Pony on the Long Minge.

Fucking hell! Its 9:30 and its Friday and i’ve had a few ridiculously strong IPAs, doubles by all accounts, but its my time, my quiet time, or it was, and had been for around 48 years but all of a sudden things have changed due to a shift in the fabric of time.

Yesterday my daughter recieved her GCSE results, which were good, and solid and well, she didn’t take them, but she’s done well and I’m proud, she’s got into the correct college and so things are going well for her, and that is good. Today she got a job in a pub about 4 miles away, maybe 5 and that too is excellent. I’ll hae to gve her a lift or pick her up, but that too is ok, because I can have a pint next to the river and listen to the peacocks howl. But the young lady who was getting paid to clean the house on a Friday during the day, when normal working hours are resumed has now taken to hoovering after 8pm, which is ILLEGAL as far as i’m concerned. Her finishing work, and then having a meal at her friends house and then a bath, whilst I toiled at the stove half cut on Northern Monk and then ate the Toad in the Hole, prompting me to fall into a short food coma, a fug of fuzzy mind and warmth spreading outwards from my core to my limbs; contentment. Until of course I read about the new design at WordPress and what it is doing to the normal casual writers like my self, scratching the surface of prose, and mingling with like minded folk as well as a few mentalists. One of my favourite Bloggers is on the brink of leaving or at least having a break because its all becoming all so confusing, maybe its a sign of the times. Anyway, she’s hoovering at 9:30 and all because she’s taken a bath and done her nice stuff. Fridays are not for housework unless the fucking Queen is coming to tea, which of course she never will because I don’t want to have to hoover up for her. Don’t get me wrong we’re not some awful family of dirtbags scratching a living and only just surviving on the kindness of strangers. No. I just like to sit down in the evening, thats all. 

So with hoovering and cleaning a thing, which I accept to be so, should not become the theatre of conflict and headaches as we nudge towards 10pm on a Friday night. Some Stuff needs to be done at certain times and some stuff must never be done after certain times, and some stuff can only be done at certain times, I’m not living on the edge of a black hole where all reason and order is turned to chaos as everything is sucked over the event horizon. The sooner my daughter learns this the better. 

A man of 48 needs peace.