Ignorance

The role of parents becomes increasingly harder to define the greater the number of years one has spent out of the family nest. A lot of my friends are simply bankrolled by their mothers and fathers while others use their homes as cheap accommodation and still enjoy bed and board at a bargain price.

Mine have been pretty hands off for a long time, occasionally helping out here and there but more or less happy to watch me make and resolve my own mistakes or to lend a hand when I crash and burn. The extent of our contact is a once-weekly phone call made by my mother during which we both fill each other in on the minutiae of our respective weeks. She knows I don’t want her judgment (disapproval) on what I have got up to, or I will simply withhold information, and I know how to sound interested when listening to stories about the neighbours’ new double-glazing.

A recent call did however leave me wondering what benefit these calls were having. Somehow, after exchanging tales of my friends’ more impressive careers and my sister’s more exciting social life, we got on to going through my monthly budget. Going through my monthly budget is like walking through a disaster zone minutes after a stampeding tornado has ravaged everything in sight and rendered all life meaningless. As soon as my money comes in, it flies off in countless directions. I am typically buoyed by the influx and allow myself a few frivolities, which generally result in the feast turning to famine with three weeks to go before the next pay date. It’s called being an idiot and it is a field in which I excel.

We went over my outgoings: gym membership, phone contract, internet, council tax and rent, among a wealth (or poverty?) of other things.

“Yes, your rent does sound quite expensive,” she revealed. I informed her that rent is generally quite expensive. “But I think you may be living in an area out of your price range,” she went on. Nice. A cuss on my socio-economic status.

“I’ve been living here for nine months,” I pointed out, “It’s too late to tell me that.” I don’t mean to paint her to sound like some awful woman – she is, in fact, lovely. Just a bit misguided with advice occasionally. We agreed in the end that I was probably better off living in a nice bit than getting mugged on a nightly basis in some hellmouth with no conveniently located tube station.

“Well, I’ll have to go now dear,” she said. “Are you sure you’re alright though, you sound quite sad now.”

“Maybe because we’ve just worked out that I’ll be strapped for cash for a long time yet,” I mentioned. “I was fine until you phoned...”