Crazy Sunday times

You gotta love the 'rents sometimes... every Sunday is the same. My mum works all day on a Sunday and so the weekly dilemma in my Dad's life about when to have the roast dinner ready for, commences. He likes to do it just in time for when Ma walks in from a long days working - normally this is in the 2 hour period between 6 and 8, but we're never quite sure when it will be. It certainly add's just that little bit of extra excitement to what is inevitably a super-thrilling Sunday.

This week, the dilemma proved so much that my father felt the need to go for a pint at the pub (note singular) and stumbled in after a few pints (note plural) telling me the same joke twice and laughing hysterically about how drunk I had been the previous night and how next time I should invite him. Hmmm, yeah right. Then again, maybe it was just one pint. You see, it doesn't take my Dad much to get drunkard - one sip of beer normally has his cheeks a'glowing and his words a'stumbling.

Once my mother does walk in (earlier than usual) the roast isn't ready and she's complaining it's too late to be eating a big dinner. By the time it is ready, neither of us are hungry and we  force down what  we can. My mother decides to give a running commentary whilst eating; describing the taste and texture of each item on her plate, clarifying whether she likes it or not and repeating several times about how nice the gravy is. "Yes mother, I am eating the exact same dinner as yourself so I am quite aware thank you very much!" With this, we both get the giggles (which didn't help with the forcing down the food). We sneakily decide to limit the damage with father about the lack of food eaten by exchanging items of food one of us didn't fancy. When Dad  see's the plates he goes into a rant, like he does every Sunday, about how he is never going to cook a roast dinner ever again and all the time/effort he wasted blah blah blah. Until next week papa!

Dad is still drunk at this stage, which you can tell by the fact all the lights in the house are on and he has the telly blaring in the kitchen - if sober, this would not be the case - a lifetime of lectures/rants about the very subject are testamount to this. Worryingly, I found myself increasingly angered by the loud telly and the house being "lit up like a Christmas tree" and so I must regrettably conclude that I am slowly morphing into my old man. Not a good thing.

Mother is currently catching up on Strictly and Merlin that she missed the night before; clapping, jeering and cheering at her laptop as she watches them 'on demand.' She's quite new to this on demand malarky but is slowly getting the hang of it. The beer and food finally caught up with Dad and he's already in bed, and whilst he dozes I sit here pondering on how crazy (and incredibly entertaining) my parents really are. And I wouldn't live without either of them.