Saturday, 22 January 2011

Well I never...a bread winning Avenger

Well I never.....

I return from a business trip with a feeling that while the cats away the mice will leave the sinking ship and find another big cheese to milk or something like that.

I would like to pretend it was a cold dark night as an authentic note of creative non fiction poetic licence. At least it looked dark inside the ancestral hovel, and the refridgerator was probably cold at a guess. To confirm the guess entry was to be made. The apartment is deserted, but at least entry has been made to the inner sanctum of the altar to the Plasma God. This is a comfort that at least the locks have not been changed and that my trust was well placed in leaving family heirlooms in a position that teenagers could long-term borrow.

Are Teenagers playing hide and seek - surely not, I fear not a surprise birthday party some months too late or too early....surely not.

I have a small note adorning a fridge ~ wedged under a magnetic gravity defying miniature reminder of an otherwise long forgotten cathedral somewhere on this beautiful planet; but as welcomes go, I may as well have been thankful that at least the front door mat still said "Welcome" under the mud.

So there is the note and the family ~sans Pater~ have gone to buy a new pair of young adult trousers because the former trousers are knee high to a very tall grasshopper ~ dinner is not mentioned as either in the frodge or oven. My role in this family apparently has moved on from hunter-gatherer-family-crust-earner and also taken on board cook.

This growing thing is costing me too much in trousers and not enough in lard dripping sausages methinks. Can't teenage fashion migrate to shin high trousers and pretty quick about it please.

The note mentions they will probably have a budget meal at Subways , KFCs or some such pleasure-dome. I am the family hunter-gatherer-bread-winner and why am I about to feast on beans on toast, or perhaps beans on burnt toast, if Pa Pryce culinary skills are a victim of post traumatic inner arsonist..... the bread at least will suffer .. well just beans then.

I will reclaim the house and I will be thankful I can pray to the Plasma God alone in the interrupted silence of the beans. May the Remote be with me.

They've hidden the Remote.

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