When Is A Honeymoon Not A Honeymoon (Part Sixteen)

“Stop the madness” I shouted as I fought to be heard over the high-pitched voices of my sister, my best friend Carla and my mum.

I’d returned home from a lovely afternoon with my Grandad, to find them all in heated discussion in my parents’ kitchen and unsurprisingly, I was as usual the main feature. Carla had again rushed round to Dyson Mansions, aka my parent’s house, to announce that Serial Shagger Simon was now shacked up with my pregnant former best friend in the house which we had bought together. “Can’t believe, you’re letting him get away with it”. My sister reproached me as my mum once again boiled the kettle for another round of teas. Frankly, if ever the end of the world was announced my mother would spend the last ten minutes of her life brewing tea.

Even Carla was adding her ten pence worth “so let me understand this cupcake. You have been financing Serial Shagger’s lifestyle in a 3 bedroomed semi with Miss “impregnated by an alien”, whilst you have been sleeping on a rollaway bed in your parents spare room?” realising what she’d said, she added “sorry Mrs D” in my mother’s direction “ it is a very nice spare room but at the end of the day it is not the same as having your own place. Honesty, Dall, if you were any more stupid, you’d have to be watered twice a day”!

My sister added “And I have had to endure hours of shopping channel television in order that you could furnish that semi. I even spent three hours of my life, which I won’t be getting back anytime soon, selecting kitchens in Ikea with you. And now, Sharon future mother of the golden child is playing housewife with your kitchen utensils and you don’t seem to be bothered. Now I know you’re adopted because there is no history of insanity in this family”.

“Well thank you former family member and may I just ask whether they ever shut up on your planet”? I retorted in the way only sisters can.

“Dall, why don’t you just give your money to a religious cult because at least you’d know it was going to a good cause” Carla laughed.

I thanked them all for their concern and agreed that it wasn’t my finest moment but in the event that I ever found myself in that situation again, I would remember to pack the tea towels before fleeing. With as much dignity as I could muster, I turned and slammed the kitchen door behind me.

My Dad, who had been lingering in the hall pretending to consult the phone book, whispered as I stormed out of the kitchen “Now lass, don’t go getting yourself upset. I’ve made an appointment for you to see a solicitor on Monday; very thorough, did the conveyancing on your sister’s house. I think it’s time that Simon learned that my daughter’s nobody’s fool”. With that he kissed the top of my head and patted my hand. “Tell your mother I’m off to the allotment “.

I realised that I too needed to seek sanctuary sooner rather than later and I knew where there was a Turkish oasis of calm waiting for me.

didim beach 4

88 thoughts on “When Is A Honeymoon Not A Honeymoon (Part Sixteen)

  1. I know that this is not the point of this post at all. But I love how alive your writing is. I felt like I was standing in your kitchen with you! And whatever way you decide to handle your situation, I commend you. You’re better than me. I’d probably be on the international news by now…


  2. Ah your name is Dallas! I didn’t realize that! I don’t know why I’m so excited to realize this.

    As usual I love these updates. Also are your parents in Turkey right now? I remember you saying they were coming for a visit.


    • It’s really Debbie or Deborah as my mother calls me but I got the nickname from a little tyke who’d borrowed his dad’s copy of the infamous porn film and the rest they say is history! My mother had a great sense of humour as she named my sister Beverley Joanne and with the surname of Dyson she took some stick for it at school. And yes the clan are here on a visit now!


  3. Your dad is a sweetie! And I’m sure the rest means well (they do, don’t they? Surely they do!). Love the comment of your friend about having to water you haha, I’ll be sure to use that one in the future! (BTW I saw I dropped off your fav’s list too. I guess that’s why I don’t have one, it’s too hard to keep everyone happy haha)


  4. Sorry, stickin’ w/Tink. Debbie can do Dallas without me helping her! Best thing about the way your family talks to you (and treats you) is you have the same rights. It’s family speak for ‘we love you and want only what’s best for you…blah blah blah…and we don’t know how to keep our mouths shut.” Take the best, trash the rest. You are doing pretty ok from what I can see, so whatever you are doing, it’s working. Been waiting for a post mum post…hope it’s going well.


  5. It is said that 70% of families are dysfunctional and no one has met the other 30%. Your family seems like one of the very good ones. I was a medical social worker and when I dealt with families I found that the opposite of love isn’t hate but apathy. The ones that were constantly going on at each other but bonded were the ones that had strength. The ones that sat there like wood usually fell apart. The ones that didn’t talk for fear of offending were isolated. I love your story. They are ready to go to battle for you. They are goading you on. No one does this to their Deb. God bless them and pass the tea.


    • hi deborah, your comments have opened my eyes – I totally agree with you about the opposite of love etc. Having your family champion you no matter whether that’s agreeing or disagreeing with you is so important. It really shows they care.

      And Dallas! I love your writing, you bring humour and sympathy together. (PS I’m really sorry I haven’t followed up the lovely award you sent me, I’ve been busy with not well husband and new grandaughter, love them all!)


      • A new grandaughter; what a fabulous blessing having a new edition to the family! And thank you for your kind words as obviously when I started the blog I was and still am a complete numpty with anything technical – can’t even take a photograph in focus! I thought I’d be writing for myself as it’s cheaper than therapy! And here I am five months on with the most amazing blogging friends who are always there with sound advice, a virtual shoulder to cry on and to share the gift of laughter with. So I thank you for being one of them.


  6. In their own way the more challenging members of your friends and family have your best interests at heart, possibly only slightly after their own 😉 and your Dad is gold. I’ve been away but was happy to see this instalment buried in my In-Box 🙂


  7. Gak, sisters and friends who needs them. This is when you drop things on their heads and then sweetly smile and say “oh, so sorry didn’t mean to drop that large rock. Must have slipped, did that hurt?”

    Your writing is wonderful. Though it is obvious so much of this is hurtful you are bringing along the sense of real life rather than just the pain. It makes this a joy to read. I can offer you this tidbit, the best revenge is living well, with your keen sense of humor you are bound to come out on top and live well in the end.


  8. Hi CTTT – Just catching up on old posts, and, of course, yours was one of the first I went to! Can’t wait for the end of this story.

    LOL about the tea. As an American, I simply cannot and probably will never understand the amount of tea that people drink in the UK. Even though I am now a converted tea drinker (only English breakfast, of course), I would never be able to drink as much as the English. But I learned the tea culture quickly when we moved to the UK when workmen repairing our new rental home knocked on the kitchen window nearly every hour asking for tea. I got the serving-tea-routine down pretty quickly after that. I now know that there is never an occasion not suited for a cuppa’. 🙂


  9. Nothing like a cup of tea to clear your head!
    While I have had my fair share of slamming doors and storming out of kitchens when i was younger, I do get uncomfortable around families that are too polite to each other 😀


  10. hey TinkyTown (I love calling you TinkyTown, do you mind? it just sounds perfect) just read part 16… I had left off at part 15…. pass the tissues, don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both… Dad as always has very good advice. Looking forward to the next chapter. Chin up and have a cup of tea… 🙂


    • I don’t mind what anyone calls me! Bless your heart for your kind words – had my performance review at work last night – enough said! I have, written the pre-ahmed chapter when I discovered serial shagging simon had been playing away – that makes for good reading! So will be posting that in the next week


  11. Kvetching is a Yiddush term meaning complaining.
    To kvetch is to complain.
    A kvetcher is a complainer…
    Oh & Yiddush is a blend of Hebrew, German, Polish, Russian & Hungarian…maybe even some Czech thrown in…it is “Jewish Esperanto”!

    Liked by 1 person

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