My excitement at a free afternoon came to nothing at about 10.45am this morning – 15 minutes before my boy was due to go to the hairdresser – when I spotted something dark right in the centre of his scalp, shining out amidst his blonde curls.
When it moved I knew I had a serious problem.
So instead of doing leisurely laps at the swimming pool – head strictly above water, full make-up intact of course – or wandering round galleries or reading a newspaper over a latte, I was frantically chucking everything into the washing machine, bathing, combing, applying ointment.
Twice, to be safe.
I wonder if there will ever be a time when I stop being itchy.
The little fuckers better all be dead in the morning.
But looking on the bright side, which of course is the nature of this blog, at least my son’s induction into the cult of Scottish Football will be postponed for a little while longer!