There’s nothing quite like the sound of what might be a river outside your window to add a certain frisson to the decision to open your eyes in the morning. Half-buried under duvet and a small mountain of soft toys, that was my first conscious sensory input this morning.
The knowledge that it was an Inset Day, and that lady s and I wouldn’t have to do battle with the cub to go out in that weather arrived soon after. It didn’t stop me opening my eyes to check that there wasn’t actually a river flowing down the wall. As it turned out, the auditory confusion was coming from driving rain against the window panes and sill, a fast flowing drainage overflow pipe, and some kind of outlet releasing steam from somewhere.
Content that the room wasn’t about to flood, I’ll admit I did then turn over and do my best to burrow back into the nearest pillow and snuggle for a little while longer. There are worse ways to start a day, even if you know you’ll be spending the rest of it on the train home.
Neither of us wanted to get up, even though daylight and pre-booked train tickets wait for no one – but I was at least already dressed when the cub burst in wanting morning cuddles. I was honoured with at least ten seconds of enthusiastic cuddles before he bounced off in search of breakfast, a charger, and his Switch (more or less in that order). He is never that bouncy on a school day. To be fair, neither am I.
So we all know that Dad Jokes are a thing: they’re bad, usually quite laboured and pun based – often deemed to be far more funny by the teller than those who hear it. There’s no escaping them.
Lady S takes that ideal and runs with it to make Mum Jokes that make us groan and her cub shake his head in despair. For Lady S, a good indicator of how awful and therefore successful her Mum Joke has been is if she can elicit a muttered “For Fuck’s Sake” from me.
When that happens, her whole face lights up, as a grin widens and her eyes twinkle. She knows that either Unit Lady M will try and retaliate with something even worse.
There is always a logic to it. She has a methodology that her spectrum-brain has adopted where she starts with the punchline in her head and constructs it backwards before releasing it into the wild. Sometimes the torturous logic prompts us to challenge her and ask if the punchline came first – and there’s always a slightly goofy chuckle as confirmation.
My weird and wonderful wanderings are proving fun for providing little insights and moments that make me pause to reflect – and this weekend has been no exception.
That’s not because it was the first weekend away I’ve spent over at Lady S’ without Lady M, or how I ended up at a social event on a naturist beach, but because of a brief conversation post-breakfast on Monday.
Lady S had flicked on the TV to have something on while we had caffeine, and food went down ahead of my journey home – and she saw that the series finale of Westworld was available.
We both looked at each other, and then I said “No, if I tell Jo I’ve seen that before she gets back from her conference I’ll never hear the end of it”
So we didn’t.
I watched the show with Lady M last night once she’d stopped spinning round the flat in excitement and glee at how inspiring and helpful her conference had been, and we’ve been sharing our gossip and theories and reactions to the show on our group chat ever since.
This amuses me perhaps far more than it warrants.