It's been a weekend of boys own stuff for us....
...in recognition of the end of summer (well it was hard to know when it started, so we've been holding on for sure recognition that it's come to an end) we put the hard top on the car. You probably won't recall, that earlier this summer we put the soft-top on. It was traumatic as I explained here May be I should have encouraged the boy to have had a healthier interest in Lego/Meccano/Airfix, but he's never shown any inclination. I think our car-building (re-building?) skills have improved, because it took us just 45 minutes to do. And we now have a roof that's good enough to keep out the Cumbrian gales. Not that we live in Cumbria, and that's fortunate at the moment.
We also managed a lot of sex this weekend. Perhaps I should re-phrase that.
Friday night saw us at Tate Modern, recalling the years when we used to live round the corner and used it as our local cafe. We wanted to see the black box...and indeed we did. But it was disapoointingly not that black really. So my suggestion to Nicholas Serota is to TURN THE LIGHTS DOWN. So we went upsatirs to see the Pop Life exhibition. Three rooms were given over to adult material, so the boy had to walk around with hands clasped firmly over his eyes. From my perspective, I've got nothing against pornography, but Mr Koons really you having sex with an italian blond is not in anyway erotic, nor is it art in anyway, sense or shape. It said nothing to me.
As the boy missed out on sex at the Tate, we went to see Breakfast at Tiffany's on Saturday (obv). All I can say is that most of the audience clearly thought they were still watching Brookside. Many arrived late, chatted through the first ten minutes and continued rustling their sweet packets throughtout the first and second halves. Nor did they laugh at any of the humourous bits....although given the quality of the acting it may be that more than just the man sitting behind me who had fallen asleep. Ms Friel did indeed appear naked as promised, so I hope that was a treat for the boy; she's certainly pert.
And on Sunday a return to yet more manly pursuits...cycling in freezing wind-blown rain. Afterwards we climbed into the car soaked through; frozen through and worn out.
Roll on a quiet weekend.