The Aged Ps have been on the phone in stereo rather a lot this holiday. They seem to think that because the children are on holiday I must be too, and that that will mean I will be standing by the phone at all hours, just waiting for the latest update on their health, holiday plans, latest purchases and trips to Tunbridge Wells, the one-way traffic system, speed bumps, Waitrose versus Sainsbury's, and exactly what they think about Ken Livingstone.
Today's call is typical of the kind of thing I have sat and listened to over the past three weeks.
"It's me," says Mother. "How are you?"
"Oh, well I've got a bit of a cold actually--"
"Really. Well, y'father and I are feeling a bit under the weather, so we thought we'd go and buy ourselves something to cheer us up," says Mother.
"That's nice," I say, cracking open a fresh crate of gin. (It's only ten thirty, but needs must.)
"Yes," says Dad. "So we bought a book called '50 People Who Buggered Up Britain' by Quentin Letts."
"That sounds, er, edifying?" I offer.
"It missed out a few people though," says Dad.
"Well, it would have done, wouldn't it?" says Mother. "There are only 50 people in the book, and we know there are more than 50 people who have buggered up Britain, so--"
"Hello!" I shout. "I am still here!"
"Who's that?" says Mother.
"Me, your daughter?" I say. "You phoned me."
"Did we?" asks Dad. "That's funny. I thought I was talking to y'mother."
"And I thought I was talking to y'father," says Mother.
"You were, but-- nevermind," I say. "So, what have you been up to - other than reading about people buggering up Britain?"
"Well, for a start we've not been sleeping," says Mother.
"You've been sleeping," says Dad.
"No, I haven't," says Mother.
"Yes, you have. I heard you snoring," says Dad.
"Well that wasn't me," says Mother.
"HELLO!" I try again.
"Who's that?"
"Well, it's been lovely talking to you both," I say, "but I must get on."
"Why?" says Mother. "I thought you were on holiday. I haven't told you what I think of Ken Livingstone yet."
"He should be number 51!" chortles Dad.
"He should bloody well be number 1!" scoffs Mother.
"And what about that ghastly Tony Blair?" chips in Dad.
"Bye then!" I whisper, and put the phone down.
Today's call is typical of the kind of thing I have sat and listened to over the past three weeks.
"It's me," says Mother. "How are you?"
"Oh, well I've got a bit of a cold actually--"
"Really. Well, y'father and I are feeling a bit under the weather, so we thought we'd go and buy ourselves something to cheer us up," says Mother.
"That's nice," I say, cracking open a fresh crate of gin. (It's only ten thirty, but needs must.)
"Yes," says Dad. "So we bought a book called '50 People Who Buggered Up Britain' by Quentin Letts."
"That sounds, er, edifying?" I offer.
"It missed out a few people though," says Dad.
"Well, it would have done, wouldn't it?" says Mother. "There are only 50 people in the book, and we know there are more than 50 people who have buggered up Britain, so--"
"Hello!" I shout. "I am still here!"
"Who's that?" says Mother.
"Me, your daughter?" I say. "You phoned me."
"Did we?" asks Dad. "That's funny. I thought I was talking to y'mother."
"And I thought I was talking to y'father," says Mother.
"You were, but-- nevermind," I say. "So, what have you been up to - other than reading about people buggering up Britain?"
"Well, for a start we've not been sleeping," says Mother.
"You've been sleeping," says Dad.
"No, I haven't," says Mother.
"Yes, you have. I heard you snoring," says Dad.
"Well that wasn't me," says Mother.
"HELLO!" I try again.
"Who's that?"
"Well, it's been lovely talking to you both," I say, "but I must get on."
"Why?" says Mother. "I thought you were on holiday. I haven't told you what I think of Ken Livingstone yet."
"He should be number 51!" chortles Dad.
"He should bloody well be number 1!" scoffs Mother.
"And what about that ghastly Tony Blair?" chips in Dad.
"Bye then!" I whisper, and put the phone down.
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