The boys came over with usual excited fanfare, and dopey me thinking I'm going to be a hero greet them outside with only a t-shirt and gym shorts on. And nothing else, not even a key to get back into the building. It was a balmy -27C outside, so no worries as there was somebody else coming in as I was getting the boys. I had it all planned out. And if not? I would have sat in the van staying warm with my ex and her new fiancee until someone came along to let us back in. Awwwkwarrrd.
Gerry practically fell asleep in my arms as I was getting his winter clothes off, so I put him straight to bed... and you know what? He slept. All the way until 7 the next morning. Bless his little heart, because I was bloody tired. Nick and I do what we usually do on Friday nights: strip to our underpants, make popcorn and play video games (yes, in that order). He's still having trouble sleeping in his own bed, but he slept in his own room without too much of a fuss.
Saturday morning, and we were still in our underpants, watching Our Beloved Newcastle United get utterly thrashed by Tottenham, who I guess had something to prove. Last week, England's football manager Fabio Capello resigned as coach over the John Terry Fiasco. I, for one, am sad to see him go. He had the highest win percentage of any England manager for a very, very long time, World Cup 2010 notwithstanding and had gone through 2011 undefeated. Anyway, Tottenham's manager, 'arry Redknapp has been tapped as England's next skipper, and I'm sure the Spurs, who are mounting their first serious campaign as league champions in a half-century aren't too keen on seeing him go. As much as I hated to see Newcastle get slaughtered, it was kinda sweet to hear the faithful chant their love for their coach at White Heart Lane to the tune of the Beach Boys' Sloop John B
We want you to stay!
We want you to stay!
We love you Harry Redknapp,
We want you to stay!'
Which is a lot more brotherly than Newcastle's take on the Sloop John B chorus, which is
'Get out of our club!
Get out of our club!
You fat Cockney bastard!
Get out of our club!'
The 'fat Cockney bastard' being none other than the owner, sports apparel magnate Mike Ashley.
Out of all the London teams, I only conceivably support two: Millwall and Tottenham. But I gotta admit, I do want to see 'Arry for England manager. I think he'd be good.
No matter, Newcastle gets slaughtered 5-0, but I'll watch the Winnipeg Jets instead. Nope. They get thrashed 8-5. Oh dear, and England plays World Cup runners-up Holland in two weeks with no manager. Let's talk about something else.
I made turkey noodle soup and bread rolls from scratch for dinner and for the second supper in a row, the boys inhaled it. I made shepherd's pie last time they were over, and Nick shocked me by devouring it. He had thirds for Chrissakes! And now he was wolfing down bowls of homemade soup and buns like there was no tomorrow. I could get used to this. I put Frankie to bed and me and Nick cuddled under a blanket and watched Kung Fu Panda. What can I say? He likes it, and it's a damn sight better than any of the Chipmunks movies he was obsessed with last year.
Sunday we went to my mom and dad's for supper. My dad is having an operation to cut out some kind of nasty abscess on his bum on Thursday, but he's hanging in there. There was a lot of tension in the house, and I could instinctively tell that dad has been drinking again. He'd been sober for the last five months, but he's back drinking, and apparently a lot. Probably stress from the upcoming surgery - dad does not do hospitals, doctors or surgery at all. Trouble is, if he's back on the bottle again, I don't think he'll make it another year. Alcohol has ravaged his body to the point where he's almost incapacitated. Sure enough, my mom told me he's started drinking again.
'I told him,' she said to me, barely keeping her composure 'that I'm not happy. And he asked if I wanted to leave, but where the hell am I going to go? I'm 70 and all my friends are scattered across Canada or in England. I don't know what to do.' I told her if she felt that strongly about it, why doesn't she move back to England? She said she'd been thinking a lot about it, but it'd kill dad if she left. And yeah, I can't argue that, it probably would kill him. I don't know what to tell her.
The ex comes to pick up the boys after another awesome visit and I head home to sleep like the dead, the way I usually do after the boys visit me. Now as I finish off this blog post, I realize it's Valentine's Day. It's liberating to be single on Valentine's Day. It used to suck, but man I'm feeling good right now. That may change the time next Valentine's Day rolls around but for right now, I feel like dancing. I would pick the Wilson Pickett version of this song, but Warner Music isn't in a sharing mood. No matter, Tina Turner can be my Valentine any day of the year :)
And no, the neighbour's daughter didn't wake me up this weekend at all. I'll give it a few more weeks, but hopefully the letter I wrote had an effect. Good night all...
- PW
No comments:
Post a Comment