Watching Ben leaping along the beach in South Devon last Saturday, a massive, genuine smile on his face, I suddenly realised that it's the first time that all three of us have been to a beach since 'that day' in summer 2010 when Ben almost got carried off by the currents, as described in my book Please eat.
That was also the day when Ben confined himself to the little beach tent we'd brought with us, face like thunder, claiming that he wanted to die, and eventually running off into the sand dunes and the woods crying out that he didn't want to live a moment longer.
But I won't remind myself of that awful day in too much detail; it's not helpful at the moment.
Last Saturday, in contrast, he just swam normally, over to a rock and then leaped into the clear water with a huge smile on his face, having fun. Just like all the other boys on the beach. He didn't even bother to swim back; the water was "too effing freezing!". He walked along the beach, eager to tell me how much fun he had had.
And the three of us just lazed on the beach for a while before packing up and returning to the car, followed by a relaxing beer outside a creek-side inn.
Super-chill. 100% stress-free. In fact the whole week was 100% stress-free.
Back at the holiday cottage, Ben cooked a meal. Another huge meal cooked by the talented Ben, which he ate greedily, just like any other young man, followed by his usual 'two puddings'.
What could be more normal than that?