It seems that temporarily the petrol panic has abated. I was lucky to find some on Friday night when I left work...few garages had any fuel and my motorbike was running on fumes. Madness, utter madness.
The week end finished as it started - swimming in vomit. Friday night, The Boy and The Cat were at a party. The Cat stayed over, The Boy was brought home by three mates in a 'bit of a state'. In fact, as he was helped through the front door, he loitered long enough, head in hands, only long enough for me to ask his friends if he was all right. In a case of mis-placed loyalty, two said yes he was fine, whilst the third said "I wouldn't say that". The Boy then dashed/staggered past the bathroom (?!) and on towards the kitchen sink to empty out his stomach. The noise churned my stomach too. A few more heaves and wretches over the next twenty minutes seemed to be sufficient for him to want to stagger upstairs to bed, complete with plastic bowl 'just in case'. As dutiful father I popped in a few times through the night to make sure everything was OK.
In the morning it transpired that he'd first thrown up in the garden of the house where th party was being held. As it's the home of one of his teachers (the daughter is a classmate) he was sent round with a bunch of flowers and a card.
I have to say that I don't approve of all the teenage drinking that goes on. Yes I know, we all got drunk when we were young, but alcohol wasn't as freely available as it is now. More particularly, there seems a greater desire to drink as much as possible irrespective of the consequences. Adults seem more tolerant of teenage excesses (I include myself in this), and little attempt to educate the young on why too much alcohol is not good. The Government is bringing in a minimum price for a unit of alcohol, and that's a step (however I suspect most of the alcohol for this party was bought by parents anyway), but the enormous leap that is needed is an educational one I think. Am I just being 'parental' about it?
I may have mentioned before that where we live is a culinary desert. There's plenty of chain restaurants (an evening at Pizza Express is still my idea of heaven), but gourmet food is unknown. Last year we had a new restaurant open. The chef was from a top London restaurant and you could tell...the food was scrumptious. Briefly. In the course of the year, the service has become diabolical and the food is now well below par. It's a shame, but must reflect demand I guess. Also last year, a pub in the forest re-opened as a gastro-pub. Now I don't know what your idea of a gastro pub is, but I doubt it's this...gaudy interior decor and food that is 'boil in the bag' rather than home prepared in a busy kitchen by chefs that love their job. It's a big step forward from the drug dealing and bikers pub that was there before, but is still struggling to move itself out of the 1970s. It was to there that we repaired for a friend's 50th birthday celebration on Saturday night. I enjoyed myself immensely. I've never had a waitress put black pepper on my pate before, nor French role that's been sliced and left in the sun to dry out. I even enjoyed the boil in a bag cod and bashed potato, although almost everyone on our table left most of it. The rhubarb crumble was interesting, as you could lift your plate through 90 degrees and it wouldn't slide off. The look of horror on our hostess's face when she saw that no one was touching the food was a picture to behold, but I don't think it stopped her enjoyment.
And on to Sunday...The Cat's Mother has come down with the vomiting bug that is doing the rounds at the moment. We tended to her every need (not hard as she wanted to be left alone with a glass of water as she repeated The Boy's Friday night performance). I was banished to the top floor guest bedroom as she doesn't want me catching it just before the Easter break...a nice thought, but I suspect that if I'm going to get it, I'm going to get it. I hope not as the noises coming out of the bathroom might well have come from Nightmare om Elm Street.
