Sunday, 1 August 2010

Men. Which should be said out loud in tones of deep disgust.

I feel like shit and seem to have lost my sense of humour entirely. When Max finally wakes up, he staggers into the kitchen and cooks an enormous fry-up, which seems to remove any trace of a hangover. There is no justice. I can't even face eating anything.

Then the phone rings. It is Ellen's toyboy-in-chief, who says he wants his jacket back. Apparently, Connie picked up his jacket by mistake, during our hasty flight from the party last night. He sounds less than happy to have discovered that he is now the not-so-proud possessor of Max's Primark jacket, while we have an Armani version hanging in our hallway. Actually, they don't look any different to me, but I daren't say that.

After Connie's gone out to return the jacket, Max looks at me and says,

"What's up? Why are you being so snotty?"

What's up? What's up? Where do I start?

"I should've thought you'd know what is bloody well up," I say.

"Haven't got a clue." Max looks genuinely perplexed. "What've I done?"

"Well, let me see - how can I sum it up for you?" I am so angry that I can barely speak. "Oh, yes - that's right. You moved in on Ellen in front of everyone, including me. And your daughter."

"I did what?" Max looks like he thinks I'm joking.

"And then you kissed her. On the neck."

'I didn't!" Max starts laughing. Bad move.

"Er, yes - you did, Dad." Connie is back. She looks almost as cross as I am.

"Good God," says Max, as I stalk off and go back to bed.

I stay in our bedroom for the rest of the day, trying to work out whether I am entitled to be as angry with Max as I am, given that he was so drunk and can't even remember what he did. I only get up again in the evening to check my email, but there's nothing from Johnny. I forgot - he's gallivanting somewhere in Eastern Europe again this weekend, and had warned me he might be unavailable for much of the time. My in-box isn't completely empty, though. Dad is back from Thailand, and has sent me an email, snappily entitled "Thai adventure."

I open it. There is no text at all, just six photos attached. I open the first one, expecting beaches, or mountains. There's scenery, all right - but it isn't of the landscape variety. It's of a young Thai girl in a bar. The next picture is of the same girl, next to a swimming pool. There's no sign of Dad until the third picture, where he appears - showing far too much man boob than should be allowed anywhere in the world.

In picture number four, the Thai girl is draped around Dad's neck, like a fresh-faced boa constrictor. By picture six, she is sitting on a bed in a hotel room, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. For God's sake! I have to tell someone, and I am still not speaking to Max, so I call up to Connie who has also been lurking in her bedroom all day, out of the way of parental strife.

"Con, you won't believe what Grandad has just sent me!"

"I bloody well will. Didn't you notice he copied me in on the email?" She makes a vomiting noise. "I'm mortified."

"What?" Now Josh has appeared. I show him the photos and he starts to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" I say. "There's nothing bloody funny about sending your daughter this."

"He's trying to wind you up, Mum," Josh says. "You know what he's like."

"Yeah, like all bloody men. A prize shit - apart from you, Josh."

I turn back to the computer, and start typing. In retrospect, this may not have been a wise move. Before I know it, I have pressed send. Now an email saying only Come back, Gary Glitter - all is forgiven is winging its way to my father's inbox.

I am going to have a very early night. I think it's best.


  1. I am sorry, very sorry, but I have laughed so hard at this post that I am struggling to breathe!

    Calming down, I agree with why you are so very cross at Max even though he doesn't remember. The party 'action', coupled with the ability to eat his way out of a hangover, is deserving of a very stern day.

    As for your dad? Your riposte may have been sent quickly but sometimes quickly is the way to do it. I wouldn't regret that, just await the reply:)

  2. Oh, God - I couldn't believe I'd said it! Not sure whether to dread or look forward to the reply ;-)