Some Mothers do have them, indeed. I have friends who cannot bear their progeny to grow away from them, mourning the long-ago snuffly baby and the cuddly tot. I am not one of those, thankfully, as the Giant Boy has clearly been hogging the "Eat Me" cake that Alice found so disconcertingly growth-promoting in Wonderland. Maybe some evil cartel has managed to identify the magic substance, and is even now pumping it into McTeenburgers? In cahoots,of course, with the manufacturers of enormous trainers and vast school uniforms. I shall be going to "Mr High And Mighty" for his gym kit, soon.
My initial idea was to grow my own handyman/chauffeur/lifting person/butler. We are not there yet. Some skills need refinement. " Bring Ma a pink gin, would you , Angel?" I shall drawl from the velvety depths of my sofa. "Coming up, Mummy darling.." he will reply, and then beetle off to do the necessary.
Alas, so far we have managed a dubious cup of tea, (Well, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to put the milk in the pot, did I?") and he knows where the paracetamol is. When he was tiny, he toddled up to my bedside, where I was lying, lint-white and wincing from a hangover. "Oh Mummy" he said,sympathetically, "Did you Go Drunk?".
We are moving house this week,and he has already shown two distinct personalities. One of them lies face down on his bed with phone stuck to its head, and refuses to engage with the world of "We are moving house. In SIX DAYS!" The other character, who surfaced this morning just in time for him to escape being attacked with a cheese-grater ,is practical, doughty, hardworking and cheerful. He can also be a very good straight man,but shows signs of wishing to be the Eric Morecambe,and of pushing me into the Ernie Wise role.I shall have to watch that. He enjoys patronising me, bless him, and patting me on the head. He glories in the fact that he towers over me by six inches ,and often plonks his great feet over mine to demonstrate their superior size (and filthiness) .
Have you noticed the way they talk to one another now? He glues headphones on, retires to shout at other X-Box Live players for hours, and they say the most awful things to each other. The major inspiration for insults appears to be saying Bad Things about each other's Mums ("yer Mum!"),and on occasion, Grandmother ("yer Nan!"). These imprecations are the most potent and ire-provoking. Excuse me, but what about their Fathers and, for that matter,Grandfathers? Interestingly, THEIR conduct , weight, and sexual continence does not seem to be of any interest whatsoever. Pity really, as I could certainly contribute some staggeringly inventive vilifications. Not about the Giant Boy's grandpappies, as he does not have any. My Father met his Maker in 1979, of natural causes.Which was not only sad, but also astonishing,given that he fought bravely throughout World War II, in North Africa and Italy, later with my Mother in Fazackerley, and in addition had survived his own DIY for longer than anyone else thought possible.
We know little about the French side; there could be absolutely anything lurking up that branch of the tree .The G.B had a Great Grandmother, until quite recently. I rather liked her; she used to give me double the alcohol normally proffered as part of the French ritual of the aperitif. Which still,not to be churlish, wasn't very much. The aperitif, as you may know,is the Brit-baiting tradition of having a very tiny drink and some nuts at 6pm. And the drill is ONE DRINK. Hint as you might, eye longingly the firmly corked Vermouth bottle if you will, you will not be offered a top-up. It is a civilised pre-dinner drink,and be damned to it. In France, the big deal is the dinner, as we have established. In this country and in others more humane ; it is the signal that we can now for God's Sake get on with drinking to the point where we can all speak toone another and shyly make eye contact. But Mami had got my number, and would leave the bottle near me, replenishing my glass with the concern one might demonstrate towards a tiny, thirsty bird. She also had an exercise bike in the living room,and two boyfriends. Cause and effect, doubtless.
So whatever strange genetic inheritance has formed the creature, I am delighted to have had him,on balance. As he is a teenager he is contractually obliged to be blase, indolent, and lippy. And that was my job. However, from time to time the rough and prickly carapace slips,and I am given heartening glimpses of both the sweet-natured child he was, and the decent chap he will become. If I don't lamp him with a lamp for giving cheek.
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