We got on the train this morning and travelled to London, and nineteen years back in time.
Back to school and a room-mate who I haven't seen since the day we left. Life and oceans got in the way. But as we stood today and watched our collective offspring splashing in the water, it dawned on me that it didn't much matter.
In spite of my best efforts to capture it, the summer is slipping past. Thoughts begin to turn to the start of the new school year. My soon to be silent playroom. And all I can hope is that, as in my friendship, the time invested in those years I spent at home with the boys means the hours between 8.50 and 3.15 won't matter too much.