That's just smash-ing, our lad's picked up a new job....
OH joyous day! Our son has at last gained full-time employment as a council 'sports development officer'.
I do not know what a 'sports development officer' is but the 21-year-old told me, somewhat haughtily, that he will be tasked with making things within grassroots football 'bigger and better'.
From that description I've deduced he's pumping up caseballs.
Yesterday, he had to tell the farmer who has given him a part-time job picking potatoes that he is quitting. The ruddyfaced rustic was clearly shaken and mouthed: "What a waste, you're a natural. Someone with your flair for spud-picking comes along once every 20 years."
When Joe announced he had been offered the sports development job, my wife wept and said: "I'm so proud." I'm more practical. My response was: "Well done, let's discuss how much board you are going to pay us."
I have painstakingly calculated how much food our 6ft 6in son consumes in a day and how much toilet roll he uses, which is a problem of eco-proportions. Huge swathes of Scottish pine have been lost merely to meet his toiletry requirements.
I believe PS75 board per week is fair. He, and my wife, do not.
Joe huffed: "If I've got to pay PS75, I'm moving in with grandma."
This would be tragic: an 80-year-old spending her twilight years merely shuffling to supermarkets to purchase loo roll.
I couldn't bear the headlines: 'OAP body lay hidden in subway under Andrex for one week'.
After considerable bartering, board has been reduced to PS50.
Our son is clearly nervous about taking the first faltering step on the career ladder.
"You've been in the same job for nearly 40 years. Have you got any tips?" he asked.
I looked him in the eye. "Don't walk the extra mile, don't do more than is expected of you."
He was clearly surprised.
"Doing a good job at work," I explained, "is akin to wetting yourself in a dark suit. It may give you a warm feeling, but the bosses won't notice."