30 8 / 2014
So when living at home with the parents, you would think the best bit would be when they’re going on their hols for a week. Finally, a week of pretending you have your own place.
I’ve been given more instructions than the British Army;
"Don’t let the tomatoes rot in the greenhouse."
"Give the dog his sardines once a week. One tin is for two meals."
"To put the heating on for an hour, press ‘boost’."
"Same if you need the hot water on."
"Don’t tumble dry your dad’s work trousers."
"Put the big bin out Tuesday and the recycling things."
"Keep an eye on the pond, if it drops, turn the fountain off."
"Don’t go hungry."
"Don’t touch the dvd player, I’m recording Corrie and Emmerdake."
"Make sure the dog has water."
"Don’t talk to strangers."
(I made that last one up but you get the drift.)
19 8 / 2014
Living at home, you have to deal with absurdities that are your parents’s actions.
For example, Dad getting rid of Mum’s typewriter she had when she was 16. But without asking… And choosing to keep the case “incase it came in handy.”
Seriously. Come in handy for what? Another typewriter, ye?
09 8 / 2014
A reason for living at home at 25 doesn’t suck.
Tonight I come home and the bulb in my room has blown. I say to Dad, ‘don’t worry about it, we can change it in the morning.’ (Royal we, may I add.) ‘I still have my bed side lamp.’
But dad insists. He’ll change it now.
So he changes the bulb. Flicks the switch and Oh bloody hell. I see the biggest spider I’ve seen in a long while climbing up my bed.
If I’d lived on my own, bulb changing would have waited till the morning and I would have uninvited company in bed (for some of you, it wouldn’t be for the first time).
I’m thankful for living at home tonight. For the time being.
30 7 / 2014
Receipts that you’ve screwed up and tossed in the bin, magically reappearing on your dresser.
Flattened out as much as possible.