I lay awake last night, counting the cracks in the ceiling and wondering how I was going to reach the light bulb that had blown in the overhead lamp.
Several things were going through my mind; I was thinking about a piece of work that I've spent the last month putting off and now have to present on Friday, I was thinking about First-born's first day in a new class, but mostly I was thinking about how I was going to break the news to my father and aunt that I was planning on moving out.
And then it struck me. It was oh, so simple. And it stayed with me until the morning, when I was munching my way through a bowl of oats and sundry dried fruit.
Me: "I'm thinking of renting my own place"
They: "Why? Aren't you happy here?"
Me: "Yes, of course. Deliriously."
They: "So why do you want to move out?"
Me: "Well... its like this... I've met a girl..."
They: "Oh that wonderful news! Of course you need your own place! We'll help you look!"
Followed by all kinds of excited squeakings from my aunt regarding meeting girlfriends and traditional English sunday lunches.
Of course, I haven't actually met a girl I'd want to bring back. And even if I did, I live in constant fear of the infamous paddling pool film being wheeled out. But what they don't know can't hurt them, eh?
