Home comforts

11:00am Thursday 30th October 2008

WE’RE starting to adjust to life without the Big Friendly Giant. It’s a month since our firstborn went off to study marine biology at Hull University and it was hard on all of us to begin with.

He seemed quiet on the phone for the first week and we worried about whether he was homesick. We missed him so much it ached at times. But, gradually, we’re getting used to him living away. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s been home three out of four weekends so far.

The first time was to pick up his telly, which is obviously heavy, so I had to take him back to Hull in the car on a Sunday night when I’d normally be relaxing with a glass of red wine in front of my own telly.

The second time, he came by train – £25 return with his student rail card – to collect his telly cable because he’d forgotten to take it with his telly the week before.

And the third time was to collect his telly cable because he’d managed to forget it again when he came home the second time.

Not that we mind, of course, because it’s always great to see him. That said, we tied his telly cable round his waist with a triple knot when he went back early on Monday.

In addition to the frequent homecomings, the new webcam has also been a godsend. My wife – with a splendid sense of timing – won it in a raffle and it was all rigged up when I got back from dropping off the BFG and BHT (Big Heavy Telly) after homecoming number one.

Mum and the other three kids were crowded round the laptop on the dining room table, taking it in turns to talk to him.

I’m easily impressed and I couldn’t believe the wonders of modern technology.

There he was, moving jerkily on the screen, and with slightly delayed speech, like an astronaut making contact with ground control from a spaceship, instead of a terraced house in Hull.

I don’t know why, but I thought I had to talk really slowly when they first gave me the ear-plugs and microphone.

He’d become a foreigner – a Russian cosmonaut: “Hello-o-o-o, Chrii- i-sto-o-opher, how a-a-are you d-o-ooing – over?”

“You don’t have to say ‘over’ Dad,” he sighed.

The others got the hang of it straight away, especially The Little ’Un who misses his big brother most.

I came in at tea-time the other day and the two of them were playing webcam chess. Another time, they were watching The Simpsons together, even though they’re more than 100 miles apart.

Slowly but surely, we’ve been able to reassure ourselves that everything is going to be okay. He’s managing his money, doing his washing, making friends, and he doesn’t look like he’s starving.

“How’s the course?” I asked when he came back for homecoming number three at the weekend.

“Bit dull,” he groaned. “We’ve only done algae and moss so far.”

Still, I thought to myself, at least he’s learning something – heading in the right direction.

“And have you joined any of the university’s clubs or societies yet?” I inquired.

“I have, actually,” he replied. “I’ve joined the Monster Raving Loony Party – any idea where I can get a large hat and some feathers?”

Oh yes, it’s all coming together very well indeed.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT Normanby Methodist Church Wives Club on Teesside the other day, an ex-teacher, who asked not to be named, remembered the time she was working at Cromwell Road infants school in nearby South Bank.

She was going through the days of the week with the little ones and asked: “Does anyone know what today is?”

“It’s Tuesday, Miss,” replied one little boy. “I always know when it’s Tuesday.”

“And how do you know when it’s Tuesday?” asked the teacher, pleased to have got a discussion going.

“Cos me Mam lies behind the settee on Tuesdays,” explained the boy.

“Why does she do that?” inquired the teacher.

“That’s the day the insurance man comes,” came the reply.

MUM-OF-TWO Jenny Peat was busy getting ready for the day ahead at home in Boldron, in Teesdale, when the phone rang.

“Er, Mum, could you bring me a school uniform upstairs?” grunted teenage son Josh, using his mobile phone in his bedroom.

SYBIL Phillips, of Northallerton, writes with an I Spy gem… She was playing the game with her three-year-old grand-daughter who came up with something beginning with ‘n’.

Sybil eventually gave up.

“Gnome,” shouted the little girl triumphantly.