Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

How to really piss your family off

Living at home, it's like teetering on a knife’s edge.

Question: How did I suddenly become the black sheep of the family?

That used to be my Auntie G. Complete mental fuck bucket that she is. Sexually predatory enough to steal her sister’s rather dashing boyfriend and swindle certain other members of the family out of large sums of cash before disappearing off the face of the earth.

I used to be an A student baby. I played the cello, watched Star Trek (actually I still do – the mini lesbian in me would like to filth SevenofNine) and handed my prep in on time.

Now I am the one everyone roles their eyes about at the dinner table.

I got flu at the weekend. Do you know what my 90-year-old grandmother said to me as I was shivering under a mountain of duvets?

“It IS flu isn’t it darling? You’re not going cold turkey?”

What!?

My Dad is a bit of a grumble fairy where I’m concerned these days too. I’m going to have to pull my socks up. Since mangling my knee and crash landing back on planet reality last spring, I haven’t exactly been the model daughter I used to be. When you’re killing time between seasons the devil makes work for idle thumbs. Living at home with your parents at my age is a dangerous game. And I think I am now qualified to write the book on how NOT to do it.

...amongst my crimes of late:

Don’t insist on doing another ski season, despite the fact that you can’t ski and against Daddy’s express advice.

Don’t invite your layabout student shag pal round to the house for protracted periods of time and lie on the couch eating crisps, snogging and watching Top Gear in your knickers while the rest of the world is at work. It riles ‘em up it really does.

Don’t leave your dishes piled up next to the sink as you would do at your gaff, with a view to tackling them later. When you live with your parents this sends a signal. The signal is ‘I can’t be arsed. The punkawalla will do it’.

Don’t turn your childhood bedroom into a soup of unwashed clothes, cigarette butts, wet towels, papers, odds and sods and bottles of whiskey. Open the window when you smoke the weed.

In fact, don’t do drugs…well, don’t get caught…
I may have hosted a small get-together . A reunion for the inhabitants of Room 405 – the ski bum crack den (Skater Boy, SbH and E-the-Yeti-Boy all present and correct). The evening, of course, went slightly the way of the Winehouse. We decided to crush up some Co Codamol and snort it off the oak table, for old times’ sake. Which would have been fine, except we didn’t wake up early enough to stop my Dad’s wrinkly lady-friend from doing the cleaning up…
...We know there was an unidentified pile of white powder on the table when we went to bed.
...She knows there was an unidentified pile of white powder on the table when we went to bed.
...But it wasn’t there when we got up was it?
The irony is it wasn’t even prescription.

Don’t forget to feed the cat occasionally. Even if it is a Judas bastard.

Don’t drive the length of Europe in a car with the fuel consumption of a Sherman tank to get to your job in Ibiza, have a massive drug-addled crisis, become emotionally unstable and directionless, run out of money and require rescuing…then crash land at Glastonbury where you shouldn’t...

...invite your layabout student shag pal to stay in your tipi without asking the other inhabitants first, steal all their nitrus and keep your pregnant sister-in-law awake sucking loudly on balloons just outside the door...

Don’t get caught by BB2.1 shagging said layabout student shag pal …twice. He will take revenge. He caught us once in the garden. Fair enough. The second time, I came scurrying down to the kitchen from a particularly noisy encounter, charged with fetching some ice. I arrived, butt-fuck naked in the kitchen to find BB2.1 calmly reading the paper with a cup of coffee.

‘Alright?’ he said calmly, glancing up from the Daily Mail.
‘Ummm...Where the FUCK did you come from?’
‘I was showing some clients round. Don’t mind me’
‘WHAT!? Go! Go away!’
‘No. No I think I’m going to have a bacon sandwich’

It was a good ten minutes before SbH gave up on me and came down to the kitchen to investigate.

‘It’s a good thing you’ve such a cool brother. Most other brothers would be chasing me across the field with a shot gun by now’ he chimed in merrily.

BB2.1 raised an eyebrow.

‘I AM going to chase you over the field with a shotgun. I’ve been giving you a head start for the last 2 minutes, you’re just too stupid to realise.’

3 comments:

  1. You get a bedroom? Bloody hell, I used to have to camp in the loft. It was about four feet high, so I had to get dressed on my knees.

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  2. Our loft is full of bats... the little fuckers are protected. My bedroom is like a time capsule of my 14 year old self. You try shagging with Winnie the Pooh looking on in disgust...

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