Mr D and I have very different viewpoints on "recreational activities".
My idea of a nice night off from the brats is a chinese at my favourite restaurant (Jasmines, Maidenhead High Street-yummy), a film at the cinema, and then a few glasses of wine before a lovely early night.
Mr D's idea of a good night out (or whole weekend if he can get away with it), is standing in a random field, drinking piss weak beer and listening to dodgy music. And I'm not talking Glastonbury either (far too passe for Mr D).
So, this weekend, we went to view a new house, as we are moving shortly, and we bumped into his mate Paul.
They had a hows the family chat, followed by Mr D mentioning that I'm off to see Take That at Wembley this weekend, so he is looking after not just our kids, but our nephew as well.
I then had one of his raves in a field slyly thrust upon me, for that evening. And I couldn't say no, as he used the "but you don't mind as you're going out next weekend".
I was not happy.
So it came to 6pm, and, bag packed for the evening (with beer), he announced he was off.
"Where is it" asked poor old uninformed me.
"London, somewhere" came the reply.
And off he went.
There followed a whole night of Chrissy and Littlest Edward moaning, grumbling and not sleeping for longer than 12 seconds each.
I expected Mr D to roll in, tired, and sweaty but full of stories of randoms dressed as fairies by about 9am.
By 1pm, however, I tried to phone him. But what do you know he'd left his mobile on charge.
I have sneakily stored certain friends of Mr D's numbers on my mobile, with the excuse that as he is always losing or breaking phones, if I have their numbers stored he can transfer them onto his new phone.
So I phoned Paul. And was told that, despite the fact that Paul had got home to his other half the same night, Mr D had stayed behind, and would be back later that afternoon.
Yes, what he meant was 7pm.
There followed a whole run down of the goings on of the evening, who he'd met and how good it all was.
By which time I was past caring after a nightmare day with the kids.
Littlest woke up at 4.45am. And I casually passed him to Mr D, mentioning how Sunday is my lie in day, and as I'd missed it due to his dancing in a field, he could get up with the kids that morning instead. Tee hee.
His thoughts on why he dances in a wet muddy field which he had to climb up steep hillsides to get to, even though its music he doesn't really like?
"It's not the music its the spiritual experience"
I swear readers I very nearly choked on my coffee at that pearl of wisdom.
So, I shall not, despite the pictures of sunsets and skylines, be joining him anytime soon.
Unless Robbie Williams stages a phsy-trance in a random field with odd balls comeback tour.
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