Wednesday 21 March 2007


I had the shock of my life yesterday when my daughter revealed that it was her 46th birthday. Who wants to be known as a person with a 46-year-old child? I ask you how un-cool is that? I think she must be lying to gain brownie points. She is trying to catch up with me?.

We “did lunch” with her 45-year-old sister and 27-year-old niece. Gosh, golly and all that jolly stuff. Because I now have all the time in the world I didn’t even have to marry the trip up with a quick dash into the supermarket. I will savour that treat for another day.

One complaint about the lunch, the large wine was smaller that usual. I did comment on this but our “server” snootily informed me that it was the standard 175 ml whatever that is. Is that like a half pint or something? I think the bitch should have given me 250 ml. I will obviously have to make up for this deprivation on Saturday.

One of the pleasures of lunching out is that I can normally turn it into a cook free day, but when I arrived home old grumpy cheerily announced that he had bought himself a steak pie from the butcher for his dinner. He was so pleased with himself for being so helpful that I didn’t have the heart to remind him that steak pies = turning on the oven and thinking what the fuck else do I do to go with it.

Then, unplanned and unannounced, the hoard arrived. My granddaughter and her two lively full on, in your face girls. My granddaughter announced that she was starving, (this is the said niece that had just lardy bloatered her way through lunch three hours earlier and is as thin as a pikestaff).

In a moment of weakness I offered to cook extra. I had a cunning plan. I had some prepared M&S new potatoes that I could just stick into water, but they wouldn’t realise that and they would be totally impressed with my laid back efficiency. Easy! Not so. Old grumpy saw the potatoes and asked for chips. And he doesn’t even do oven chips, only homemade. Damn, I had dug a hole for myself.

By the time I had slaved over a hot stove whilst trying to get the two girls to stop grinding biscuits and assorted goodies that old grumpy had plied them with into the carpet I was totally drained.

When they left old grumpy said “weren’t those girls great?” Yes, great for him who they love to bits, not so great for me who they hate. But I will have them to myself when I take them to Switzerland in the summer. What is it they say? Revenge is sweet when served cold (something like that anyway)

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