At last, the TV-hogging space invaders have returned to university

‘Hands up which other university parents are bloody glad to have got rid of their lumpen, food-gobbling, space-invading kids…’

When I tweeted this the other day having just dumped my offspring at Durham I got accused of being a bad father. But I don’t think I am. A bad father wouldn’t have been labouring in the dark at 12.30 a.m. getting the car packed for the long trek north. A bad father wouldn’t have forked out so liberally and uncomplainingly for all those things they spring on you when you arrive — 30-odd quid for the week’s JCR induction entertainments; 25 quid (50 if you’d been naive enough to buy new) for a gown they’ll probably only wear about twice…

Obviously, I miss the little sods a bit. The house feels weirdly empty, my schedule is eerily free, and, yes, I suppose I am rather sad that my days will be no longer be punctuated with those tiny displays of semi-affection that late teenage/early twentysomething kids occasionally grant you, when they can be bothered: Girl making me one of her ‘Buddha bowl’ specials for lunch; Boy grudgingly accompanying me to walk the dog (‘But we’re not going to be going too far, right?’).

Really, though, four summer months is far, far too long to have to endure in close proximity to children of that age. Even if they’re ones you made yourself; even if some of that time — at your expense of course — they’ve been off on tours of Southeast Asia with their mates or on largely pointless internships abroad for which you’ve stumped up a grand in air fares in return for one desperate line on a CV.

I’ve heard tell that there are some parents out there who are really good at getting their university-age kids organised: making them do waitressing and pub work to pay their way; landing them internships that last the entire summer and will lead to amazing jobs; encouraging them to get ahead on their reading lists; getting them to be useful round the house, doing their share of the chores and so on.