I told him he could have Saturday and Sunday off.
When we got to school he stepped it up a notch, in the form of laying on the ground in front of school, screaming, crying... you get the picture.
I finally talked him down and he said he didn't like the "canteen" (that would be French for lunchroom).
So he went with me to talk to "the heavy" (this is the man who watches over everything at the school, he reminds me of a Bond movie character, slick bald head, ultra cool, well dressed, but nothing get's passed him, therefore, I named him The Heavy).
Aidan decided he would go in the class, but reminded me that he was not going on Saturday.
Afterwards I was standing outside and a new mum (she's Welsh) was talking to me about her daughters arrival at school:
"She was fine until she saw a little boy crying and laying on the sidewalk and then she started..."
So I confessed,
"Ah, yes, that would be MY son."
What can I say he's missing his lazy summer days.