I want him back.

Camping. Missmc has just kissed the embarrassed 8 year old goodbye. He is off to the seaside for an evening of camping. It is a wonderful activity for the young. Unless you are the son of Missmc. The 8 year old refuses to picnic because it is too windy too dirty too sunny too rainy too too everything. Camping is going to be a bit of a challenge. A good hotel is more his cup of tea.

Nothing like a mini bar. A stash of marvelously packaged bath products. Perhaps some stationary. Room service. I've raised him all wrong.

So. In his camping bag he has a mini-bar's worth of chocolates. A lovely smelling creme. A new notepad and pen. A wind-up torch. A plastic Lizard. A disposable camera. Some binoculars. And a pillow.

The hostess mum picked up my child and wanted to lose the pillow. I grimaced. she conceded. My son and I had finally lost our hesitation about the camping as she arrived. We were genuinely excited. Then we both saw HIM.

That child was in the car. The one who steals, swears, shows off, talks back to parents and has no manners to speak of. The one who ringmasters other children to do naughty things. He had not been mentioned as a guest when we accepted the invite. I would have ducked out.

What I'd really like to do is get in the car and get my boy back. Oh dear.