23.00 last night I was scouring the field borders with one of those solar garden lights in my hands searching for two lost runner ducks.
I could have done without it all, I am full of cold at the moment...a product of a wet, depressing week here in one of the wettest June's this side of the Pennines
For some strange reason two of the older girls have been flitting off to God-knows-where for God-knows-what and have been strangely absent for much of the day. Only after dark have they finally appeared anxious and appearing rather contrite at the front of the duck house, where I have found them quietly waiting for muggins here to use my opposable thumb skills to open the house door.
Last night it was going on 11.30 when the two appeared, a stupid time for a surly teenager to stagger home let alone two stupid ducks with brains the size of an average peanut.
The two girls were ripe for fox bait, and I told them so, but logic and anger is lost on ducks that spend most of their lives screaming and running around if you fart in the wrong direction, so I had to shut up and put them to bed with a kiss.
As I was giving the ducks a ticking off several surly teenagers walked up the lane for the cottage. It happens quite a bit as they tend to occasionally congregate at a "picnic area" in one of the sheep fields so that nefarious teenage activities can take place.
Seeing me standing in the field holding a solar light up in my right hand, I heard one hiss to his friend
"Fuck.... it's the statue of liberty", which I thought was quite a witty statement to say after a probable 2 litres of cheap cider and a couple of large spliffs
I always thought that waiting up, late a night for the kids to come home from a fun filled night out, was something that would never-EVER happen to me.
I knew I would never experience that gut wrenching anxiety that parents have to go through when they think that paedophiles are hiding in every phone booth, just waiting to get their grubby little mitts on some teenager's knicker elastic but what is happening in reality?
I am finding myself,standing at the lounge window, chewing my fingernails to the bone-willing 2 ducks that look like upright wine bottles to come home before curfew........what will I be saying next?...I ask myself
Will I catch myself yelling at Boris "You treat this place like a hotel!" when he drops his grain all over the floor of the turkey house or perhaps I will resort to the tried and tested " well if you don't like my rules you can get your own place!!!" when the geese nip another field visitor....
We all turn into our parents.......it's only a matter of time
ps Bunty has flown the coop so to speak! She has left a small space on the cottage guttering and a load of shit on the tiles....I wish her well