On Sunday evening Robbie, my son and I were sitting in the lounge, they were watching something boring on television and I was chatting to someone on the internet. The adverts came on and I commented on one which really annoys me. Rather than making me want to buy their products it makes me want to shop elsewhere to punish them for such irritating adverts. My son who was sitting on the other side of the room said "Mum, speak with your inside voice!"
Robbie was sitting in the corner trying to hide the fact that he was giggling like Mutley. He and my son are like two little kids, each takes great pleasure in seeing the other one get into trouble, but at other times they gang up and tease me. I overcame the urge to dash across the room and grab him by the throat, preferring instead to let him hear considerably more of my 'outside voice'.
I pointed out that I had put up with a lifetime of drivel from my son. I had smiled sweetly during his 'dinosaur phase' while being subjected to more information than anyone could ever need to know about the life and times of the dinosaur. Then there had been his Denis the Menace phase, his spy phase, the Superman phase. Not to mention his obsessive interest in all things film related - and I do mean all things film related, he nearly drove me mad with the myth of the hanging Munchkin. Then we come to Robbie, I don't know where to start when it comes to his obsessions, he shares Lego, Dr Martens, Indie music, Hornby, railways in general, buses, books, magazines ......... and that really is the tip of the iceberg. I can assure you that he doesn't hold back when it comes to sharing his enthusiasm about all these subjects - even at the most inappropriate moments. Thanks to Robbie I know so much about the workings (and failings) of train toilets that I could choose it as a specialist subject on Mastermind! I have never once asked either of them to 'speak with their inside voice' and I have put up with both of them having the attention span of a gnat when it comes to anything I want to talk to them about. Well the worm has turned! Prepare to be bored rigid boys, you are going to hear a lot more of my voice, as they say, if you can't beat them join them!!
I have an exceptionally good sense of smell, it became a bit of a legend among my colleagues. We encountered 'nasty niffs' on a fairly regular basis, not only was I almost always the first person to spot them, I could usually identify the precise cause of the pong with cringe making accuracy.
There have been times when my sense of smell has almost driven me to distraction. When Sam was a bit younger he went through a 'spy' phase and for reasons best known to him he stashed some goodies in the pocket of the sofa valance. Very soon I detected the smell of decaying orange, but despite turning the room upsidedown and pulling all the furniture out I couldnt find the source of the smell. It took days before I descovered Sam's stash which included a very sad satsuma. I seem to remember that when questioned Sam mentioned something about survival techniques.
Robbie has learned to put up with my sense of smell, there is no point telling fibs about what he has had for lunch or if he had a sandwich on the train because I always know. There are certain smells that I can't stand, in particular I dislike the smell of alcohol and the smell of onions. I am teetotal and since we have been together Robbie only has the occasional pint when he goes to a gig. Onions prove a bit more of a temptation to him but he doesn't like the consequences - I won't go anywhere near him. On Saturday Robbie decided to have some cheese and chive pretzels as a snack. As a result he stank of onions, and I couldn't even bear him to talk to me because it was so overpowering. It was so bad that I threatened to sleep on the sofa, but in the end I curled up on the edge of the bed, longing for clean air!
I had a bad night and I was tired the next day. To add to my troubles Robbie was in a strop because he still smelled. It gradually diminished during the day and by Sunday evening I was longing for a good sleep with no onion fumes, unfortunately that wasn't to be. Robbie can't stay still to save his life, it is like sleeping next to a windmill! 'Radioactive Man' constantly claims to be too hot and he waves his arms and legs about in such an exaggerated way that it could be mistaken for a Kenny Everett impression! The end result is that I always have to fight for my share of the duvet, and last night I was constantly cold because he kept fanning cold air into the bed. Today I am going to acquire two bricks (don't worry, nothing drastic!) I just want to weight my side of the duvet down. Failing that I am going to buy a sleeping bag!
