Boy gone.

The boy’s first big adventure away, the school trip to France. I didn’t go on mine so consequently France remained in my mind this strange land, source of flick knives, bangers and Gitanes. The French spent their whole time being really cool, while producing utterly shit pop, puffing on fags and cleaning their nails with knives, I’m not sure I’ve ever really shaken that view off – I approach Calais somewhat warily. Times have changed. Sean has been packed for 4 days. The school’s requirements included ‘At least 2 pairs of trainers. NO open-toed sandals’. This caused days of consternation (they are going for 4 nights, what on earth are they going to do with that many shoes, barter them for cider?) Sean wanted to take his Geox in to the headmistress for a definitive ruling on whether they fell in the forbidden category “Pah, les rosbifs avec leurs doigts de pieds en plein air. C’est interdit. Vive le Brexit…”

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