Snow stops play

This morning’s rugby match in Southport that my son was due to play in has been called off due to adverse weather conditions detrimentally affecting the pitch and I find myself (gasp) with some time on my hands.  Four lovely hours of free time that were set aside to take us to the game are now available to spend on whatever I feel like.

I suppose I could/should iron the uniforms ready for school and work tomorrow but that’s boring and it can wait.

Or I could/should vacuum all the popcorn that is scattered around the lounge after last night’s competition to see who could catch the most popcorn in their mouth.  That’s equally boring and can wait too.  There’s no rush.  It’ll still be there later.  Literally.

I could even take my son out for a walk in the snow seeing as he will now miss his Sunday morning activity and will no doubt idle away his unexpected free time doing stuff like interacting with his XBox while listening to the new CD that he bought from Manchester HMV yesterday.  He found a new buddy recently and he informs me that this new buddy has a poster on his bedroom wall of rapper Eminem so of course my easily-influenced son decided that he was a fan too despite the fact that he’s never actually heard any of his music.  Eminem is an odd choice because  me laddie loves rock – electric guitar, drum-bashing, noisy rock music by the talented likes of Hendrix, Clapton, Guns N’ Roses, The Killers.  My boy has even been heard around our house playing the Blues on his guitar.  So I tried to tell him that Marshall Mathers/ Slim Shady or whoever the heck he is probably wouldn’t be his kind of thing and I’ll be honest, I had another agenda of a censorial nature.  I’m not sure just how suitable Eminem’s lyrics are for a ten-year old but he insisted that he was a fan and always has been so we bought the only Eminem album that we could find that didn’t have a parental advisory warning on it and a walk in the snow probably wont happen, not this side of midday at least.

My daughter had some birthday money that she desperately needed to get rid of so we spent the day in Manchester.  Selfridges was our first call and while my daughter and her friend looked around Miss Selfridge on the top floor, me and my utterly dismayed son had a wander around the women’s section.  I was just looking.  Not buying.  I was morbidly fascinated by the designer clothes so I decided to have some fun.  I put on an air of wealth and began browsing through Victoria Beckam’s line.  The assistant was hovering so I refrained from laughing out loud at the £1850 price tag on a little black dress that I could have made myself for forty quid.  I showed my stunned son and whispered to him that the shallow suckers who pay these prices are paying for a name.  I think the Matalan label in our clothes and my sons unruly hair began to make the assistant suspicious that we weren’t genuine customers because she hovered closer so we moved on to another designer.  To our delighted shock we  saw a scarf made by the recently departed Alexander McQueen priced at £195.  A scarf folks.  A  silk chiffon scarf with a skull print design.  It was all a bit of fun and distracted my boy from the boredom for a while.

Anyway, Top Shop was in danger of being the main beneficiary of my daughters birthday money.  Of course this went against my grain because Top Shop is not exactly the most ethical of corporations but as any parent of a fourteen-year-old girl will know, Top Shop is the ultimate heaven for this age group so with gritted teeth, I spent many frustrating hours wandering the floors of Top Shop with an excited girl and an excrutiatingly bored boy whose highlight of the day, indeed the only good thing about the day for him, was having lunch at the Hard Rock Café.  To my relief, my daughter only bought two items from Top Shop, I like to think perhaps due to having been guilt-tripped before-hand by yours truly.

Back to my spare time, I could/should clean the kitchen after last nights lovely meal made by lovely husband who came home from Thanet Offshore Windfarm for the singular, just-for-the-hell-of-it occasion of cooking me a meal after my busy day in Manchester.  Cleaning the kitchen, the most boring of all but I guess it can’t wait because last night’s lemon cream sauce will start to smell and the pans will be a nightmare to scrub.  I knew I’d regret not doing it last night.  Too much vino is to blame.

ttfn then I suppose.  Sigh.


2 responses to this post.

  1. My wife taught me the lesson years ago. I do the kitchen, I clean the kitchen. No more no less. I did it today – my “famous” Spanish omelette with potatoes (of course), onions, and – this time – crab and clams.

    Not bad it tasted, but I was a little too much promiscuous with the salt. Eatable anyhow.

    Ah! No rugby here…


  2. Lol, I like the sound of that. Your wife must be as wise as you are.

    I love Spanish omelette! We had omelette tonight but my kids like it with lots of grated cheese and sweetcorn.

    Not much rugby here at the moment either Jose because of the snow. Lol.


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