Sleepy

This is going to be one of those diary entries which is doomed never to go anywhere due to the disgraceful intoxication of the author.

If anybody was expecting philosophy, social comment or even a sensible account of the day’s events then they are going to be disappointed and had better have another go tomorrow. I am stuffed full of nice wine and rich dinner, and my complacent recollections of the day have fuddled into a soft velvet fog.

Number One Daughter has been to visit.

We have had a lovely, amiable, friendly evening, with our long-absent daughters being a cheering, youthful presence at the dinner table.

We had started the day rather early, by our not-terribly-early standards, mostly because of Numbers One and Two Daughters creeping in at the back door and bashing about on the stairs, and giggling and making the dogs bark. Then they went off out for the day, and we milled about in our dressing gowns for a while, feeling a bit sleepy and bemused, until eventually we got ourselves organised and went to work.

It was an unexpectedly encouraging Sunday afternoon when lots of people wanted to get in taxis, which was ace, because of the underwear, the trousers, the glue and the holiday, and we packed it up at teatime when everybody went home to Wigan and similar, and then dashed back home to prepare dinner for the soon-to-arrive back daughters and tidy stray shoes away, and make sure we hadn’t left discarded underwear in corners of the bathroom, and other visitor preparation activities.

When they eventually bounded energetically through the door dinner wasn’t quite ready, so I poured some wine, and then  accidentally drank several glasses whilst I was waiting for the oven.

After that I was so sleepy I even forgot to notice if dinner was nice.

Sleepy is one of those euphemism expressions. Actually I think the correct word is drunk.

It was lovely to see them both and listen to them squabbling.

It was lovely to have dinner together.

We had Chinese rice and raspberry mousse and some wheat-free cakes, on account of Number One Daughter doing too much exercise to have any digestive capacity left.

Mark and I sat sleepily at the corners of the table and listened to them talking and felt happy and proud of them.

We ate dinner and listened to their stories and thought that they have some very thrilling adventures, certainly from the perspective of people who drive taxis in a small country town for their living and think that an Elton John concert is an amazing event worthy of three days discussion.

Number Two Daughter has gone to bed and Number One Daughter, who is far too holistic and wellPerson-sensible to drink, has driven off to find Ritalin Boy, whom she left with his Other Grandma, because she knows from her own youthful experiences that I do drink, probably far too much, and am a hopeless babysitter even when sober.

I have had a lovely evening, am far too sleepy and mildly merry to write much.

Ah well, try again tomorrow…