Jono has gone. Off to his jolly hockey sticks tournament in the North Island. I was allowed to come to the airport. But no Public Displays of Affection. Or Else.
I did manage to sneak some love into his suitcase though. Two boxy bags, larger versions of this boxy bag, made from a neutral-coloured curtain remnant. One is for his toilet gear and the other his little medi-bag filled with stickies, strepsils and sneezle-stuff. Hope he doesn’t need that one.
We were at the airport in plenty of time and there was much slapping of backs, jeering at hair cuts and comparing of grungy tee shirts hidden under the regulation team track suit. Half the boys seemed to be wearing slippers, appropriate given it was before the crack of dawn. Gear was checked in and overweight penalties paid. Some boys appear to be moving to the North Island. Do you really need that many tee shirts for a week? As they were wandering back to me, boarding passes in hand, the Mum-In-Charge said “You can go through to the Departure Lounge”. As one, the boys changed direction, melted into an amporphous red-and-black blur and drifted up the stairs. No last words, just the coolest of waves over the balcony and that eyebrow thing he does, so like his father.
Who’s gonna make my coffee and watch NCIS with me this week?