…To Be A Dad.

"Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a Dad." ~Author Unknown

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A cautionary tale

February 4th, 2009 · No Comments · alcohol, heaton moor, politics

It was a Friday evening in winter. I shall be no more specific than that. Hayley went out for a few drinks with some friends, many of them fellow Mums from our area. All went well during the evening, though she noticed that one of their party, we’ll call her Alex, seemed a bit tipsy even at the start of the evening.

Some time after the bars closed they went back to another friend’s house. We’ll call her Jan. By this point Alex is out of it, sitting on the floor, slumped over the sofa. Worried about her, Hayley says she will take her home in the taxi she has just ordered for herself and Sara. Jan tells her Alex’s address. Hayley and Sara bundle Alex into the cab and off they go.

On arriving at Alex’s house there is no answer. Hayley knocks loudly. Then, feeling sure Alex’s husband is home, shouts through the letter box. After a few further shouts, the taxi driver suggests that perhaps enough is enough and that if she doesn’t desist the police are more likely to appear than Alex’s husband.

And so it was that at approximately 2.15am I was woken by strange noises coming from downstairs. These turned out to be Hayley, Sara and the taxi driver carrying Alex into the house and onto our sofa. I tried to go back to sleep but Alex’s snoring was so loud, even through the floor, that I gave up and came downstairs to see the spectacle. Some time later Sara left and Hayley and I to headed off to bed leaving Alex snoring.

In the morning I got up with the kids and loitered a while upstairs in the hope our visitor might be gone by the time the kids came downstairs. But it wasn’t to be. So Alex was woken by two inquisitive little faces at about 8am. She handled it all remarkably well and was up and playing with them in no time. I got her a cup of tea and some toast, by which time Hayley had joined us.

We recounted the previous evening’s events to her, enjoying the unique and sinful pleasure of telling someone what they did when too drunk to recall anything the next day. We got to the bit about shouting through her letter box.

Alex: “What number house did you go to?”
Hayley: “Number 6. Jan told us which it was.”
Pause.
Alex: “We live at number 3.”
Me (laughing): “Did you get on with the people at number 6 before last night?!”
Pause.
Alex: “Number 6 is the home of your Member of Parliament.”

Oh dear.

I’m sure she couldn’t have been in. She’s a busy MP. She’ll have got the train back on Saturday morning…. Except that in reality she is normally back on Friday.

Oops.

I’m sure you aren’t reading this Ann, but if you are, we all apologise humbly for any additional stress we may have caused. (Oh and thanks for the reply about Gaza.)

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