I just had the best conversation:
Mum (to my dad): ‘Kate’s been naughty! She’s been watching sex films’
Kate responds (laughing): ‘It’s not a sex film, it’s a TV series with sex in it…’.
Mum: “You’re too young to be watching such things, I didn’t watch things like that at your age…”
Kate (now laughing and coughing because she’s finding this insanely funny): “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve had sex quite a few times now, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it”…
Mum (to dad): “Did you hear that?! What she’s saying…”
Dad: “Yes, and I can’t say I’m surprised…”
Mum: “It’s you who got me into this…”
At that point I had to close the computer and move it off my lap because I was laughing hard enough I thought I’d drop it.
My parents slay me sometimes……
Of course, now I’m having to endure the Archers. Well, actually, I’ve got my headphones on, I still hate the Archers. It’s just so… I dunno, so nothing. There’s just nothing. It just goes on and on and on, and it tries to suck you in like some pit of quicksand. So, rather than that, I’ll listen to the Zutons and other funky music for 15 minutes… All I can be thankful for is that the switch to the Archers being on 7 days a week happened after I’d moved away! I can’t really work with it on, my mum’s a bit deaf, and so it’s on very loud. Consequently my CD-Player is also on loud… God, I really am just still a teenager.
I knew I should have brought something more, well, less work related for me to do when I needed a break. If it was the summer I’d’ve gone out for a walk at around this time of night; if I was staying. But it’s dark and very cold, and quite icy. Still no bloody snow though!
One funny thing, there’s no photos of my bedroom with the roses on the wall. I know they got replaced with stripes pretty quickly (I still am not a pink / roses / person. Mind you, buy me flowers… I really like that :-) ). But then nor are there any photos of the final, nice (green), organisation of my bedroom. It’s kind of weird, because it was so much nicer… I dunno, I know how flaky my memory is and I don’t really want to forget my past. I know I find it very hard to connect with it, but I…I…I don’t want to forget it. It made me who I am. My past made me the person I am, so I don’t want to forget, or deny it.
I guess I’ll just have to rely on my memory. ‘s a shame, ‘cos my dad did so much with making special bookshelves, and we spent so long organising it; making it look nice. Painting the cupboards. I bet they got ripped out the instant we left. They changed everything else about the house; it was kind of sad when I went back, it didn’t look like our house, except the garden. I guess it’s moderately hard to get rid of a stepped garden…
It’s funny to think how transient the things we create are. I should think my little brick patch where we had a bench in the garden went fairly quickly, designed to look ancient and uneven; reusing old, found bricks, I should think that the terribly neat people who moved in chucked that. I wonder if the pond is still there with it’s rock-garden made from an old telephone operators desk. I’ve seen what a few years of leaving nature to control the destiny of buildings does; it’s incredible, and so I guess, all the things I did back in Hemel are probably gone by now.
I wonder how long it took them to find the hole in the carpet.
I should stop. I should work… Oh, I think we’re watching the film :-)
