Motorbikin'...

The husband is preparing for a few days away without me.  Having dedicated himself to our children since what feels like 1872, I persuaded him that it was time to do some of the stuff he loves doing.  

His first jolly is ten days away on his new motorbike, cruising over the Pyrenees with three other men who have never really grown up either.  Over the last two months, once the bike appeared, there has followed a long stream of helmets, boots, trousers etc etc etc.  Desperate to get the right layering in case it's cold/wet/scorching hot he could look like anything from the Michelin Man (on a bad day) or someone who's borrowed clothes off a much larger friend.  I've been subjected to fashion shows where he looks like RoboCop, and had my opinion asked as to whether red suits him or not.

The next issue was what he was going to carry his clothes in.  Choices have ranged from rucksacks, a top box and panniers through to one of his mate's sons following them in a car with all of the luggage.  I did suggest that if it was cold, he could wear all of his pants, socks and t-shirts, and peel off a layer at the end of each day like a giant red onion.  A bit like a human Pass the Parcel (without the chocolate bar in the middle).  But between us, we came up with the best solution.  Buy cheap stuff and throw away as each day passes.  There is a very sneaky double whammy for this.  When he gets home, there will be no dirty washing for little old me - you never know, I might even be pleased to see him come back.

The problem with him going away is that I'm useless on my own.  My hearing seems to develop extra sensitivity, and I am able to hear things that even my dogs can't, which means that it's nothing of course, but you know what minds are like when they start working overtime. The kids all know this, so between the two girls, Miss R, Mrs S and anyone else who wants a sleepover, I shouldn't be on my own a single night.  I expect that by the time the husband gets back, I will be glad for some peace and quiet.

Speaking of which, the husband said to me over the weekend that he has talked to me more in the last month than in all the months that have gone before.  The reason behind this, is that because the children have left, I am now talking to him a lot more.  This might explain the glazed look he has perfected when I start chatting about how my day has gone.  As most of my days are made up of rubbish, dogs, cleaning and Aldi, I'm not surprised he takes himself off somewhere else involving two stroke and leather.  

No wonder he's going away...