This was me last night. That’s a needle in my mouth. A sewing needle. Because I WAS SEWING.
This happened because I went to bed sober. (Clarification: I consumed only half a bottle of wine which counts as a night on the wagon these days, ok?…OKAY??)
I was so sober and PRESENT IN THE MOMENT that I had to go to bed at 9 o’clock as Gwyneth and I were in danger of having a conversation. (Gwyneth = my regular arguing-partner, see Living with Budgety Gwyn).
The saddest thing about me mending clothes in bed at 9pm is that the last time I picked up a needle and thread, I didn’t need glasses to see them. It was 1995 and I was sewing up the split in the bum of my PVC trousers…
As I sat there, marvelling at my incredible ability to remember how to sew after all these years, I was suddenly decked by the realisation that I have not taught my 17yr old how to sew.
In fact I haven’t taught her ANYTHING USEFUL AT ALL except for how to engage in bitchy gossip, how to pour wine and how to somehow sustain a relationship with a husband who routinely greets my appearance in a new outfit by saying ‘who have you come as?’
You need to STEP THE FUCK UP HERE, I told myself. Your youngest child can’t even ride a bike yet because you keep forgetting and why haven’t you sorted swimming lessons for him? He’s going to drown TOMORROW. The only reason he can finally wipe his own arse is because he’s recently taken to having a shit at 8.30pm which is slap-bang in the middle of your dinner/wine/box-set-time and you are such a massive TURD OF A PARENT that you can’t be bothered to move.
And what about that parenting highlight when your daughter (then aged 8) asked what a grown-up baby-making hole looked like? And you SHOWED HER YOUR ACTUAL VAGINA, your GARGANTUAN HAIRY MINGE…and then had to spend weeks reassuring her: oh yours will NEVER look like that my darling, I promise…you will have a lovely vagina…
You are a RIDICULOUS SHAM of a mother. Your children will be hopeless, pitiful, needy drains on society who will forever whine and claw for assistance because their parents were too busy drinking wine and watching Wallander (have you seen the last series? Ken is sublime…) to be bothered with teaching them any essential life-skills and you have concrete evidence for this because just this very evening your daughter expressed a desire to follow in her father’s footsteps and take up running and approached him for warm-up tips but he was, at that moment, heavily ensconsed in a hilarious video on facebook and so palmed her off with the advice: ‘Google it’, which is what you always say when your kids ask you something you don’t know the answer to or can’t be arsed to think about and yes, it IS exhausting living with two creatures who are in a permanent state of enquiry but would you prefer them to take no interest in the world around them and become withdrawn and inward-looking and afraid of change and even…oh dear God…a UKIP supporter?
This is why going to bed sober is a mistake.
Fearne Cotton says she hasn’t been drunk for two years. That’s why she’s cooking the shit out of a pack of quinoa all night.
Tonight I will slide (stagger) into slumber, my mind blissfully quietened by an entirely acceptable (not by NHS standards obvs) volume of alcohol, safe in the knowledge that both my kids are…(hiccup)…insanely LOVED and…(burp)…thasssall y’need really…iznit…zzzz…alluneedizluv…ba-ba-baba-baaaaa….luvizalluneed…zzzz
See you Monday guys…