All. Most. There.

One more sleep.

Then six weeks of long lies, late nights, breakfasts at lunch time, lunches at dinner time, not brushing teeth or showering or changing keks until people start crossing the road out of the way, being forced into shorts to go 'out' and get some colour on his peelly-wally pins, but being shouted at to get some factor 30 slathered on first (or, Scottish summer weather going to form, to put a kagoul on), not being shouted in until past News at Ten, hosepipe and water balloon fights and contemplating jumping in the kiddies paddling pool as he's not that old yet, but opting to head up to a freezing burn up the Ochil Hills for a dook with his neeburs instead, being dragged on picnics/through museums, galleries, castles with his maw and paw, whilst quietly thinking it's worse than school but not saying it aloud 'cause it really isn't.

Summer holidays.

Not. A. Care. In. The. World.