Mrs BW has taken flight back to her native Scotland for a few days so I am left home alone with the teenagers. We are half way through. The Weasel has cleaned her room, properly, done all her washing and we have had sensible conversations at the meal table about a healthy diet and homework and stuff like that. But I suspect the phoney war is coming to an end. The weekend is coming, and there are parties to go to, people to see, things to take etc. The Munch is having a sleep over on Friday with three of his mates. He has put his order in for a couple of six packs and plenty of crisps. But its okay they won’t want any tea because they are going out. Then he is off to Manchester on Saturday (cancel the riding please dad), and staying over with his mates on Saturday night. ” Oh yeah and Dad I’ll want picking up from somewhere remote and obscure in the depths of the Hopeless Valley, don’t know what time but I’ll text you.” So that’s Sunday buggered.
The Weasel, older, cooler, wiser, (steady kid!) and with many more friends, not to be outdone has an equally extensive social programme lined up (no pun intended). She is off out somewhere on Friday and will sleep at her boyfriends ( and I’m next in line to become the next Pope). Then on Saturday she is off to a party but she and three friends will come back afterwards at stay at hers. The party ends at 1.00 am. ” Oh yeah and Dad can they come round and get changed here before the party.” I nod my assent. ” So can you get us some wine or something just to set us up?” “Of course I can. Shall I contact your drug dealer as well for you and get you a couple of grams of Charlie. No honestly I was joking, no I could not get you 3 grams I don’t know any drug dealers. “
So I am enjoying the calm before the storm. Have a good weekend and as the great late Dave Allen used to say “may your god go with you.”