Tanking round the streets of Edinburgh seeing shows as teenwolf is at a rugby course. It is the only time he leaps from his bed before lunchtime – specifically 8.30am – jumps downstairs two steps at a time and appears grinning at the breakfast table to ingest a half hundred weight of cereal with a 6 slice of toast chaser, a gallon of orange juice and an apple or two. Before he gets hungry again – estimate time of rumble of tum 3 minutes – he leaps off upstairs to get his kit sorted before bounding out the door.
At 4pm yesterday my phone rang. You home? Said teenwolf. Yeh why. Run me an ice cold bath will you? he asked Of course I laughed clearly you are joking I batted back. No Mum, I mean it came the stern response. And he did. So I did. And as he came crawling in the door and took longer to climb upstairs than a geriatric one legged dog he explained his coach had worked them hard and instructions were to submerge in a bath of cold water for 15 minutes.
If anyone gave me that sort of advice I would laugh before getting a taxi to the nearest physiotherapist but off he went. I waited to hear the blood curdling scream as he lowered his battered body into the bath. It didn’t come. I waited for the door to fly open and a blue person to collapse shivering on the floor. That didn’t happen either. He did it. He lay there, determined bugger that he is, and he emerged cold but triumphant.The next day he wasn’t sore. It worked.
Bugger that I’d rather suffer I said over my bacon sandwich as he shovelled in a bunch of bananas.
The look he gave me just said ‘ you sad silly old woman’ as he shook his head and said ‘whatever’.