My upcoming birthday, (yes 21 years old people! That’s what I am rolling with anyway), means that my Mum is coming over to visit us on the rock. This being my mum, she asks that we have plans for the week. These plans normally involve her insisting that Mr C and I go out for a date. My Mum claims that this is paramount for a happy marriage, frequent date nights, wine in the fridge and food in Mr C’s belly.
The other day I was playing around with my blog, aka pretending that I am Carrie from Sex and the City, when my Mum rang.
Mum: Are you at home? Are you typing on your blog again? Are you typing this conversation?
Me: Yes, yes, no.
Mum: You should be typing this conversation.
Mum: Because I am interesting and glamorous and I am sure that your blog readers would love to get to know me better. I love you Emma but there is only so much you can do on that rock, also you don’t actually do very much do you? I mean, I have a better social life than you. Tonight I am out at yoga, tomorrow I am at Sutton Hoo and then I have a date with Eunice and we are going to the local…..
Me: Are you just ringing me to brag about your social diary and to point out that I am a sad and pathetic loser stuck on Jersey.
Mum: Nooooooo, well maybe a little. No, anyway before you interrupted, I was going to tell you that I am going to the curry house with Eunice again.
Me: Mum, you don’t like curry.
Mum: Well I know, I don’t really. It’s the spice you know it goes…..
Me: DON’T SAY IT.
Mum: Straight through me.
Me: *whispers* you said it!
Mum: But Eunice has this taste card which means that we get 50% off and this curry house is award-winning. It’s called the Taj Mahal. Think Princess Diana. It’s a *chuckles to self* royally good curry.
Me: Erm, ok then. But what is the actual point of going there when you don’t like curry.
Mum: Because I love a bargain.
Me: Right, but is it a bargain when you don’t eat the actual curry?
Mum: I do eat it. I just go for the mildest one.
Me: *sighs* what one?
Mum: The one where it is bright yellow, lurid actually.
Me: Do you mean a chicken korma?
Mum: Ahhh that’s the one
Me: Isn’t that covered in a creamy sauce. Does that not set your dairy allergy off?
Mum: Well yes and then I am trumping all over the shop or should that be restaurant *chuckles to self*
Me: So what do you do?
Mum: I pick the chicken out of the sauce.
Me: What! So you are basically going to a curry house to have plain chicken and rice.
Mum: Oh no, I don’t have the rice.
Mum: I just have the chicken.
Me: Are you mad?
Me: No, but you have to be ever so careful with rice you know, and I’m not sure if rice agrees with me. There have been times when I have had terrific stomach ache and then I have kept your father up all night long. Not like the good old days sadly, nowadays I just keep him up with my trumping not……..
Me: Mother DON’T!
Mum: *Shouts* HUMPING. Hahaha. See what I did there, it rhymed. I could be a writer. I could come up with better headlines than that terrible newspaper your Father insists on reading.
Me: The Daily Fail.
Mum: No, Emma, it’s The Daily Mail
Me: Yes, I know, it was a play on….oh it doesn’t matter.
Mum: Do you know what is driving me insane about your Father at the moment?
Me: The pigeons?
Mum: Oh they are as well.
Me: He keeps reading articles out of the paper. They are all sh*t too. He believes all this Brexit bollocks thy are spreading. It makes me so cross. I tell him “Michael, will you just shut-up” but does he? NO! So then I go into the kitchen and he only follows me still reading from that paper and spouting a load of rubbish! Luckily, I employ my yoga breathing here and I start doing that and I find that when I am concentrating on my breathing I can block him out completely. It’s marvellous.
Me: That’s great Mum. Why are you ringing again? Mum, Mum………MUM!
Mum: Oh sorry I had just gone into my breathing then, I was blocking you out.
Mum: Oh and another thing. You know the Doctor told him that he was obese. Crazy, he is not! I have told him – Michael, everyone knows that the BMI chart is flawed. I wouldn’t mind but our Doctor is hardly light as a feather. The phrase two ton Ted comes to mind.
Mum: Anyway, he has only gone and shifted 2 1/2 stone in a month! He looks too thin now. Haggard even. I’ve told him no more!
Me: How the hell has he managed that?
Mum: Crackers and salads.
Me: What! That’s nuts!
Mum: I know this Emma but he won’t listen. Why do you think I keep escaping with Eunice to our local curry house? A plate of chicken is better than crackers and salad.
Me: Yes, now your curry outings make sense.
Mum: See, I’m not crazy.
Me: *Mutters* Debatable.
Mum: Anyway, the curry reminded me that you and Mr C need to go out when I am over.
Me: It’s fine, we don’t need to.
Mum: NO. I insist and also when I’m here I never get to watch DCI Banks or GBBO, your Father insists on watching his rubbish. Therefore, when you are out I can make myself comfy and watch what I want.
Me: So basically you are coming to visit us so you can watch TV.
Mum: NO! Well, perhaps that’s a nice bonus. Anyway must dash. Book a table, make it Monday as that is Cold Feet and then if you could go out Tuesday because that is Location and then Wednesday…
Me: Every night then?
Me: Ok, then. Byyyyyyyeeee.
There you go, it seems I will be eating out when my Mum is over. Can’t complain, but I can tell you that I won’t be picking my chicken out of a sauce.