A couple of years ago we had been out in t’north. We don’t go out in the south often because once we have covered the babysitting cost we only have enough left for a cup of tea each and we normally have tea bags and water at home so it seems a bit pointless. But when staying in my parental home we tend to go out a fair bit as grandparents make excellent free childcare providers.
But because we don’t go out much myself and he who helped create them have become what it technically known as “lightweights”.
One glass of wine and I think my humour could rival any of the comedic greats; two glasses of wine and I am a comedic great, three glasses of wine and I am asleep face down in my dinner.
He who helped create them normally does better publically but still he doesn’t have the same staying power he had BC*.
But sometimes we both like to pretend we have still got the ability to party; and it was on such an evening that this story begins.
We had been out with my family and their friends. We had a severe disadvantage as living in the south means we just don’t have access to as much alcohol. I have known northerners who have poured tenants on their frosties and chased it down with a glass of vodka fused milk.
So we went out, we tried to keep pace, I faltered first and fell asleep in my chair with my wine in hand. He who helped create them bravely stepped up to the mark. Although southern by birth he showed the true grit of a northerner by consuming all that was slid down the bar to him. Hours later he was not the clearest linguistically but still he managed to put both himself and me to bed.
A couple of hours later I woke up with a head as sore as a teething bairns backside and a thirst strong enough to rival a blood deprived vampires. As I tried to lift my abused body from the bed I realised he who helped create them was also rising and watched as he silently planted two feet on the ground and left the bedroom.
I heard him pad towards the bathroom as sleep started to call me back to its lair. Then suddenly all my senses were rudely awoken by a booming northern voice calling…
“Nah, not there lad.”
Leaping out of bed, hangover momentarily forgotten, I managed to retrieve the father of my children from my own mother and farthers room which he had mistakenly identified as the bathroom and was just about to make a rather catastrophic error by using their bed as a toilet.
Dressing him as we hurriedly left the room I put him back on his correct journey and then he returned to bed, sat down, lifted up his feet, pulled up the duvet, laid down and began emitting tiny gentle snores.
He had slept through his adventure and had to be reminded the next day.
Needless to say we also don’t go out much in the north now either…
*BC: before children