Non-stop Abuse

Well, what does one expect when one entertains the son and daughter to supper? Actually the Royal Oak at Hooksway isn’t the brightest venue on a Tuesday night (two other diners, and one local who supped his pint and fled on our arrival), so you can understand a little teasing.

Having reserved a table earlier in the evening, the daughter (careful now – she is about the only reader of this blog) decided that we shouldn’t leave the village and eat in the nearest pub. This would mean no driving and anyway she had already been there and had a few before coming to the house.

And why do people get so uptight about hats and shoes? The son told me off for wearing my flat hat (in the house). Conversation during the meal seemed to orbit around shoes – the wife’s “dyke-boots”, the daughter’s “ski-boots”, and the son’s “pixie-toed slip-ons” which he insisted were Prada as if that justified the upturned toes.

And why do people get so upset with the quality of my driving? I am a Jeep-owner after all, and the fact that I don’t thank other drivers for their occasional courtesy (which I should) is down to incompetence rather than bad manners.

And what about that shop? Life is seriously crazy on the work-front as I try to take on the functions of several people. The wife is earning huge star ratings for helping out in this time of crisis. Inevitably business is trying to pick up in a major way at a time when there is no-one else to help. I seem to be working around the clock just to keep up with half of the workload.

Grumble, grumble. Must retire soon…