Big step for my wee boy

James Trimble.

James Trimble.

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I’m feeling a lot like the man who looked at his watch only to find a bare wrist.

Where has the time gone?

My son Charlie is starting school in a couple of weeks and I don’t know how they hell I’ve arrived at this milestone so quickly.

If you think people of a certain age are off their heads when they tell you life for them just seems to whiz by at warp factor 10, I would suggest paying them some heed.

Due to a cinnamon ball addiction as a teenager - yes that’s what I blame it on - I have a terrible long-term memory and now I’m getting on a bit my short-term memory is dodgy at best.

I can barely remember Charlie as a baby and have to look at pictures to remind myself this wee Tiger Cub, who now belts me in the stomach with devastating power, was once a lifeform I could cradle in one arm.

I laughed at my wife for getting emotional when we bought Charlie’s school trousers and at the tears welling up in her eyes when he tried them on.

All it took was Charlie’s induction day at Bowhouse Primary School to get me feeling like a big girl’s blouse.

Standing there in the playground with Moosh the pug, who, like me, is becoming grey and grizzled as Father Time continues to give us both a good kicking, I watched Chico disappear inside alone and had to look away as some dust got in my eyes, actually making them water for a good five to 10 minutes.

I think Moosh lost respect for me that day.

He never used to come in the back door when I called him, but after that moment of weakness at the school not only does he not come in, he now has a look of scorn on his squishy fizzog.