Late Night Fairy Cakes

Half term is at an end and I am still standing, though the same cannot be said for DS who remains dependant upon his crutches.  His lack of mobility has meant more teens coming to us as he can’t get to them and because he is so fed up, I have turned a deaf ear and a blind eye to the noise and mess which invariably accompanies small groups of large teenage boys and greets me upon my return from work each evening.  This is compounded by the array of ‘ soaking’ ( ie. left to stand with a splash of water in the bottom ) baking tins, bowls and utensils used by DD as she provides her brother and his pals with a steady stream of home baked cakes and chocolate brownies.  Baking is her new thing and despite the resulting chaos in the kitchen, one I am keen to encourage, being a useful practical skill unlike visiting nightclubs which she has also been doing rather a lot of this week.  Thursday night she went to Motion  with her usual posse of similarly clad half naked teenage girls prompting me to yet again repeat the parental cliché ‘ You’re not going out in THAT are you? ‘ as she rolled her eyes and removed money from my wallet in one smooth and practised motion before calling me a few hours later to come and get her as ‘ I’m not really feeling it tonight ‘.

I turn out in my pyjamas so I can head straight back to bed on my return, which I do, safe in the knowledge that DD is now tucked up in bed, DS has managed to make it to a sleepover at his friend’s house and the day is finally done. Leaving the house for work the next morning I almost trip over the shopping trolley lying on it’s side by the bin – ‘ bloody students ‘ I think to myself.  It is not until Friday night when I am chatting to J and J’s mums over a takeaway curry that I discover the trolley was left by J when DD let him and another of DS friends in for a nocturnal plate of fairy cakes as they drunkenly wended their way home, none of which I knew anything about because I was asleep. I inform DD the next day that The Bakery closes once I am in bed and that cake is not the only thing on a teenage boy’s mind when he comes a callin’ at 2am. She rolls her eyes and delivers a blisteringly nonchalant ‘ …Whatever..’ while deftly removing two pounds from my wallet because ‘ We’ve run out of icing sugar ‘.


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