Coke too

So we get to the pub. Even before we sit at the table, we have both checked our mobile phones. Of course, we have no reception. Either of us. Of course, we don’t because we’re not paranoid enough already. No reception on the phone guarantees one thing – that we will check our phones incessantly for the next two hours… because that will improve the amount of reception we have.

But its fine because they have the phone number for the pub too. And the phone apparently works as the landlady is just using it. Excellent, we can relax. WHat shall we have to eat? Hmmm, three courses seems like it might take a while to arrive- the pubs busy and the food is freshly cooked so, you know, lets just go for starters and main course. We agree and the waitress takes our order. I glance around the pub and take a sip of coke. Hmmm, landlady still on the phone but you know, hey, she’s working tonight so how long is she going to be. I check my mobile phone again – still no messages, and no reception.

We chat … about our son. I’m sure we used to talk about other stuff but he seems like the natural point of conversation. And the first course arrives after what feels like an age. Hmmm, delicious. I appear to have finished mine in a nanosecond.

And the landlady is still on the phone. Jesus, sweetheart, this better be some sick relative or a long lost cousin. You’re supposed to be working.

The main course seems to be taking a while. Tap tap tap. Hmmm, has time slowed down? 8:24pm. Have we really only been here an hour- it feels like… oh…. forever. Tap tap tap. I wonder how he’s doing? If he wakes up, it usually about now. I hope he’s not screaming or upset. Perhaps we should phone and check. Hmmm, perhaps. Still no reception though. And the stupid, lazy landlady is still talking incessantly on the phone. What if they’re trying to get through and can’t? What if they tried and couldn’t and are now on our way to A&E? They would have stopped off here… unless it was an emergency.

Oh my god.

What have I become?

Better half talks rational sense into me. We finish and pay. And leave. And I only drive slightly over the speed limit to get home.

Turns out, he’s fine. Hasn’t stirred. She checked on him (again) ten minutes ago and he’s sleeping… like a baby.

I feel ridiculous. And I have indigestion. And as it turns out, a great babysitter.