Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring

I was rudely startled awake by my mobile phone ringing it's very loud 'classic bell' at 6.40am this morning from under my pillow. 

The reason it was under my pillow in the first place was because the alarm on it was set to go off on a gentle vibrate at 7.40am in order to get up, drag Oliver out of bed, throw on my clothes and go get my parents for a lift to the airport.  The phone call was my Dad asking me to come 15 minutes earlier. 

I ask you.

When my Dad is up - everybody's up.  It's been like that since I was a kid.  Some things never change.  Still, he gave me a guilt-filled tenner at the airport, so Oliver and I scoffed a Subway on the way home.  Hee hee. 

I have laboured through the daily chore that is the maths session, losing my temper in a quite bonkers way when I discovered that Oliver had used the calculator to find out how many 4s there were in 1024.  He is, I find to my distress, a naturally lazy child - looking for the line of least resistance in things which he need not.  In my opinion.  Which is the same as a God-given truth, as everyone knows.

His waily defence was that I told him he could use the calculator for 'awkward' sums, and that there were 4 digits involved.  Bloody hell.  Between hissing and spitting uncontrollably I tried to explain that by 'awkward' I meant four million divided by 14.8, or something like that.  Poor, poor child.  All he will learn over the years by being home educated is that his mother should be institutionalised.