We are on the second leg of our halfterm holiday in Norfolk. Husband's brother recently moved to Norwich which is only an hour from my sister's house, so this second car journey was supposed to be less painful than the first. Husband and I switch on the radio and relax into the gentle humour of Radio 4's "The News Quiz" while Daughter sings softly to something on her iPod and Small Boy kills things on my phone.
We have been driving all of five minutes before Daughter leans forward and pipes up:
"When were you last drunk, Mum?"
I know why she is asking me this. Before we left to go to Auntie C's we made the mistake of allowing the kids to watch an episode of "Blackadder" with us. We ill-advisedly let them choose the episode where Blackadder challenges Lord Melchit to a drinking competition. We had forgotten quite how unsuitable most of the content of that particular episode is for young children. I had thought at the time that there would be repercussions from the scene where Baldrick announces he has "a thingie shaped like a turnip", but it transpires that Daughter has been more impressed by the drunken loutishness.
"I, er - oh, it's been ages," I lie.
"What about you, Dad?" she persists.
Husband glances at me with a wry expression. "Years and years," he lies as well.
"So what does it feel like, being drunk?" Small Boy asks.
"Lovely at first," I say, seeing no point in lying about this. After all, what would be the point in pretending that getting drunk was horrible? The kids would only ask why people bother to do it if it's not a nice thing to do.
Husband frowns at me and I realise with panic that this is a topic on which we should probably have agreed our party line first.
"Only at first," he says, with emphasis. "It quickly makes you feel terrible. And you lose control of yourself very fast," he adds, raising his eyebrows at me, as though in warning.
Oh no, I think, my throat going dry. He's going to tell an awful story about me doing something stupid to illustrate the evils of drink.
Then I remember that, at one time in his dim and distant youth, after consuming a few pints, Husband was famous for announcing to a crowded room that he was a sugar cube. I snigger but decide to keep that story in reserve for future use.
"Anyway, you know what Ollie says," exclaims Small Boy.
"No," says Husband warily. "What does Ollie say?"
"Why drink and drive when you can take drugs and FLY!" Small Boy cries, waving his arms around to illustrate the wisdom of his friend's advice.
Daughter roars with laughter and Husband shakes with suppressed giggles.
The youth of today, I think despairingly. In my day we would have been much more interested in jokes about thingies shaped like turnips.
We have been driving all of five minutes before Daughter leans forward and pipes up:
"When were you last drunk, Mum?"
I know why she is asking me this. Before we left to go to Auntie C's we made the mistake of allowing the kids to watch an episode of "Blackadder" with us. We ill-advisedly let them choose the episode where Blackadder challenges Lord Melchit to a drinking competition. We had forgotten quite how unsuitable most of the content of that particular episode is for young children. I had thought at the time that there would be repercussions from the scene where Baldrick announces he has "a thingie shaped like a turnip", but it transpires that Daughter has been more impressed by the drunken loutishness.
"I, er - oh, it's been ages," I lie.
"What about you, Dad?" she persists.
Husband glances at me with a wry expression. "Years and years," he lies as well.
"So what does it feel like, being drunk?" Small Boy asks.
"Lovely at first," I say, seeing no point in lying about this. After all, what would be the point in pretending that getting drunk was horrible? The kids would only ask why people bother to do it if it's not a nice thing to do.
Husband frowns at me and I realise with panic that this is a topic on which we should probably have agreed our party line first.
"Only at first," he says, with emphasis. "It quickly makes you feel terrible. And you lose control of yourself very fast," he adds, raising his eyebrows at me, as though in warning.
Oh no, I think, my throat going dry. He's going to tell an awful story about me doing something stupid to illustrate the evils of drink.
Then I remember that, at one time in his dim and distant youth, after consuming a few pints, Husband was famous for announcing to a crowded room that he was a sugar cube. I snigger but decide to keep that story in reserve for future use.
"Anyway, you know what Ollie says," exclaims Small Boy.
"No," says Husband warily. "What does Ollie say?"
"Why drink and drive when you can take drugs and FLY!" Small Boy cries, waving his arms around to illustrate the wisdom of his friend's advice.
Daughter roars with laughter and Husband shakes with suppressed giggles.
The youth of today, I think despairingly. In my day we would have been much more interested in jokes about thingies shaped like turnips.
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