A lifestyle blog from a forty-something mum

Showing posts with label Accommodation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Accommodation. Show all posts

Friday, 10 July 2015

A Cautionary Tale for the Uninitiated - Part Two

Earlier this week I blogged about moving our daughter and a friend out of student digs and into our holiday apartment for the week. You can read this here if you missed it.

Part two picks up exactly where I left off...

Unable to locate C after lunch, I ask Olivia about food preferences, 'Oh, it's OK,' she says, 'C eats everything.' I hastily scribble a list and leave for the supermarket, plotting a Moroccan mezze themed dinner, followed by strawberries and cream.

After serving dinner, it turns out that C isn't fussed on Moroccan.

And I've since discovered that C eats everything apart from... cereal, apple pie, yogurt, bananas, lemon meringue, Moroccan (obviously) and anything that's spicy. I have no problem with any of it, I only wish she'd enlighten me when I ask as I don't want the poor girl to starve.

On Tuesday, as their former landlady requests they return to finish tidying up the house, Mr A and myself let out a silent whoop of joy and escape for the entire day. By the time we arrive home, the girls are dozing after a 'hectic' day and we've run out of milk, biscuits and orange juice.

We also discover that the Pimms has been drained, a bag of chocolates with two choccies left and a pretzel packet discarded on the coffee table - sans pretzels.
  
Now I hadn't seen a single episode of  The Big Bang Theory before last week and to be fair, under normal circumstances I'd have found it mildly amusing. After the umpteenth box set and multiple hints that other television programs were available however, my humour was starting to wane. 'Isn't Celebrity MasterChef on tonight?' I said hopefully on Thursday evening. 'No, I don't think so,' said my daughter. It was just as well we had company. My hormones had created a mix of murderous thoughts and the tide was in, so there was no escape to the beach.

Instead, I open a bottle of wine, down a single glass and return for a second, only to discover that the girls have polished it off. There is no more wine. I snarl (inwardly) and disappear into the bedroom with a book.

We'd hoped that the girls would want to sample the nightlife and venture out alone some of the time. Not so. As luck would have it, the days are so long at this time of year that Mr A and myself peek out of the window late evening and escape to the beach if the tide is out, or make the short walk into town in search of a bar and solitude. This backfires as C and Olivia can get ready like lightning whenever they feel like it and insist on keeping us company. And though we enjoyed their company, the restaurant and bar bills are greeted with gasps and warrant frequent use of the credit card.

After requesting that Olivia email her new landlord as I was hyperventilating at the thought of moving the pair of them out of our accommodation and into new digs before 10 am on Saturday, I am treated to one of those looks that says, 'Yes, I acknowledge what you've said, but as I don't want to do it, I'm going to ignore you.' Naturally it's me that caves and trawls through the ocean of emails to locate the landlord's details. I fire off a quick message and am delighted with a speedy response. The girls' stuff is dropped off late on Friday afternoon and I'd have dished out another hug, but he didn't look the type to have appreciated it and his wife was up to her eyes with the cleaning.
 
On Saturday morning after moving out of the apartment and delivering the girls to their new home, we sneak into the local gin palace like a couple of fugitives. We briefly consider downing one of the 57 varieties available before coming to our senses and the reality of the 250 mile schlep all the way home. We settle for pots of tea and treacle tart and promise that next time around we're going to try quite a few.



Until next time...

Copyright©2015 Izzie Anderton














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Saturday, 8 March 2014

Bamboozled Again!

Today's blog was going to be an intellectual one, but my mind was bamboozled by a couple of conversations I've had recently with my children and this is what I've written instead...

I have been decidedly hands-off with both daughters since they left for uni. We Skype regularly and if there's a minor problem I'll say something like this, "Oh that's dreadful, what are you going to do?" I then eagerly await their answer, while trying not to giggle and offer advice if they need any.

Occasionally however, my Mum-gene resets itself and I'll wake during the night filled with fear, thinking random thoughts about things they're bound to have forgotten. Eg. Olivia still hasn't sorted out accommodation for next year; why is this bugging me exactly? She isn't worried about it in the slightest and I've been banned from bringing it up in any conversation. I am positively freaking out about this and trying to think ahead. Does anyone have a tent she can borrow if it all goes horribly wrong?

Next weekend, she will either heading home from university or going to France. During a recent chat with her, I mentioned that she might want to let me know as soon as possible. Unimpressed by my nosiness she asked simply, "Why?" And my answer, "Because I have your passport."

I guess that I have only myself to blame for this. When the girls were growing up I had a demanding job, Mr A worked long hours and we were caught up in a whirlwind of extracurricular activities (ballet, Japanese and rowing) and domestic bliss chaos. There was very little time off for anything and it was always easier to get on with the chores, rather than listen to a never-ending list of excuses from my daughters. To be fair they've always done the dishes, while homework and the aforementioned activities seemed to consume the rest of their time.

I have spoken to Sophia via Skype just this morning, she has eaten toast and peanuts for breakfast and had been out clubbing last night. To be fair she looked remarkably well. We had exactly the same conversation that we've been having for the past month now, about a reference that has gone AWOL in the uni postal system. I have learnt from experience that approximately half of all mail goes the same way and that anything of importance has to be sent via recorded delivery. Having wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and hum quietly to myself, I insisted that she actually call the person in question and ask politely if she could have another copy, which I'm only too happy to collect, upload, email and send via recorded delivery. Please can we not have the same conversation again next week!

Having said all of the above, I am so looking forward to having the pair of them home for the holidays. I know that my brain will be even more scrambled than normal, as I'll be thinking for three and second-guessing all that is going on, but I miss being a Mum and love my daughters more than they'll ever know.


Copyright©2014 Izzie Anderton





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