The Boy brought home a bit of paper strongly recommending that we buy him an entirely optional OUP workbook in preparation for the exam he will take on Tuesday 16 January, which will contribute towards his final GCSE grades.
Hang on, that's ... running out of fingers here ... 49 days time.
THE BOY'S GCSEs START IN 49 DAYS TIME??
You can't do that! He's too young! Too young I tell you!
I remember my first O-level, as we called it back in the days when you could still buy 75s to play on your gramophone. History. Spanish Civil War. (The subject of the exam, not the time it happened.) I was ill. Didn't stop me taking the exam, only interrupted by idiot nurse trying to offer me tea and cake halfway through and almost being screamed at to go away in case she invalidated the results or something.
But I was sixteen. Sixteen! That's old enough to marry. I was prepared. I was emotionally and spiritually mature. I got a D but let's not go there.
He's at Scouts at the moment. We have an hour to shriek and wibble and run around the flat, before getting into supportive mode. Must try not to hug him when he comes through the door.