Monday 2nd January – The work-house beckons.

The Teenager’s home.

He shuffled in yesterday afternoon minus his Blackberry but, interestingly enough, wearing someone else’s clothes.

I was, at that very moment, ringing down my emergency phone number list of places that he might have wandered into, but was drawing a blank as none of the Burger Kings or McDonalds in the area had seen him. I was just starting on the KFC list when he loomed up behind me, kissed the top of my head and asked if he could have a Tower Burger.

His story is that he fell asleep on his friend’s Mum’s sofa midway through Pirates of the Caribbean on New Year’s Eve. He slept right through the teen-merriment going on around him, the drinking, the eating, the flirting and the fun.

Basically, the whole of the New Year celebrations had a big zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz over it.

He was only woken when his friend’s Mum was trying to hoover the sitting room at tea-time on Sunday and was unable to move the sofa because of the unconscious teenager. The family’s unsuccessful attempts to rouse him, led to his friend tipping a glass of Sprite over him, hence the clothing exchange.

The Blackberry arrived home a bit later, along with the original clothes that his friend’s Mum had thoughtfully laundered for him.

Doing the washing on the same day as hoovering? Who is this woman?

Birds like that are just put on the earth to make the rest of us Pyjama-tons feel bad.

Anyway, while we are on the subject of feeling bad, I’m due back in the work-house at 9am tomorrow.

This means I’m gonna have to wash my minging ‘holiday-hair’ and scrabble around looking for some trousers that I think I cheerfully lobbed under my bed on the 23rd December.

Do you think they’d mind if I turned up in my PJ’s and a pair of Uggs?

After a week and a bit off, I can’t imagine life without either.