Thursday, 30 September 2010

Hurrah for regression. And chewing sticks.

Usually, relationships develop.

Me and The Boyfriend on the other hand, well, at just over a year in we're back to going on dates, eating in restaurants, stealing kisses on tube platforms and doing The Moving Cuddle; the vomit enducing PDA that couples always engage in on escalators.

Before you start cooing over how romantic that all sounds, I should mention the alternative:

Parental conversation around the kitchen table, where the main topic of conversation will be why you didn't let them know if you were in for dinner the night before. Next, we'll retreat upstairs and argue over whether we're watching Dragons Den or yet another episode of Top Gear on Dave. Then sometimes I'm really really lucky and get to finish the evening by completing a 40 mile round trip to his house and back, because he's already spent £68 on a weekly train ticket from the sticks, and wants to use it.

Welcome to the joys of being 26 (and, err, 23) and still living with your parents. 

Weekends are better. Except doing the whole lazing in bed all morning thing does tend to lose its appeal when your mother seems to be completing a marathon on the stairs, a Labrador's tail is beating a hole in your bedroom door and a Hoover replaces your weekday alarm. In my house, Parental Infinite Wisdom dictates that the best time to employ a cleaner is the one day of the week the house is guaranteed to be full of non-working people, all wanting to lie in bed, mong about in the living room and fry breakfast on a freshly wiped stove.


So it won't surprise you to hear that this weekend, a hotel in Portsmouth awaits. Rush hour traffic, wet and windy Autumn weather and a stony beach are beckoning our liberated faces.

And if room service bring their hoover anywhere near my door, well, I tell ya. Hell hath no fury like a girl on Tripadvisor. You have been warned.


nuttycow said...

ahhh - the labrador tail. I know that sound well. I remember when I was younger I thought that there was a burglar creeping up the stairs. I lay in my bed, scared out of my wits for about half an hour before I plucked up the courage to look outside.

The burglar? A dogs tail beating against the door.

Please Don't Eat With Your Mouth Open said...

Funny you should say that. When I was younger, I got so used to the labrador tail and night-time padding about, that when we did actually get burgled, I lay awake shit scared but convinced myself not to worry, the creeping sounds on the landing were bound to be the dog.

Don't have nightmares. ;)

Anonymous said...

Lie-ins are now a thing of the past with two dogs. The sound a beagle tail can make when wagging is a lot louder than I expected it to be!

not twitter said...

You've just reminded me that being young IS all it's cracked up to be.

Anonymous said...

Oooh, the coast in October, lovely! Be sure to print out a voucher for F&S before you go :) Two funky pizzas for a tenna, valid 7 days a week! And the one at Gunwharf is very nice.

Nice cheap dinner date.


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