Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE

60. Little Lies by Fleetwood Mac

IN ADVANCE of the missus nephew and his lovely young family visiting for the first time since moving to Abu Dhabi, I painted the house meticulously and rehoused some vinyl so it would be safe. 

Upon arrival, despite having started work at the ungodly hour of 3am, everything looked to be going great. The young boys were enamoured by my Tonka toy and were predictably absorbed in gaming. Later I was watching the Open highlights before cheerfully waving them both off to bed. 

The following night adults were invited round but rather than go to bed despite still being stuck solid on 3am starts, I decided to entertain the boys and rely on auto-pilot mode. We went on an afternoon walk in the ridiculous heat, then prepared the suntrap of a back garden for the serving of restaurant quality fish'n'chips. 

Sadly, not long after arriving, our guests began dying in the heat, so we retired into the tiny living room and all felt awkward. The missus then had the brainwave to sweep out front and move the wheelie bins and dine in an exposed but shadier part of the house. Everyone was seated and despite being completely fucked, I was conversing and pouring drinks. And things were going well. I won't mention the restaurant quality fish'n'chips. My missus, more in a spirit of reputation salvage than bonhomie, invited two more guests, so continued cooking. The boys had retired into the living room, which is where my problems began. 

As still as the night sky was at seven ish by eight, the breeze had got up. When I went into the living room, my once pristine colour coordinated sevens that were placed lovingly at the front of the Kallax boxes had blown everywhere. Looking dangerously like potential children's toys. I was now very tired and getting nowty and so were the boys who had gone from sliding my Tonka on the wooden floor to hammering it. I sharply took it off them whilst discreetly putting the sevens back onto the shelves, but, no sooner had I done so, another big pile blew down. More sevens were now on the floor than in the boxes, including a record that had amassed quite a bit of monetary value. 

Scrambling desperately to locate it but unable to, I had clean forgotten about the guests and the boys. I finally closed the back door shut and then felt a stillness I hadn't felt for almost an hour and also spotted a few sevens under the sofa, including the aforementioned one and this. Sheer relief brought a big smile to my face, but alas, my panic about the missing seven was by now no secret, and everyone began making excuses and left. Including our embarrassed visitors who had hastily booked into a hotel. 

Not wanting to further offend the missus, I just played this song in my head before sheepishly sloping off to bed. Despite this, I woke up for work at 1.45 am with the air con wafting into my room and began trying to imagine how I could make it up to her. 

I'm still trying.