Bath night

Currently sitting in bed, with the laptop, blissfully enjoying its trapped bumblebee buzzes and clicks as it boots up in relative silence. This silence is broken only by the occasional thumping of B running about elsewhere in the house, or G’s slightly muffled bashing of some carcinogenic lump of brightly coloured plastic. It’s my turn for a lie-in.

I think H and I are on poor terms this morning but am unsure why.  We recently had Virgin’s V+ service installed, so that we can now retire to separate rooms and watch cable television. This is a novel concept for me, although episodes of The Simpsons would suggest it’s a set-up that’s par for the course in the US.  It does not work well for a united marriage. Why sit on the couch in the living room watching some action-packed compromise when I can retire to the bedroom to catch up with The Thick of It and miss not one syllable of Malcolm’s balletic tirades of abuse?  On reflection however, obtaining the required solitude for this by telling H I was off for a bath (mother’s sole retreat) may have been unfair. Given the lack of condensation and wet towels strewn about which usually accompany my soaks, he soon realised the bath had been a ruse and may well have taken this as a snub. 

But honestly, just for once I wanted to be alone….and dry. 

 

 

 

 

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