Monday, 20 October 2008

A little bit conned...

So I've just got back from a weekend away, at my uncle's house in Sussex, and I can't help but feel a little bit robbed.

I was originally going to stay at home, or at least stay in Dorset, whilst my parents went away for a long weekend to celebrate their 27th Anniversary. I didn't have much planned, but with the £20 I was going to get I was going to either purchase vodka and sleeping pills, or other mind-alterating substances, and escape reality for a few days. Either that or pester friends online, ans work my way through yet more Jeeves and Wooster (I'm on a Stephen Fry binge atm.. Even more than usual). However, after a small incident involving Whisky, The Libertine, and shedloads of tears on Wednesday night, my parents decided that it was unsafe to leave me alone and invited/forced me along with them for the weekend, with the promise of alcohol, guitaring, lots of personal space, and a beach to myself. So, reluctantly at first, but eventually with enthusiasm, I agreed (despite the necessary arrangements having already been made).

Friday, for me started early, packing my bags at 6:00 in the morning, having been up since 2:00pm the previous day. I must admit, it was lovely. Chatting to Casey (the only other person to have such insanely stupid sleeping habits as me), packing my bags, then boiling a pot of tea, sipping out of a cup and saucer, watching the foggy sunrise, reading Pullman, and listening to Ghost Song on repeat. Eventually my parents awoke, my mother at first, then my gargantuan father from his dark, dank lair, and we were off! I expected to sleep in the car, but due to a fantastic soundtack, chosen by me, I fell not into the arms of Morpheus, and spent the rest of the day pepped on Pro Plus. My uncle's house at first provided everything I expected of it, and wine, food, and coversation flowed merrily, and I as I collapsed into bed ridiculously early, at 8:00 in the evening, I felt sure I'd done good leaving home.

However, this is when things started to take a downward turn. My father, who has long openly admitted to his disappointment of my achievements, seemed to be trying to copy me. I don't like my Dad at the very best of times, and watching him imitate everything I do, and decide to buy every little thing that my uncle posesses, drove me to the edges of my sanity. He started using long, contrived sentances, elevating his language, and seemed to be constantly seeking laughter. Then he started talking about how "he's joining Giles these days, neither of us can sleep at all", implying that me and him have a) anything in common, and b) various midnight adventures. He started going on about his love for Patrick Wolf, and understands why he has the "huge following he does". However, I have coped with my Dad for 18 years now, and I was not going to let his continued presence in my life ruin my weekend.

The sudden appearance of my other uncle (Andy), and his smarmy, false, bitch of a wife, on Sunday, however did nothing to alleviate my woes. Brief though it might have been, nothing grates my gears like middle class whinging, especially about the state of the education system, especially an hour solid of it. I was also, for the fifth time, asked about my future in front of my parents; An uncomfortable topic, as I have yet to divulge my plans, which I am doubtless they will dissapprove of, and an annoying one, as my mother tends to patronisingly mention my musical ambitions, and then unload all of her expectations upon me. It was particulary grating as well, as my cousin, Andy's son, is currently doing exactly what I want to do next year. This would be a good thing, had my uncle not mentioned his son's activities to my parents, meaning my parents are now researching and pushing me toward the very things that I've already researched and chosen.

In the end, it was never that bad. It was nice to see my uncle, I do love him, and he's by far my favourite relative after my brother. In itself, the weekend was good - Walks, alcohol, and his sweeeeet guitar (a real joy to play). But in comparison to the care and woe-free escape I was promised, and what I could have achieved had I stayed home, it fell far short of expectations. The journey back was particulary hellsome, when a well meaning comment from my mother sent me into a spiral of disrepair and depression, when she simply asked when I was going to start writing songs again.
I can't help but feel that I need another break. A real one, where I can work, away from the destructive and disgusting corruptive influences of my father. Methinks when work comes, and money starts a-flowing, a trip to Cornwall, Paris, or Berlin is needed.

Much love.


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