Well, after seven glorious days in the Turkish sunshine I’m home.
And with a bump.
After returning at the weekend, I was straight back to work on Monday and now, two days later, it feels like I’ve never been away.
Our flight back was delayed by several hours so, by the time we reached Falkirk, little Jack was tired and grumpy after his long day. And his parents and gran weren’t faring much better.
Very late on Sunday, I finally crawled into bed for some much needed shut-eye before a hectic Monday at work but was rudely awoken at silly o’clock by my son Gary returning from T in the Park.
I managed to get back to sleep and somehow got through the day at the office and the packed train journey back from Edinburgh only to be greeted with the most disgusting pile of laundry I have ever seen. Gary’s festival clothes could have marched themselves into the washing machine they were so dirty.
And instead of being left at the washing machine – at the age of 22, the hopes of Gary ever doing a wash himself have long since been dashed – he had dumped a bin bag of very pungent and soaked clothes in MY room ... but not before trailing mud throughout the house.
The carpet, bed sheets and surfaces were streaked with the stuff and don’t even ask what I found in the shower.
It was not the nicest scene to come home to.
Nor was having to scrub his clothes outside - in the rain of course - before I could risk putting them in the machine. My poor holiday clothes didn’t get a look in and are still languishing at the bottom of the washing basket. After such a lovely, relaxing week away it brought me back to reality. I had some stern words with Gary, telling him that his mess wasn’t what I wanted to come home to after a holiday, but I didn’t stay angry at him for long.
After moaning about him to my colleagues at work and telling anyone who would listen how lazy he is - I had to eat my words.
I returned from work yesterday to find the house spotless, dinner in the oven and a huge bunch of flowers waiting for me.
And a very sheepish Gary apologised for his behaviour.
I felt terrible for bad-mouthing him at the same time as he was trying to help.
My nice night in with my son was just the tonic for the holiday blues - and I can’t remember the last time we did anything together.
So I asked him if he’d like to go to the pictures with me at the weekend to see a film I fancied – my treat.
But he looked at me in horror.
He replied: “No offence, but going to pictures with your mum is just sad. What if someone saw us?”
And so, with that one cheeky comment, he is now safely back in my bad books!