View through my window

March 23, 2006

You can't choose your family...

" .... so anyway, dear, we'll be passing through on Wednesday afternoon and we thought it would be a lovely opportunity to drop in and see you and the little ones."

"Of course, Aunt, do drop in. Come for a cup of tea."

"We know you haven't got room to put us up ...[did I detect a faint disapproving tone?] ... and it's too far to get back to London so I think we'll book a hotel somewhere near you ..."

"In that case [grit teeth], come for dinner, do."

"How lovely of you. Yes, perhaps we will."

Bugger, I thought. The LOML's not going to like it.


"What have you done now?"

"Ummm. Mum's sister is, uh, passing on Wednesday ... they want to come and see the kids. I've, uh, invited them for dinner. "


"I've, uh, asked them to stay for something to eat. I couldn't avoid it really."


Mmmmmm. Mum's older, more critical, more I'm-right-and-you're-wrong, more patronising sister. And her vague, crass husband. Coming to visit the yokel branch of the family. I need reinforcements.

"Can you ask your Mum and Dad to come? Just to, like, spread the load?"

A phone call later: "Mum and Dad will come. But they say you owe them one."

Free posh dinner and I owe them one?

Aunt and Uncle duly arrived last evening, an hour late. No apology. They brought as a gift a large lump of Welsh lamb. Riiight. We managed the small talk, I smiled through being told how to look after my children, looked interested on how better to spend my leisure time, murmured vague agreement on being told I was too old to play rugby.

The LOML cooked a spectacular meal: baked ham in mustard, orange and Coca-cola. [Try it]. Potatoes, broad beans, orange sauce. Vague approval.

Properly briefed, the LOML's Mum and Dad started making yawny it's-time-we-were-going noises at about half eight. Goodbyes were said, coats fetched. Aunt and Uncle came back in. We stayed standing up, near the door, expectant.

They sat down again.

They didn't leave until quarter to eleven.

I have to be honest, here, as I said to myself I wouldn't make anything up on this blog. While all the above is technically true, I have changed the emphasis for comic effect. The evening was actually surprisingly quite pleasant, the conversation didn't really come to an awkward halt at any point and no-one bickered about anything, and my aunt didn't bring up any of my embarrassing teenage excesses in front of my in-laws. And she knows I like lamb. And I bet it was expensive.


  • oh come on now, everybody makes things up on their blogs.

    i'm really a forty year old management consultant called clive. i'm happily married with three small children and my parents live in married bliss in rural berkshire.

    By Blogger surly girl, at 3:21 pm  

  • .... and I'm a 13 year old ghetto girl called La'Ayeesha. How'm ah doin' at ma Lit-ra-see pro-ject, dog?

    By Blogger crisiswhatcrisis, at 3:47 pm  

  • But darling Surly, you promisd me and the kids that you wouldn't tell.

    By Blogger the Beep, at 5:44 pm  

  • I've been lurking a bit and thought I'd say hi...just to be polite.

    My son did the ham/coca cola roast for us recently and it is amazing.
    I'm sorry though, I can't immediately remember who I really am.

    By Blogger mig bardsley, at 12:45 am  

  • Hi Mig. Or whoever you are today.

    By Blogger crisiswhatcrisis, at 9:26 am  

  • Its your blog and you can write what you want. Good post i enjoyed it.

    By Anonymous Growing Up, at 12:29 pm  

  • Growing up: welcome, thanks, and you're right: I can, and indeed will.

    By Blogger crisiswhatcrisis, at 1:32 pm  

  • so when are you going to write some more then. . .

    I even had to recalculate the big day from the last post with a countdown date on it, just in case your scary number was up and your blog was too - but seems not to be until sometime in April?

    hope you're enjoying yourself in your absence (or working really really hard)

    *twiddles thumbs and wonders what to do next*

    By Blogger don't chase it, at 4:31 pm  

  • Mmmmm. I just have. Not that it's worth reading really. 35 days now.

    By Blogger crisiswhatcrisis, at 6:32 pm  

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