Thursday, 5 May 2011

Freaky Thursday

Buster had a teacher training day today and I decided to text Mrs B (and her two boys) and see if she was up for meeting at our local walled gardens/museum for a wander and a spot of tea and, of course, cake; well it would be rude not to wouldn't it and it was purely for research purposes (delicious toffee cake fyi, and I shall be making some asap).

We were ambling around the exhibitions not really taking much notice as we've all been there dozens of times before.  Mrs B and I were idly chatting whilst pushing Missy in her buggy and the boys were lagging a little behind but still within range.  We stood waiting for them to finish mucking about and thought we were directly in view of the only exit but being the worry warts that they are (seriously they are worse than old women) they decided to panic that we weren't still in the exhibition room and that we must have abandoned them so they latched onto some poor unsuspecting woman whom I assumed advised them to seek assistance at the front desk.

We spotted the concerned woman talking to them and our immediate reaction was that one of them had 'done something' and that she was telling them off, little did we know that we were about to receive a telling off of our very own, not from the woman but from our sons!

'Where have you been?'  'We've been worried about you!'  You shouldn't go wandering off like that, anything could have happened!'  

It was as if Mrs B and I were the children and our boys were the ones with parental responsibility.  I now know how Ellen Andrews in Freaky Friday felt when she switched places with her daughter Annabel!
The boys were really angry with us, but Mrs B and I could only snigger like the naughty children we had been cast as.  I said that we'd probably psychologically damaged them and we laughed all over again.

When I returned home a little later I remembered a book that my sister and I used to talk about called 'They F*** You Up - How To Survive Family Life' by Oliver James.  The title of which I assume comes from the Philip Larkin poem 'This Be The Verse'

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Ah well, I think a taste of their own medicine can only do them good, although I'm not sure how much good it did as about ten minutes later Mrs B and I found ourselves unable to locate the boys and normal service had been resumed.  As for the long-term psychological damage, only time will tell if indeed we have fucked them up.


  1. Well let that be a lesson learned ;-)!

  2. You two really should do as you are told! ;o)


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