Choice · fun · Health · Home and Family · life · Love · Mum · Personal development · Travel

Rock and Roll Queen

Since her most recent trip out of Exile, Mummy has become somewhat accustomed to abandoning the Terror Tots, and is beginning to develop, what Daddy considers to be a rather unhealthy liking towards the Outside World. In This Week’s News, Mummy is really pushing the boat out and is making an intrepid crossing Over the Seas. Most definitely not on a boat of any description, Mummy prefers the comfort of a Jet. And albeit not on a private jet (Ever. In. This. Life), Mummy is used to improvising and on this occasion, she is Easy-Jetting off to The European Capital of Sex. Amsterdam.

Before you get excited, Mummy is not absconding in search of sex. On the contrary, Mummy knows full well that she need travel no further than the marital bed if she’s looking for that sort of thing. And she certainly does not have to pay as much as a European airfare to get it. Or rather Daddy, who holds the purse strings, wouldn’t allow it. Needless to say,  Mummy won’t be chasing any Red Lights in Amsterdam. Sex aside (for after all, Grandma is reading), Mummy has indeed chosen to take one lucky fellow with her on This Week’s jaunt. Sadly not her Dutch Adonis from years ago, Mummy has chosen Daddy. And of course she has chosen Daddy, for who else do you think is paying for the privilege?

In actual fact, tonight Mummy and Daddy are going to a concert. And not just any old concert. Tonight, Mummy and Daddy are dusting off their leathers and going to a rock concert. You heard it here first. This is indeed most uncharacteristic of Mummy. Mummy – petite, sweet Mummy, who suffers from tinnitus and is deaf in one ear – can not in any way be described as a rock fan. Or indeed a music fan full stop. Mummy’s knowledge of music these days is limited to classical adaptations of Baa Baa Black Sheep and Mummy is in fact so far removed from the likes of Guns n Roses, that the only Roses she knows, are in the form of small, round, delicately packaged sweets. Mummy is aware of the irony in all of this, but the fact is, Mummy. Does. Not. Do. Music, let alone rock – the furthest she has had to travel in search of which, is Blackpool.

Mummy’s lack of musical interest has meant that she has not attended a concert for well over 20 years and is therefore completely unversed in the Code of Conduct for a 21st century concert. What does one wear? Does one take a coat? Does one stand or sit? At what point does one dance? Is there an interval? Does one get pissed? Does one have to queue? Are flash cameras allowed? At what point does one leave to avoid the exit traffic? As with other terrifying places, such as play centres and theme parks, Mummy is already concocting ways in which to get the hell out of there, before she has even arrived. All these unknowns are no good for Mummy’s blood pressure.

However, despite all of this, Mummy is a bloody good actress, and with extra lashings of mascara, some seriously smoky eyes and a bit of back-combing action, she can be Rock and Roll when she wants to be. She’s hooked on studs. She’s got the piercings. And she has more leathers in her wardrobe than Brian May has hairs on his head. How hard can it be to be a Rock and Roll Queen? It’s a kind’a magic.

 

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