Never a good power ballad when you need one.

No. 1 son had the day off school today.  Apparently EVERYONE was going up to Scoil Iosa for the open day so there was "no point going in, Mam".  Yuhuh, alright then.  I rang Liz, she was about to ring me . . . her son had the same story.  Long story short, Harry got the day off school.

He cleaned the car, I cleaned the house for the painter (that didn't show) and off for went for him to get a haircut.  Harrumph, I read his viber message to his friend "Got a crappy haircut".  Bollix, it's not my fault he came over all shy and forgot to say "STOP!!!" when the guy kept trimming.  

He stayed at home cleaning the car, for pocket money, and I went and got the other three whereupon we rushed home, ate pasta and everyone got thrown back into the car to go to the beach.  It was sunny!  For the third day in a row.  It would have been sinful to stay at home whilst the sun was shining.  Mind you, in hindsight, I wish I had've sinned a little as now I'm going to be caking all night.  

I shouted to No. 1 son, "C'mon, we're going, put the roof up and bring the hoover in" . . . he was crying!  "I don't feel well" . . . Is that anything to do with the fact that your mates are sitting on the bench waiting for you to come out and er, sit on a bench with them?  "Right" I said.  "Go to bed, if you don't feel well, go up and lie down . . . .  but no match tonight!!"

"Ssob, but . . wha'?  I'm coming then . . . .."

So he did.  Come with us, that is.

He sat in the front of the car, staring morosely out of the window with tears rolling down his face.  Like something out of a bad music video.  Cackle, picture it: Car driving along coast, camera pans to passenger - it's a boy (with a rather dashing haircut), he is devastated   What has happened to him?  Is he losing the girl he loves?  Has his drum kit been stolen??  Poor, sad boy crying in car . . .  fade to black.  Raging I couldn't find any Whitney or I dunno, someone big voiced, giving it socks about how their life, sucks on the radio

Fecker.  

Silly little git had better learn there is a difference in feeling ill and feeling pissed off that you have to go to the beach with your ma and brothers when your mates are sitting on a bench.

It's called FRUSTRATION Harry.   

I know how you feel.  Crappy hair cut indeed.  Pay for your own in future.  Ungrateful sod.

In my day, you had  no say.  No say in anything.  Your hair was cut up or down depending on the mood of your mam.  You ate what you were given or . .  sat there until one of you cracked.  If it was you who cracked you ended up eating cold chicken chops (yeah, yeah, I know, NOW, that you don't get chops from a chicken and I was being lied to) or, if your ma cracked, you ended up eating said same dinner and going to bed.  Wtih no cup of tea.

You wore what you were given.

You went to bed at 8pm!!!  

You didn't get a tv for yourselves.  You were, in fact, the remote control for the telly in the sitting room.  The one with two stations.

You made a pot of tea most nights and always did the dishes.  You got sent into the back garden, when it was dark, in the middle of winter to get a bucket of coal.  In the dark  With no security light!! 

You think you have it tough my love, you should have lived in the 80s.