At every teenage party there is some unfortunate soul who spends the vast part of the evening with their head down the toilet and last night was my son’s turn, as I discovered in a call from his girlfriend just before midnight prior to her very kind mum bringing him ( and another boy with his head in a bucket ) home. He was feeling a bit better by then although extremely pale, a ghostly hue he awoke with at 6am this morning. I packed him off with a toastie and a plastic bag ( just in case ) on the coach to Southampton where he was playing in a rugby tournament while I headed off to Frampton Country Fair for a day exhibiting www.stuckonhomework.com while trying to stop our gazebo from blowing away.
I return home early evening, about half an hour before DS who staggers through the door demanding food and sympathy for his poor physical state, which I duly serve up with a small side order of telling off for last night’s ‘ disgraceful behaviour ‘. ‘It wasn’t my fault, I was dehydrated from going to the gym just before, I didn’t drink that much, honestly ‘. As he did indeed go to the gym just before the party and it might just be true, I decide to give DS the benefit of the doubt on this occasion and leaving him to his self-inflicted sorrows I head off to the lounge to watch X-Factor with DD. We cuddle up on the sofa and agree that Kelly Rowland is hot and Gary Barlow isn’t bad either, although definitely one for the older lady. I comment on her less than immaculately smooth legs, very unusual for C and she informs me she is ’ growing fur for the winter ‘. Very sensible I say, join the club.