Return of the Wanderer

My son came back from Venezuela today. It has been exactly a year (his visa ran out yesterday).. Apart from the fact he was alarmingly late coming out into the Arrivals hall at T2 (Gruff voice on Immigration telephone line: "No, we haven't got him"), because the idiots at CDG had left his bag off the plane, he is remarkably relaxed, and just like his old self. He noticed how tidy and litter free the UK is, no longer feels threatened by gun toting muggers, no longer has money stolen by his landlord's mother (True fcat!), or obliged to pay the police bribes (although he does complain about the controlling bureaucracy in the UK as compared to freewheeling South America). He has even managed to speak to the lovely Kimberly, who is joining us next week for a few weeks.He even likes my 2% beer regime.
We took him into town for a beer or two, and force fed him the Muse gigs on the telly. His room is already a tip, despite the lack of baggage. He is as argumentative as ever (I have already asked him when he is going back). His sister and neice and nephew were overjoyed to see him (his nephew is just two, so didnt actually know much about it).
Thank you to the King and Queen of Sweden for putting up with me last night.
And we had to run for at least a mile from the van hire place(where I had tragically not quite refuelled the van quite fully), in order to catch the train and meet M on the train back from Newton Abbot. Jus was impressed with my fitness (sons can make you feel good, then cut you down with a knife)