It would be fair to say Mrs P now looked puzzled and tired rather than just tired. It was the fault of the builders and architects who had combined to construct our present residence. Naturally, I did what any husband under attack from his beloved would do. It seems I'm making so much noise she thought a freight train was passing through our house.Īt least that's what a sleepy and rather peeved Morning Mrs P hissed at me the other day as she made us a cuppa. So, Mrs P is sound asleep and by midnight I'm creeping around the house, turning all the lights off, locking the front door, putting the dishwasher on cos it's a cheaper power rate at night etc etc before joining her.Įxcept I'm not creeping. In our house, the era of the Morning Teenager has long since come to an end. Though, in all honesty, that most likely happened when I leaped in the air in celebration once we'd finished and I stubbed my toe on the table leg.Īnyway. It came with a freshly made cup of coffee and an in-depth conversation, started at his end, about his sensible and well-thought-out plans for employment. I distinctly recall the departure of the last Morning Teenager. In our humble abode, we have stumbled through the crisis four times. It tends to just go on till one day, the nice kid somewhere inside returns completely oblivious to the upheaval they have caused and wondering what all the fuss has been about. Those among you with children will, I'm sure, be familiar with the concept of the 'morning' teenager.įor the uninitiated, what I'm referring to is the jumbled mass of raging hormones, attitude and general contempt for everything and anyone in the hours immediately after the awakening of the beast, oops, I mean child.

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