Surviving Summer (E12)

Day 13: Parenting Fail
If anyone has ever felt like they deserve the World's Worst Parent Award, I have good news. The story I'm about to tell will probably significantly trump anything you've experienced before. Settle in and grab a brew. One day this will be a 'remember when..', but right now I'm just thankful my kids are still alive to tell the tale..!
So yesterday I was in London, for the purposes of a birthday gig with a friend. Initially the plan was to head up alone, but life happened, and the only way I could work it was to take Teen Queen and Little Miss Mouth with me for the day, and deposit them on the train home before heading to the gig and coming back later. All fine. Teen Queen managed to fly solo to the States just after her thirteenth birthday, so getting home from London with B in tow was no biggie for her.
We had a lovely day exploring Brick Lane, Borough Market and Southwark Cathedral. I'm just a little bit happy that my kids seem to enjoy the off-the-beaten-track experiences over the touristy shit- last time we tried to do the science museum it was fairly hellish. So we mooched. Got awesome photos in the oldskool vintage photo market. Ate bagels from THE best bagel place in the world. Did Whitechapel Art Gallery- which was an interesting exercise in who appreciates art. D wandered round with barely-concealed disdain; apparently people could do better in her art class at school. B, however, totally got into it. And cartwheeled in the much-empty-space, which I figured was acceptable in a place specifically given over to self expression and liberalism. Southwark Cathedral was beautiful, and they had a service going on while we were in there. We sat for a while listening to some awesome choral evensong stuff, before finding coconut pancakes from the Vietnamese street food stall in the market. The girls were superstars all day, and for an unexpected trip, it turned out pretty perfectly.
Then came the train ride home. We made our way to Waterloo with plenty of time to spare- I got them some dinner and made sure I knew which platform they had to be on etc. All good. I waved them off through the barriers, and watched them board the train. Tick tick, all fine. I headed off to meet the couple of mates I was gigging with that evening, feeling somewhat smug at my outside the box thinking and subsequent lovely day where so far, everyone had won. I managed a pre-gig pint in a pub close to the venue before a call flashed up on my phone.. it was D. Picking up, she told me she wasn't sure they were on the right train, because it was pretty small, and they were stopping at random stations she'd never heard of before. Hmmm. A rapid panic-check of The Trainline (other rail travel apps are available) revealed that the normal trains were fucked due to platform works etc, and actually they should have swapped at the first stop- Clapham Junction- onto the regular train home. SHITTING BOLLOCKS. I established where they were- the arse end of Surrey somewhere- and worked out how they could get back, all the while not letting the slightly-drunk panic escape through my voice and down the phone... that was something D did not need right now. It was actually only a case of getting the same train backwards to the stop they'd missed, and jumping on the right train, but it added a whole 2 hours on to their journey time. Needless to say I felt awful, and spent the next hour or so in near-constant phone communication, optimistically chivvying them along with 'Wow-what an adventure' type cliches and hoping to hell B didn't lose her shit. As it was, they were both megastars, and found a great way to entertain themselves by publicly shaming me on social media. There was a whole shit ton of fun to be had in that.
I eventually did manage the gig. It was a hardcore punk band-the best kind. Noisy, sweaty, beer-y and 95% guys. Avoiding being crushed is quite the skill when you're a short-arse. As I got out, D texted to say they were home, and I breathed a loud thank fuck sigh of relief, while sending what was probably the fifty-seventh copiously apologetic text to my girl.
So yeah. Worst parent award for not checking shit and depositing children on train anyway goes to me. I hope you all feel better about your guardianship misdemeanors and can find hope in the fact that someone somewhere is always fucking up worse than you. Yesterday, that someone was yours truly.
Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

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