This little Facebook memory is making me nostalgic for those times when he could and would go away for the weekend (or longer) and I had all the bed to myself, unmolested and quiet. What with the present unpleasantness that hasn’t happened since March 4th.
It's awful for the boys when their Dad goes away.
They're forced to either eat what I cook or make their own tea: and they're coerced into housework.
So far they've both cooked Greggs/Iceland pasties for lunch and Thunderthighs (under supervision) prepared fried sausages, microwaved spaghetti and buttered sliced bread for their tea.
Ferretfingers has been persuaded to 'wash' plates and cutlery and vacuum the edges of the stairs using the hose extension.
No wonder he said "I miss Daddy" when we were sat watching a recording of Mock The Week.
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