Monday 23rd January. Times they are a’changing

I was sitting on the bathroom floor this morning hair-dryer-ing The Teenager’s boxer shorts when he informed me that he’s moving to Canada to train as a rozza.

He also informed me that it’s easier to microwave wet boxer shorts than to Vidal Sassoon them but, stubborn little thing that I am, I told him that I’d seen a thing on Breakfast about how Jay-Z always hair-dryers his when he completely forgets to take them out of the washing machine on Sunday afternoon because he was watching “Big Momma’s House II” with Singing-Smurf.

Teenager looked briefly intrigued with the idea that Jay-Z also suffers from pant malfunctions but, so carried away was he by his dreams of emigrating to a land where there’s a Red Lobster restaurant chain, he didn’t question my claims any further.

Since I wasn’t aware that Canada were short of creatures who spend their lives eating Pot Noodles without a fork and snoring like drunken marmosets I was momentarily confused, but he then went on to list the various take-out establishments that North America boasts, whereupon the thinking behind the whole scheme became a lot clearer.

Wondering where I sign up for this and whether or not his announcement constituted a legally binding agreement I asked if he realised the maturity and responsibility that such a venture would entail.

He went on to explain that, from a political, social and cultural perspective, England no longer has the economic infrastructure to maintain and support it’s rapidly increasing population. He feels that opportunities, particularly for young people, are becoming extremely rare. A situation that his research suggests, can only become worse as our immigration policies become increasingly weakened by the European Union.


Right then.

With that he snatched the boxer-shorts out of my hand and disappeared off downstairs.

The smell of damp, cooking man-pants soon filled the house but despite the reassuringly nauseous aroma of normality, I can’t help thinking that change is on it’s way.

Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m not at all sure I’m ready for it.