone.

College Boy is going through a dodgy time anyway – on Monday his Tweedledum teacher sent him out of class for talking – I spent his formative years trying teach him to talk and she tells him to shut up!  Everyone else in the class was talking too but she zoned in on him because he is six-foot tall, broad and loud – and he did actually say ‘whatever’ at her.  Classic control mechanism – go for the most dominant member of a troublesome group and remove them, the rest of the group will calm down and you’re back in control again. Yeah, well, she isn’t targeting MY BOY!  She stalked into the classroom where he’d sat down and set up his laptop and actually said ‘Don’t think you can call me a bad teacher either!’  Ummm – he didn’t actually say anything about her ability as a teacher – Freudian slip or what?

I got a call from his form teacher asking me to discipline him for his behaviour – but after I’d told her how disgusted Hub and I were with the way Tweedledum and Tweedledee spoke to us at parents’ evening – she kind of backed down and asked me if I would discuss it with him and perhaps come up with some coping mechanisms.  I suggested that Tweedledum try teaching the class instead of giving them handouts and tell them to read silently for the duration of the lesson. Does she not realise that teenagers don’t do ANYTHING in silence (unless they are doing something dubious that they don’t think you’ll find out about).

I think we still have to have a discussion with the head of college about College Boy’s attitude (and undoubtedly mine too ) but the heat is off – for the time being at least.

We took Uni Boy back to York on Wednesday – my last day off before going back to work – and a day on which I learned two new insults, one from each of my boys.  Good taste prevents me from reproducing them here but a swift trip round Google and a couple of unsubtle hints might help anyone curious enough to want to know what they were.

College Boy was a little agitated when we dropped him off in the morning – hence the insults – but he was grimacing not snarling when he delivered them so I see that as a term of endearment really (deluded mother).  According to Google, the insult was in Sk8ter Boi lingo and intimated that of all buffoons – I was the buffoon of buffoons – in Kolij Boi’s humble opinion anyway.

I left Hub and Uni Boy to pack the worldly goods into the car – smug in a post-assignment sort of way.  We collected my Dad – a now indispensable member of the York Road trip crew and set off in the rain.  Dad and Uni Boy slept through the journey – I stayed awake because it seems a bit disloyal to nod off when Hub doesn’t have a choice about it – SOMEBODY has to drive!

It took several trips to get everything upstairs and into Uni Boy’s bijou pad – noticed that the cleaners still haven’t got rid of all the flour from the carpet.  Last time we were there the room opposite had been covered with mini post its – each one bearing something crude and/or Anglo-Saxon in origin.  This time it was Uni Boy’s turn to have his door decorated – with a large white poster stating ‘I (heart) c*****’.  Hadn’t come across that one before – neither had Hub.  Googled it.  Another name for a particular part of a lady’s anatomy apparently.  I have been informed by those who know these things that it originates from ‘The Inbetweeners’.

I thought I knew all the best insults and rude words.  I even got Hub to teach me some really guttural German swear words when I worked with grotty adolescents – that way I had the chance to get my own back by smiling sweetly and trotting out my Teutonic insults in a light and pleasant tone.  Only I knew what I was really saying to them.

We went out for a meal and then took Uni Boy on the usual stocking up expedition to The ASDA – he seems to be living on spaghetti at the moment, but there was plenty of fruit and veg and only a couple of bottles of booze.  Each time we leave him it gets a little easier – he’s happy in his little room, he has a good social life and plenty of mates and his grades are excellent  – but oh I miss the boy.

College Boy was welly jeally that we’d been gone all day so we had to go on a kebab meat hunt after we’d dropped Dad off.  The Dukan diet has reared its ugly head again and though I don’t think Mr Dukan would be too chuffed at the idea of scoffing kebab meat – College Boy seems to think it is okay if you lose the pitta bread and salad!

Back to work on Thursday and whilst it was quite nice to have a two-day week, there was so much to catch up with and a lot of it was caused by  other people’s stooooopidity.  An added irritation was the numerous calls from the PPI sellers – now renamed ‘nobbers’ (Brian Cox’s favourite derogatory term for Twitter Idiots).  It’s bad enough when you get the recorded message but I had at least three calls from live personages who couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to talk to them about PPI.

So here we are – it’s the weekend and Hub is on lates so I’m cheating and watching trash TV (as in stuff that he looks disdainfully at but would never dream of stopping me watching if I wanted to – I just prefer his company)   The Voice – hmmm – according to College Boy the singing is too good and not funny  (all a bit too warbly for me) – he recommends BGT because there are crap performers on it – so I’ll watch till I get irritated.  Milli0n Pound Drop – Davina gets up my nose but Chris Doyle and Dawn Porter are on tonight – so I’ll just have to keep my finger on the mute button.

I’d be much happier in a world where I could just watch programmes that make me laugh.  Having said that  – Tom Jones just made the right choice – in my humble opinion.