7pm on Friday. DS and DD are in their bedrooms, he with his new GF, she her first proper BF and I am on Parent Sex Patrol. This involves a series of strategic visits throughout the evening to prevent any actual sex taking place while acknowledging the basic, primitive and overwhelming teenage need to ferret about under the quilt in a state of semi-undress with fellow sweaty adolescents. So, when the children Have Company I leave them to get acquainted for about an hour, lulling them into a false sense of security that the parent downstairs is going to behave and leave them to it. Then I take in a pile of clean laundry having noisily announced my arrival to give them a minute to adjust clothing, smooth down hair etc etc and ask the red faced couplers if they require anything, a cup of tea or soft drink perhaps? ‘ No thank you very much ‘ they all say politely, smiling pleasantly while their eyes beg ‘ please go away, go away now please ‘ and so I do. To reappear 10 minutes later asking if they are really sure they don’t want anything? ‘ No!’ Not so polite this time, but I am happy enough having made the point that I might come in At Any Moment so activities of an intimate nature must be kept at the level they can be interrupted at a moment’s notice.
Back downstairs my BF and I have a mutual chuckle about the frustrated hormonal couplings above us while watching this year’s hopefuls showcase their questionable party pieces on Britain’s Got Talent. An hour to go until the suitors depart, so one noisy trip upstairs to deposit something in my room which will be enough to scare them into introducing some space between their heaving, hormonal selves and one final actual visit with ‘ a bit more laundry ‘ and a bright smile which is topped off by opening the bedroom window, ‘ I think we need a bit of fresh air in here, you both look a bit hot…’ indicating that all sexual shenanigans are now at an end. I almost feel sorry for them – almost.