It’s my son’s birthday today.

He’s 19. Lovely boy of whom I’m immensely proud. But looking at him, it’s hard to believe that this is the same blond-haired cherub who, a few short years ago, couldn’t wait to open his presents and blow out his candles. He was out with his mates last night in Shoreditch. Bit of a heavy one, apparently. I heard him stumbling in around 4am so he’s looking a bit delicate this morning. Yet somehow, not wanting to let down his team, he’s dragged himself out to play a 5-a-side. Which is why he’s loved by everyone who knows him. Happy Birthday, Jack, this one’s for you.