Thank you for your prayers: Mrs Holt Press has come home.
Sport Boy has recovered sufficiently to go and sleep the night at a friend's house.
Spike (the temporary and perhaps to become permanent blog name for he who used to be dubbed The Hair: I actually wanted to call him Spike before he was born but was outvoted by Mrs Holt Press and my Mother-in-law. Turns out it would have suited him well, he has a penchant for spikes, wristbands, belts and other punkish paraphernalia, not to mention a nasty looking nose ring) has been working nearly very day durin the holidays and is very pleased with himself and the money he's been earning. He has modified his saving plan to a slightly less radical goal of saving 50% of what he earns. He's off to Bunbury in the morning to stay the night at a mate's place, and tells me he's hoping to go to Perth on the weekend with his girlfriend and her family.
I did a quick reconnaisance this arvo to the Catholic campsite where we are holding the chaplains retreat this week, it all looks good and I'm really looking forward to it.
Then I caught up with Birchy and family who are in Busso for a family camp. He's going to join us for some of the retreat as well.
I've had way too many ultra-late nights over the last week or so; not tonight.