In all of the sadness this weekend, I had my own little ray of light when Tory Boy phoned to ask if he could come home. This is his home, he knows that and never has to ask…unless he needs us to pay the train fare. We never say no: having both children at home is when we are happiest.
We had a lovely weekend. Tory Boy and the Hub got through it with only several arguments – almost as good as none at all. I made pancakes for lunch and roast pork and turkey for dinner. I spent so much time in the kitchen I hurt my back – proof, if I needed it, that cooking is a Bad Thing and I should avoid it when possible.
Tory Boy is still having sleep issues. He arrived home at eight on Saturday morning, leaving his digs at six because he had been awake all night so thought he might as well catch the early train and let Mother make his breakfast. He stayed awake all day but was in bed for eight p.m.
Yesterday was good as I was able to make leftovers and chips for dinner, and I can do that from my armchair while playing Tetris on the computer and listening to The Now Show on the BBCiPlayer.
After dinner, we all watched Iron Man 2. Not a bad film, if I avoided looking at Mickey Rourke’s hideous mouth. There is a scene early on in which a parrot drinks from a glass. It reminded me of growing up in Runcorn. My parents liked to hold parties whenever possible. Family parties: I come from a big family and once you’ve invited the siblings and their children there’s no room for anyone else (except the neighbours – if you’re going to hold a lot of parties in your home, it’s wise to always invite the neighbours).
My parents also liked to enjoy themselves, so they didn’t worry about cleaning up until next morning.
We had a budgie called Bobby. His cage door was loose and sometimes fell open. When we got up the morning after one party, Bobby was on his perch, banging his head against the cage bars. It took us a while to figure out what was wrong…Bobby was hung over. His party piece was jumping from cup to glass to bowl and taking a sip of everything on offer. Not a problem when that’s tea or lemonade; not so good when there are half-empty glasses of alcohol left standing overnight. While we were in bed he must have come out when his door fell open and helped himself.
Like most drunks and student children, however, he still managed to find his way home, and we had the bumps on his head to prove it.
The Laughing Housewife 
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