Thursday, 17 November 2016

Don't speak...

I had a quick count up of the advent calendars yesterday.  I seem to still have a full complement of them which is surprising, as son number two and ELL have been knocking about over the last few days.  I have to keep buying them bars of chocolate to stop them from searching the house for the brown stuff such is their addiction.

With ELL now looking for a job son number two, who is four days away from starting his new job in recruitment, seems to think that he knows it all, and is handing out advice a plenty as to her interview technique.  This is like me borrowing a book from the library about a hairdresser, and then approaching someone on the way home, nail scissors in hand, and offering them a short back and sides.  It's just not going to happen.  I think son number two needs to complete at least a week of gainful employment before handing out advice to anyone who is in his vicinity clutching a P45.

Miss R and I are spending a lot of time on the phone this week as we have to do a speech at the big family party at the weekend.  It's very tricky doing it over the phone as each time she starts reading it out, I interrupt.  It's a bit like having a heckler twenty five miles away with a loud haler.  So she has now resorted to emailing me speeches.  I then tweak it and email it back.  I expect that by the time we have to do the speech, all that will be left is, 'Thanks for coming. Bar's there.  Cake's on its way.  Enjoy your evening'.  The recipient of the speech has asked that we keep it short so that we don't cut into valuable dancing time, so I think he'd be happy with our verbal brevity.

I'm really looking forward to the party as there will be dancing and karaoke.  The former will leave me with bad hair and knackered knees the next morning, and the latter will mean that I will wave goodbye to any dignity I may have left at the ripe old age of 53. I just love karaoke.  I have many fond memories of singing inappropriate songs at inappropriate times.  One example is singing 'Teenage Dirtbag' while out with the mother a couple of years ago, and I have also been known to sing a little Meatloaf while dressed up to the nines.

Daughter number two has followed in my footsteps where this is concerned.  On holiday in Spain one year, I left my then 12 year old daughter number two with Miss R one evening as she wanted to stay up late.  When she hadn't returned back to the hotel by 2.00am, I sent the husband down to the bar to look for her.  Imagine his surprise (this is sarcasm) when he walked into the bar to see daughter number two belting out 'Like a Virgin' to the late night drinkers.  Miss R, the responsible adult looking after daughter number two, was slumped over a half drunk gin and tonic at the table.  The crowd looked like they might turn nasty when the husband bundled the two of them off to bed, as daughter number two had promised them her version of Justin Timberlake's 'Sexyback'. 

Miss R and I think that this is probably why the private club, which is hosting the big family party, has moved us to a smaller building away from their main house and club members.

When the average age of a club member is 79, you can't be too careful...
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