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Words from a Bird.  Day 50.

Yesterday afternoon, my mum and her younger half headed off to the pub for 'early doors'.  I have no idea what this means, but as they left the house around 5.15pm (mum only managed one hurried glass of red before leaving) I am assuming that it is polite talk for 'that couple sitting in their bloody car waiting for the pub to open'. 

Leaving me with a meal-for-one microwaveable lasagne (mum felt very guilty about this, as we all know that microwave food is not REAL food), they left.  A meal was planned after the pub, and they promised me that they would be really quiet when they got back, as I was planning an early night.

I was quite excited about being left with the remote controls for the television, (three of them, one of which whose purpose is still a mystery to me) so once my lasagne had pinged, I settled down to trawl through the Sky guide to see what I could find.

Legend - perfect, two Tom Hardys for the price of one.  That would do me, even if one of them had suspect dentures and NHS glasses on.  I would gloss over that and concentrate on the prettier twin with the smart suit and firm buttocks.

But then disaster struck....'Please enter your PIN code'.....PIN code?  What bloody PIN code?  Obviously, they had not thought it necessary to impart this information, so with a drooping shoulder (to match the other one) I flicked back to the safety of BBC1.  And that is where I stayed, in the company of The One Show until they staggered back in around 8.00. 

'You're back early'.
'You're up late'.

It transpired that after several wines, they had decided to not eat out, but order a curry to be delivered.  I do think that the guilt of leaving me alone with a meal-for-one was the overriding factor in their early return, but I wasn't going to be the one to point the finger.

Two hours later, the curry had still not arrived...lost en route somewhere between the restaurant and its final destination.  Now I know it's dark out here in the sticks, and I also appreciate that they were probably busy, but two hours?  A phone call from the younger half left the restaurant owner in no doubt as to where he could stick his cauliflower bhaji, so it now became necessary for some freezer ferreting to look for something to eat (or absorb the Rioja, whichever way you want to look at it).

Ten minutes later, the younger half presented my mum with her meal.  One toasted hot cross bun followed by a Tunnock's teacake, following by a walnut whip. 

Watching them, I pondered on the tastiness of my meal-for-one lasagne, the pasta enveloped in a sumptuous, meaty sauce with a crispy cheese topping.

Probably not the time to say how lovely it had been, especially as the younger half reached for the Rennies...

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