I waved madly as Big Fecker's plane disappeared into the fog and made my way out of our local 'international' airport with a scowl on my face.
I AM NOT A LIAR. No, no, I was just not elaborating on certain facts.
"I just hope it goes smoothly." he said earlier, as we waited at the check-in.
I desisted from pointing out the meccano sets that are used to fix the darling little planes and made no mention of the rope burns he would sustain in order to get the plane aloft.
"You'll be fine." I said, employing my best mum-knows-best voice, but the truth is that I am not terribly well travelled. I've hopped about Europe a bit and explored many different modes of transport but have never done what my fecker has done.
I have flown - plane, helicopter, hot air balloon, into a rage, but I have never done it on my own and here I was convincing him that 'firsts' are always exciting. Liar, liar, drawers on fire!
The phone call from my eighteen-year-old tonight in deepest Germany, let me know in a very confident voice that flying was amazing and that everything was cool and what was I worried about?
So was omitting the facts a good idea, or should I have confessed that his mother is a chicken shit?
Ah well, I haven't told him about the bargain ticket I managed to get for the return journey. What do you think? More lies?