Homecoming

He's back! And already it's like he's never been away...
It has only taken 24 hours for him to revert from tanned war zone hero to fusty old Dad, commandeering the best place on the sofa, and referring to me as a 'grumpy old witch'.
Hubby flew back on the same flight as Prince Harry. He made sure he pulled rank to get on the plane ahead of the ginger royal and bag a better seat. Actually I made that last bit up, although it wouldn't surprise me if he empoyed his angry seagull face into intimidating the young prince into shifting across to the aisle seat.
And now he's back. He arrived to a sea of eager small children, which may have been less intimidating than the Taliban, but I'm not sure. Anyway, they attacked with similar enthusasm, so I didn't get to say hello for about an hour. Finally we managed to get some brief moments of snatched, erm, intimacy, whilst Cbeebies was on. But, as I remarked at the time (breathless and with skirt askew), you can't expect the Tweenies to last forever.
So not exactly a romantic homecoming.
And by the time I came downstairs from putting the children to bed, later on, he was already lying on the sofa in a fleece and walking trousers, watching Top Gear and eating treacle tart.
Things never are quite the way you imagine, are they?