A Recipe For Disaster

A good cycle in to work, despite the strong wind and an ill fitting bike. Yes I leave my new girl at home and ride the old faithful, to whom I’ve been unfaithful.

In the evening, back at home, Daughter is getting ready to hit the town and is running late, so it’s tin hat time. In the end she leaves without her purse, lost in the maelstrom of getting ready. As the whirlwind departs, we all breathe out again and I head into the bathroom. Hey what this by the sink, looks like a purse. When I share the good news with her, she mutters, that is if you can mutter via text, the immortal words ‘ah shit you’re going to blog this aren’t you?’. As if I would.

L has informed me that we’ve narrowly missed National Veggie Week. So we’re celebrating it this week instead. We do odd things like that. Problem is I’m out with Charlie tonight, not his real name. I pick some veggie toppings for our pizza but he adds some meat ones. So my defence is that it’s not really my fault.

The pizza is not the best, although Pizza Hut thankfully are now finally doing beer, 5.2% Bombardier. Afterwards we’re chilling in the pub across the road, totally minding our own business when we spot two scantily clad schoolgirls loitering outside the Cornerhouse. Then there are two more and then some more. Obviously Halo, where Daughter has gone, has just kicked out. It’s under 18’s night there and the theme is school uniforms, which sounds like a recipe for disaster. That’s before you add in the free Coke. All that sugar and chemicals, alcohol would have been safer.

No sign of any schoolboys, no teenagers in shorts looking like a bunch of Angus Youngs. Perhaps for the best.

I’m amazed they’re allowed to do it. When I was at Trent Poly, they were forced to discontinue a similar event. Having female students dressed in school uniforms apparently increased the likelihood of them being attacked and it was banned by the police but this was 15 years ago when seeing someone dressed as a scantily clad schoolgirl in the town centre was a rare occurrence. It was also called ‘Schoolgirls and Perverts’, which perhaps didn’t help its case.

Then we see Daughter. Who seems quite freaked when I contact her and tell her I can see what she’s up to. Then she gets into a strange car, which I hope is a prearranged lift from someone she knows. She is waiting to berate me when I get home.