It is one week now until mum and dad arrive. They’re coming here for my birthday in two weeks. Dad is going to stay in London between next Thursday and the Wednesday after that, but mum is going to stay over at Auntie’s. And Maria is coming too!!

You can cut the level of enthusiasm about my dad’s visit with a shovel here. Unfortunately my dear husband to be and my dad aren’t really on friendly terms. That has to do with Mark feeling that Dad tried to buy his affections when we had that long spat over the car. Mark does try though, because it’s my dad, but it is amusing to see how he steels himself for the ordeal.

So, in two weeks I’ll be eighteen. I don’t know what I should feel about that. Should I feel anything? I don’t think I’ll feel any different. Do they give you a license? A diploma? β€œHere kid, you’re all grown up now. Don’t piss it all away”. Maybe that’s what they say. Except Wednesday in two weeks will be the same as Thursday in two weeks.

I suppose that the biggest difference is that I, Mark, Stephen and some others like Ben and Abbie are going to the pub. I suppose that when I flip out my Student card to prove my age, that will feel something good. No more using Mark to buy beer. Fantastic.

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It is funny how different styles I and Mark have. Most of the time that’s not an issue because when we buy stuff for the house, we buy the cheapest stuff, and don’t consider the style at all.

Before the parents arrive, we’re getting that new sofa that we’ve been arguing about for a year now. Our hideous monstrosity is heading for the garage. If I had my way we’d carry out into the back garden, and I would set it on fire so that I could perform rituals to drive out the ugly demons of it. But it’s going to the garage. From there it goes to the landfill, or to a second hand shop. Who could possibly want to buy something so hideous?

Today we did our first reconnoitre of the furniture shops to try and find something, and that’s when our different tastes reared themselves. I want sleek, clean, modern. Mark wants traditional, brown, and comfy. So we basically went from sofa to sofa and vetoed each other. When we came home, we agreed that this was ridiculous, but I have a feeling that we’ll keep on doing it. Our present arrangement is that Mark gets a comfy sofa, since he’s the one that uses it most. That’s the price I had to pay to get rid of the monstrosity.

I’m also pushing it a bit. We have a sort of unspoken arrangement. I get to decorate the office. He can clutter up the lounge however he wants. We share responsibility for the bedroom and the kitchen, and those are turning into an interesting clash. I mean, earthenware terracotta pots and metal surface appliances mixed with wood and lace table cloth. It’s like a fusion between Andy Warhol and an Edwardian manor house.

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