I have a vague-ish recollection, a memory or maybe it’s a dream. Perhaps it’s a daydream since I don’t sleep or even a really vivid birthday wish. Or it could be a story, the sort of shit Disney would throw together to make girls think the only option in life is to find a Prince or win the X Factor, who knows.
But this story starts out differently.
Once upon a time (OK, it starts out the same but it’s totally different, trust me). Once upon a time, there lived two people, a very nerdy but technically talented boy and a girl who likes her wine. They lived far far away from everyone and had simple lives. They worked hard and had aspirations of climbing the property ladder. They saved all of their money for years and years and scarified things like holidays and fun. The boy even gave up smoking and what followed a traumatic few weeks of nicotine withdrawal he then married the girl. During those few weeks the girl wondered whether she might actually end up going down for murder rather than down the aisle, but that’s another story for another day.
Anyway, back to it. During these years of saving for a house deposit because back then the Help to Buy was shit, sorry, it’s still shit, but that’s from the perspective of someone who has to work the legal angle of it. Sorry, I’ve sidelined again, where were we, oh yes. During these years they managed to make the most of the simple things in life, it was during a time of Blockbusters Movies, not a Netflicker in sight. So each Friday night they would toddle off to Blockbusters and scour the shelves, hiring not one but three movies (three for a tenner you see). These two really knew how to live on the wild side.
The boy would cook lovely meals with squeaky cheese that neither of them would eat and they would drink lots of wine (OK that was the girl). They would stay up late, even past 10 pm!!! Back then the only reason either of their sleepy eyes would flicker open at 6 am would be for a quick wee. In fact neither of them would have ever guessed that 6 am was potentially classed as day time.
A lazy Sunday would involve things like a morning run, a newspaper, a pot of tea, toast with jams and maybe even a walk into town for a bit of shopping or a bite to eat. They really knew how to live the life these two. Then one day they bought a house, the bath started leaking and then all their trouble began.
They went camping, it wasn’t new, the girl could totally survive the camping stuff, providing it was for no more then two nights at a time, because you know – hot showers. But on this camping trip the girl cried, she cried because it was raining, she cried because it was muddy, she cried because she ate all the homemade sausage rolls and had no oven to make more. The boy was very sympathetic and gave her a ‘what the fuck‘ look. Then shared his words of wisdom, which were basically, “suck it up and get on with it, will ya. Now pass me the tent pegs” She cried some more.
Then after she’d done her time, I mean, thoroughly enjoyed being at one with nature. She went home and enjoyed a lovely long hot shower and a comfy bed, with duvets and pillows and everything. Nine months later the first born arrived, she never went camping again and the boy likes to tell the story about the hormonal girl who cried because it rained.
Anyway, since then the girl has started to wonder whether those lazy Sunday mornings were real, whether she imagined them or made them up. Whether they were little stories that now played out in her head as she sat up with a baby at 3 am and the boy silently (loudly) snored next to her. Perhaps they were visions of a future that was momentarily light years away. Or even her mind playing tricks on her. Because for seven whole years she has never experienced a lazy Sunday (even on Mother’s Day) and as the memory of a time before children starts to fade she can only assume that it probably never really happened anyway. Lazy Sunday mornings are a complete myth.
