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My teetotal mother tries porter

  Sun 28th December 2014

Drinking three pints of Yorkshire Porter at 7%, followed by a pint of Katy cider at 7.4% was possibly not the most inspired decision when going on a day out with the extended family, none of whom drink. It's a fine beer though, from North Yorkshire Brewery in Guisborough, and it's organic, which means you can drink a gallon of it and still be charming, intelligent and gentlemanly.

Mum wanted to buy us all Christmas dinner at Wethers in Middlesbrough. The Tightly-Clad Ski Resort Hostesses were there, the daughters of what appears to be my mum's only close friend (but then, how many do you need?) -- seated at a safe distance from any drunken flirting of mine dressed up as an interest in chalet life in Crans-Montana. My mum, to my astonishment, asked to try my porter. She sucked a tiny amount up through a straw and puckered her face with wincing distaste. Then, to compound my surprise, my brother made the same request, but reported more favourably, saying "that's not bad."

I couldn't eat more than a fraction of the food, and went across the road to Boots where, after waiting a while at an unattended till, I went behind it and pinched some carrier bags, and shovelled most of my dinner into one, to be fried up later as bubble and squeak. We went back to my mum's house where everyone's merriment concealed my tipsiness. I hope. My sister had bought a lime green gimp suit in a charity shop, and we both zipped it on. I wondered about its history.

Trina drove us back, saying what a nice family I have. We're poor, we've got to be nice; it's the only currency we've got. There's no-one at my house at the moment, so we put a coal fire in, prepared a nutritious, balanced meal of wine, Bombay mix and amphetamine sulphate, and boogied around to some house music from bookface. We went separately to bed, but she came into my room in the morning. Reader, I fucked her. I wish I could stop doing this. It muddies the waters and gives her hope.


As usual I spent Christmas with Kirsty and the girls at theirs. Things started unravelling a bit on Boxing Day, with Melanie's new record player packing up, Fiona's bike having problems with the mudguards and its gears, and Kirsty being iller than I've seen her for many years. I don't like encouraging Boxing Day opening but I went down Sainsbury's and bought another bottle of port on the pretence of fetching her some more Lemsips. I'd managed to drink a bottle a day, so the two that were supposed to get us through Christmas had gone.

The greeting in the Christmas card I sent to Donna descended into filth despite my half-hearted efforts. She texted me saying that she can't display it, but will keep it. I texted back: "Sorry Donna, I'll make them more decent in future. Thank you for sprinkling a sexy bit of stardust over a few weeks in 2014. I cannot put into words how I loved the way you made me feel -- and feeling you was pretty good too! All the best for 2015 XXX"

In the same spirit -- or fortified wine -- I texted Kim. "With the disinhibiting effects of Christmas and a bottle of port... I love you my darling [pet name]. I am very fond of you as sonnead [sic] I wish were nearer, but that regardless I am glad that you are in my life Xxx." She texted a lovely reply.


I misunderstood when Morgane wanted to look at the room. She emailed to confirm that she was coming around on Christmas Eve. Fuck. I swept and tidied as much as one can with a sow's ear of a house and creaked the central heating into its first action since everyone moved out last week. She's bright and lively, and shares one of her mother's outstanding characteristics.

In the bathroom, she said "Erm... where do we put things?" That threw me a bit. There's a low chest of drawers and a couple of small shelves, but I suppose women need half an acre of shelf space for their bathroomy paraphernalia. She asked for some "baskets". If any woman reading this might be able to help me out to understand what kind of "basket" you put in a bathroom, or what purpose it might serve, I'd be most grateful.

8 comments

Comment from: [Member]

I’m terribly sorry, Suzy and smallbeds – I forgot to acknowledge your comments on the last post. Thanks both for your good wishes. The worst of the immediate financial pressure has gone but in the medium / long term, I don’t want to continue with this arrangement.

All the best to you all, Suzy and J and J-P and K, for the New Year.

Mon 29th December 2014 @ 10:01

Oh, it’s ORGANIC, is it? Well, then, by all means, carry on. If I drank that much I’d require hospitalization. I actually wish that weren’t the case. It tends to make me feel out of step with polite society.

Who drinks porter through a straw? She was asking for it.

Good lord, what is a GIMP suit. My mind races. It sounds like a marital aid. You should ask your sister if your tipsiness was properly concealed.

And you’ll fuck her again. You might just as well wish you could stop the ocean from meeting the shore. You can’t stop biology.

Are you ready for your January drying-out?

My wife, and now, 13-year old, stock the linen closet with all manner of lady-things. They come cascading down when I open the door. I live in a hen house.

Happy new year. Still the best blog on the block.

Mon 29th December 2014 @ 12:19
Comment from: Suzy Southwold [Visitor]

Bathroom baskets - you either get a set of raffia-y drawers from Argos for about £20, which will rapidly mould in the damp atmosphere, or open plastic rectangular baskets from Poundworld if you’ ve got any sense. Sorry, on behalf of women - we use a lot of Stuff!

Talking of damp atmospheres, my Christmas was shite - rowed with my Dad Xmas Eve, my sister Xmas Day, and have spent the last 24 hours in the bathroom having caught norovirus off the baby, who projectile-vomited throughout the “festivities".

Mon 29th December 2014 @ 12:25
Comment from: [Member]

Exile: Thank you, you’re very kind.

I often feel out of sync with polite society :) But fortunately I move in the semi-secret society of heavy but functioning drinkers so there’s no shame between us.

Gimp suits – this might explain. My sister’s was thinner and lime green and a bit less BDSMy.

I think the plan is to go sober during February. It’s shorter and there’s a couple of important social occasions in January.

Trina suggested that by “baskets” she meant those suspended tiered baskets about 8 inches across. Oh dear, this is going to be an education into feminine mysteries!

Mon 29th December 2014 @ 12:31
Comment from: [Member]

Thanks Suzy – yes the plastic poundland tat sounds more my area!

Sorry to hear about your lergy. Rowing in December? I didn’t have you down as that hardy, to be honest. I’ve got a wedding this afternoon and have a bit of the lergy lurking in the background so it’ll be canapes and Lemsips this afternoon. All the best to you and get well soon X

Mon 29th December 2014 @ 12:41
Comment from: gossamerbeynon [Visitor]

I’m with Suzy on the baskets, go to pound land, they’ll have a whole load to choose from I expect.
I’m not sure why we ( women) have so much bathroomy stuff when soap and water ( almost) suffices.
My Dad has had gout this Christmas,an ailment I hope never comes your way as he was a right pain in the arse along with the excruciating pain in his foot.
Hope you have a great NYE, and everything you wish for in 2015!
xxx

Tue 30th December 2014 @ 12:52
Comment from: [Member]

I was convinced I had gout a couple of years ago so went to the doc, but apparently it’s arthritis. She said it wasm’t gout because I wasn’t in enough pain. So I can sort of imagine how bad it must have been for your Dad and those around him.

All the various potions and lotions women have – 95% of the ingredients of them are the same. But I suppose it keeps people in work.

We’ll do our best to have a good one tomorrow night – been draping the fairy lights around the tinsel this evening.

Wed 31st December 2014 @ 00:57
Comment from: [Member]

The ladies here seem to have explained the baskets situation. Another option (to further confound you) is the ‘carrier basket’ – used in university dormitory situations, she could assemble all of her toiletry items into a small plastic carrier, and just bring it in with her as needed. Or not. If she’s paying rent, best to find her some semi-permanent space. Best option? Ask her what the hell she means!

“We’re poor, we’ve got to be nice; it’s the only currency we’ve got.” There’s a dark truth in this. Perhaps more of us should be poorer?

Sat 3rd January 2015 @ 16:12


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