Thom wants to take up Judo.  I'll endorse anything physical so this afternoon saw us grappling in the garden, under the watchful eye of our neighbour, Ms. Lavinlaw and, as Thom pointed out, a few out of season Redwings. Though, to be fair, they were in a distant larch tree.

Oak, said Thom.

Eh?

They are in the Oak.


Yup, right enough. There were a few birds in Ms. Lavinlaw's oak. The birds didn't have red wings, not as such, but I was learning to be selective in challenging my son. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to purchase Thorburn's Birds of the British Isles, later that evening, complete in five volumes. So, judo. Having always wrestled with my father I'd retained a few moves so I grabbed Thom's lapels. Hey wait, he said. I want to do the nage waza, he said. And then we'll do the koshi waza. My hands fell to my side. Had he just taught himself Japanese? What, while I was boiling the kettle? And when I do that you can do the sutemi waza, he added. No, he'd just crammed twenty years judo in overnight. I had always taught him that soul was in the detail but I wasn't standing for this nonsense. I grabbed his lapels again and pulled him over my leg, holding him over the ground, not quite throwing him down. Sustained by the tension, he forced himself upright. We relaxed the grip and, for a moment, I imagined picking him up and throwing him over the hedge. Instead, in an instant, Thom jumped up and threw his arms round my neck, clinging to me. Come on count, he said, see how long I can hold on. We hadn't played this game since he was four years old. What would Ms. Lavinlaw be thinking? I'll get my revenge later, I thought. This'll buy me half an hour spying time. Come on count! He did forty eight seconds. He'd beaten his record by three.