Life in the Hestia household is a bit devoid of interest at the moment. But just so that you know I've not been elbowed to death by a pensioner as we duel over the last bag of sprouts in the Co-op, here's how it's been with me:
One evening last week, Sonshine and I were ensconced on the sofa beneath our snuggle blanky, looking for something entertaining to watch that would suit us both.
Usually this limits us to The Gadget Show or The Simpsons.
So there I am flicking down through the channels and lo, we come to a scantily clad blonde lady who is whipping up a storm as she shimmies herself around a pole. I think it might have been BBC3 and probably only formed a few minutes of whatever show it might be from, but I scooted past it with unseemly haste nonetheless.
Sonshine: 'Mum, do you think you could go back a couple of channels please?'
Me: To which channel? The one with Duff icing-up a cake shaped like The Leaning Tower of Pisa? The one with Guy Fieri cooking half a side of a cow whilst simultaneously blinding his audience with his blingy rings and things?
Sonshine: 'No, one after that.'
Me (with increasing pangs of dread): The one with the lady in the white bikini?
Sonshine (with a small, wistful sigh) 'Yes please.'
Me: Not on your nelly. I don't know what it was about, but I'm NOT sitting watching some pole dancer with you! You're 11!!!
Sonshine: But it made me feel all.....(he struggles to find the right word).......natural.
I make sure that I can see both his hands above the snuggle blanky and find The Simpsons to watch instead.
Yesterday, Tartarus brought me a cup of tea in bed in the morning.
He can be quite nice sometimes.
'What are you going to do today?' he asked, proffering the steaming mug of lemon tea.
'Ironing, probably.' I sigh. I also make mental note to go to chemists later on to get some medicated cream that will help alleviate the 'issues' of being on the Dukan Diet.
Tartarus nods towards two carefully ironed shirts hanging over the bottom of the bed.
'Thanks for ironing my shirts.' he says, sipping on his tea.
'No problem.' I reply.
'How is your wee pile coming along?'
'I'm off to the chemist to get some cream for it today,' I say.
He fixes me with a blank stare.
'You were talking about the pile of clothing that's needing ironed, weren't you?' I ask, a blush stealing across my face.
'Yeah. What were YOU talking about?'
I ignore his question and vow to concentrate more when he's talking to me in the future.
How is your weekend coming along? Better than mine, I hope!