So much for getting an extra hour’s sleep when we put the clocks back 😦
Gap Boy went to Manchester for a jolly night out with his mates.
Hub and I accordingly left the lights on outside and took the key out of the door so he could get in whatever time he returned.
As GB’s door key was ‘somewhere in my room’ I had to chip a nail in order to wiggle my key off the keyring for him. At least he had a key, unlike the time when he woke the whole house up at six in the morning by banging on the patio door. Scooby went into guard dog mode, then into paroxysms of delight when he realised that it was his Boy. Hub and I were somewhat less overjoyed to see him.
My achy breaky leg caused me to hop out of bed at 0810 hours; the clocks were still saying 0910 hours but my laptop had reset its time and reassured me that I wasn’t going mad.
As I sat on Sunday morning, blearily checking FaceAche and the BBC news, I noticed that the little red light on my Blackberry was flashing. Unless Hub is on nights, I turn the sound off and leave my mobile in its charging cradle in the office. I use it as an alarm on night shifts so that Scoob and I can be up and ready to meet Hub at the garden gate when he comes home.
Instead of the red flashing light, I then noticed the face of my baby boy glaring back at me and realised that it was a phone call – not a text. By the time my brain had moved up a gear, GB had rung off in disgust.
So I called him back.
He was cold.
He had walked back from Manch.
He was cold.
His legs were cramping up.
Oh, and he was cold.
Could Dad come and get him………………………………………………………please?
Told him I would call him back in a mo, and went to wake my sleeping Hub, who desperately needed a lie-in after his early rising for paintball the day before.
I woke him in the long-established way (a kiss of course), and broke the bad news about GB before he could get too excited.
I called GB back, and listened patiently whilst he told me (again) how cold he was, how cramped his legs were and how tired he was.
Why is it that both our sons go clubbing without coats? It makes me shiver just looking at them.
I established GB’s whereabouts and passed the coordinates to a slightly less befuddled Hub.
Scooby got very excited at the sight of a fully dressed Hub coming downstairs, then moaned pitifully as his dad shot out through the patio door, grabbing a fleece for his undoubtedly hypothermic son.
I came downstairs once he’d gone.
The sight of me in the morning causes Scooby to roar happily and run up and down the room until I have checked the gates, opened the door, thrown on a hoodie and some boots, grabbed his lead and the doggy treats of course.
We are then ready to greet the world – well the driveway – and continue Scooby’s assault on the St John’s Wort (we’re giving the Hebe a rest).
Having fed Scooby, I was halfway through preparing my own breakfast when my hero Hub returned with the frozen Boy.
GB claimed that he was slurring his words because he was so cold and tired but there was a definite undertone of vodka in the air.
They had stopped off at the service station to get fuel for the starving (and cold) Boy. Something must have addled his brains because he announced with extreme disgust that he appeared to have brought a four-pack of Mars Bars instead of Snickers (I still prefer Marathon). He gave them to his dad with a shrug of his shoulders and a look of horror as Hub put them in the fridge.
One way to stop GB pinching our chocolate is to put it in the fridge. The idea of taking it out and allowing it to warm up doesn’t seem to have occurred to him – yet.
GB stomped his way off to bed and that was the last we saw of him for the day – which was quite nice actually.
Bezzie Mate was supposed to be travelling North to go to the theatre with us and stay the night, but his venture into the Southern lands had given him a dreaded lurgy. His texts told a tale of phlegm, sore throat and hacking cough, so, much as we missed his company, we told him to stay home in the warm. We love him, but not his germs.
There was some discussion about Hub and I going out for a breath of fresh air but as Hub had already been out and was recovering from his paintball wizardry, we decided to stay home after lunch instead.
Halfway through an afternoon of dog-dozing and catching up on digiboxed stuff, I had an overwhelming desire for chocolate.
In the words of the song – ‘I need a Mars Bar’ – and we had some in the fridge!
Many moons ago, when I was a fresh-faced teenager, I used to go out with a boy who lived in Hythe. Neither of us had much money and we took it in turns for him to visit me (in the daytime) and me to visit him (in the evening).
Daytime visits were often facilitated by the Hythe Ferry – it didn’t run on Sundays or in the evenings. The alternative method of transport was the Hants and Dorset bus to town and then the Corporation bus to my house. Not surprisingly, love’s winged heels saw me making the bus journeys home more often than my paramour. It was a very long journey and the timing of the Corporation bus meant a mad rush from the bus station to the High Street in order to make the connection.
Occasionally there was a delay and I would stand forlornly watching the rear of my bus disappearing up the road, before summoning up the courage to phone home and beg for a lift and the lecture that came with it.
By way of compensation for my arduous journey, my boyfriend would have a sweet love letter ready for me to read on the bus, and would also buy me a Mars Bar from the off licence to eat on the way home.
It’s amazing how long you can make a Mars Bar last when you need to. I would nibble the outside chocolate like a discerning marsupial. Then I when I got half way down, I would attack the toffee, leaving the caramel till last. Having accomplished this, the process was repeated on the lower half – still safely ensconced in its wrapper. It was usually pretty cold at night and Hants and Dorset buses were not known for their efficient heating systems so my Mars Bar never went into meltdown.
I rarely made it last all the way to the bus station though, I did try.
On a chilly October afternoon, as I tucked into GB’s shopping error Mars Bar, my mind went back all those years.
I looked at the Mars Bar.
Sitting on my sofa.
With my snoring dog.
Watching ‘The Goonies’ on TV.
Did I revert to teenage habits and slowly devour it?
Did I heck!
They must make them smaller these days.
Four bites and it was gone.