About Me

My photo
The older I get, the more cynical I get. It is not a fact I am proud of, but it is a fact. I disbelieve just about everything the establishment and the media tell us. I am convinced that we are manipulated into being the submissive, law-abiding robots that we have become. It grieves me greatly.

Saturday 21 February 2015

Swinging from the curtains

Last night I went out for dinner and drinks with a friend.  There was no 'in moderation' about our consumption of alcohol.  I suspected it may lead to a hangover, but thought I was safe, today being Saturday.  Admittedly I was expecting company, my cousin and one daughter, but they weren't coming until lunchtime and I decided that we would have a pub lunch and a wander around Rochester before stopping for tea.

I woke up at 6 a.m.  The room and my head were spinning, I was so glad I had a plan B which would mean I could avoid having to do anything until 11 a.m., and avoid housework until the next day.   I finally surfaced at nine and discovered a previously unseen message from my cousin.  There were now seven of them coming over, including three under-fives. I was not to worry about lunch, she would bring that.  I wasn't worried about lunch, I was worried about them seeing the state of my house.  For the next three hours I cleaned, swept, washed, wiped, hoovered and put away until I thought my head would explode but my house might just about past muster.  

The three under-fives entertained themselves admirably.  Like the rest of our family, they aren't at all shy and had hardly got their coats off before announcing they were going upstairs.  They each have a bedroom full of toys, however seem to prefer their made-up games.  They ‘read’ stories from all the books in the bookcase - who knew Bill Bryson had written about dragons?  They also shared out a large piece of tinsel they found on top of a basket of tools, followed by a quick exploration into the contents of the basket, hastily removed by one of their mothers.  I like to think that a less hungover me may have connected a visit from small children with a need to move lethal objects.    

Their favourite game was going through my wardrobe to entertain us with impromptu fashion parades.  The boys, aged 4 and 3, refused to wear anything they considered too girly or too flowery, so one was decked out in tinsel and the other was in my filthy running shoes.  They chose a handbag each, but only brown or beige handbags would do, after all they were male.   The 4 year old girl tried and discarded quite a few outfits, before deciding that what she really wanted to set off the flowery stilettos and red handbag was the top I was currently wearing.  Three faces looked up at me expectantly.  How could I say no?  I took off the top.  I was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt underneath 'you can keep that on, I don't want your vest!' she told me, generously.  

They rejected either of elderflower cordial or fresh fruit smoothies, but found a bottle of water by my bed, and took it turns to swig from that.  Their mothers were quite concerned as to what might be in the bottle.  I worry that my fondness for gin is giving me a bad reputation.  My mother came over for a couple of hours.  She loves young children, but only when they are at the stage where they sit quietly and don't talk, so she wasn't too put out when we failed to bribe any of the little ones to sit on her knee.  

After a short game of sleeping lions and a few rounds of Simon Says, my guests went home.  Surprisingly it didn't take long to clear up after them, although I was a bit mystified by the bedroom curtains, half pulled down.   It was a lovely afternoon, the children were very entertaining and very, very loud.  My cousin worried about my neighbours, I told her one side are lovely, understanding and have grandchildren of their own and the other side are so ignorant that the louder the children were, the happier I was.

Being childless, I have never had to deal with any of this with a hangover, but it was one of the best hangover cures I have had.  As they left I told them they could stay the night next time.  The 4-year old boy gave me a knowing look, way beyond his years, before telling me 'I know you are just saying that'.  I did mean it though and before their next visit I shall leave any housework until after they have gone and devote my time to making sure scissors and stanley knives are slightly less accessible.  



No comments:

Post a Comment