Beats workin'....

Yesterday, I had various calls from the male offspring during what I fondly like to call 'The Working Day'.  

First on the phone was son number two who is up in Leeds studying Law.  If you remember, this is his second attempt at the higher echelons of education, and everytime he calls me, someone walks over my grave.  Having said that, each time he calls, he seems a bit more embedded in university life which is encouraging.  I said to Mrs H yesterday that if I could keep him there till Christmas, we might just have it sussed.  

So he was telling me how he'd been 'working all day' reading up on Human Rights and the American Constitution.  I did extremely well, and feigned interest and stayed awake while he was droning on about this, and then he let slip that the night before had been spent swilling cheap beer and pretzels in a Bierkeller (think lederhosen and blonde plaits).  Mind you, this was in Leeds, so I would imagine it would be more flat cap and whippet than leather and heaving Germanic bosom.  

Anyway, it turned out that the beer was cheap, and the girls entertaining (I think it was this way round) and he didn't get out of bed till 11.00 yesterday morning.  I know for a fact that he was in Tesco foraging for food around 2.00, and he called me at 4.00 for a chat.  So his 'working all day' turned out to be a couple of hours slipped in between shopping and chatting.  Hardly a whole day I feel.

And then it was son number one.  Now this one has really fallen on his feet.  He's working in London for a company who blatantly encourage drinking, eating and entertaining throughout the working day.  He messaged us yesterday just to drop into conversation that he'd been to  £££££ sushi restaurant.  I have no idea what all those pound signs mean, but am guessing it loosely translates as 'Two Months' Mortgage').  To be honest with you, I wasn't really taking much notice of the £ signs, as the word 'sushi' had turned my tum inside out and upside down after my run in with some a couple of weeks ago.  

Unlike the boys, daughter number one and daughter number two seem to have proper jobs, where you go into work, get paid to do something useful, and then come home at the end of the day feeling you've achieved something.

These two tend to play hard at their weekends because they have earned it.

Son number one treats the weekend as two days of drying out and is seldom seen, and son number two, being a student, has long stopped differentiating between Monday and Saturday as there is no real difference in what he does either day.

I fall into the girls' camp (probably without the 'playing hard' unless you count two scoops of Mint Choc Chip at the cinema which could be considered flying in the face of danger I suppose).

Weekend? You are most welcome...