ONE YEAR LATER   It is now one year since my son moved out so it's a good time to reflect. While I can't really speak for him I'm sure it's been a real year of change – into adulthood and responsibility. The physical distance between us (it takes a bit of planning to meet up) means any dependence on me that he did have would never have lasted long. So he's been very much on his own. On the housing front it's been a rollercoaster – being kicked out of his first place without a word to his face, spending the winter in his mum's shed, before finding a room in a shared flat (which seems to be working out). On the work front he's lasted a whole year. I'm proud of his commitment – it's hard, physical labour on the minimum wage, 8 till 5. He wants more variety in his work. I hope this happens and he sticks it out. On the social front he's really embraced Bristol, maybe too much! He goes out a lot, has plenty of mates and is seeing a nice girl. While on the music front his band are set to return after a few months off to play the Academy. His other music projects continue. He's not expecting to make a living from his music any time soon but with his talent and enthusiasm I wouldn't rule it out.   So while my son has quickly and happily adapted to his new life I turn to myself. This last year feels like it's been a series of tests and challenges. A few weeks after my son moved out I was emotionally blackmailed into taking in a lodger. Easy it wasn't. Once he'd left there was the issue of my son's eviction and the subsequent family fall out. I've had a few near miss/if only relationships that could've been different. There's been a milestone birthday! The biggest challenge is the unfolding closing of my worksite and wondering about its many personal implications as well as the feeling of deep, deep sadness that such a fantastic place will be lost forever. Plus the facing of the reality of living under a Tory government and the terrible memories brought back of the last one. And even earlier today my uncle taking great pleasure in telling me my beard makes me look 50. Perhaps this beard symbolises a letting go, a drift down life's unpredictable currents. Above it all I survive and remain positive. Do I miss my son? Of course. I often think of what he'd be doing if he was at home. It really feels good when we do meet up (average of once a week) and we speak about once a week too. I feel that he is living life with the freedom he should, no doubt learning a few lessons on the way. What more can you ask for?