I ain’t never gonna Heaven..
I ain’t never gonna Heaven…
In my Teacher’s bra…
Yes, you’ve guessed it – my boys have just come back from Scout camp. It seems they’ve learned some new songs.
At least this time it wasn't family camp – I still haven’t fully recovered from that ordeal.
This time the Scouts (Daniel) were away for three nights and the Beavers joined them for one night on Saturday (Jamie).
So our house has been lovely and quiet. Daniel gone for three nights was nice enough. It is surprising how easy life is when you halve the number of children that usually complicate it. Then on Saturday
night we found ourselves back in time.
We had a night off – completely. No babysitters needed, we were back to being young DINKs like we once were – so very long ago.
This presented us with a problem.
Just what is it that we used to do?
In the end, Jo vetoed my plan of going to bed really early and trying for ‘number three’ because, as she put it, “You really are an arse, Glen.” So we went out instead.
To Oxford, for a lovely meal at The Living Room – by the castle.
And it was nice, very nice.
I resisted the urge to “Check-In” on Facebook and leave a really long message about how I was having a romantic meal with my wife and go into laborious detail about how it was going and what we were eating. The irony of bragging about romance while clearly spending all your time nose-deep on Facebook made me laugh. I didn’t bother because I just wasn’t sure anyone else would get it – and besides, Jo was banging on about something and I couldn’t concentrate long enough to write it.
Wine flowed and Jo flirted a little, I flirted back, Jo stopped flirting and asked if I was feeling okay? Apparently I’ve forgotten how to flirt and looked more like I had a chicken bone lodged in my throat.
How exactly do you flirt anyway?
Can anyone remember?
Still – it was a lovey night.
And then we had to get up early and fetch the boys.
I enjoyed being young and childless for a night but I’m happy to have them back. I reckon after a couple of years I’d start to miss the little buggers.
Anyway – must go, I need to find out what’s wrong with my Son’s teacher’s bra?