Friday night and Saturday morning.

Having now recovered from sleep deprivation caused by child, told the story of said cause to a few others and got it straight in my own mind, here is the story of Youngest’s Brush with The Law and Other Troubles.

Youngest says to me “Mum, I’m going out tonight.  That OK?”  And, as he is 15.4 yrs old, and it is the first night of half term, I say “Yeah, OK”.  So, come 8pm, his mate calls for him and he goes out.  As Eldest Son has already gone out, Daughter is a student these days, and Middle Son never came home from college, Husband and I have the house to ourselves.

We are playing the Talisman thingy (link) again, chilling and having a few beers, when Ring Ring Ring Ring

Can’t find the phone.  We have 2 lines with 7 phones, but only 2 (1 per line) is fixed, the rest are walkaroundwiths and are usually walkedaroundwith to somewhereIamnot.  No exception today.  So I grab the fixed phone in the hall and Husband retrieves the walkaroundwith from Youngest’s room.

On phone is Eldest Son.  This will not be good.  This will be I have run out of money or some other plea.

“Can I talk to Dad please”.

Oh yes.  Trouble a’coming.

Husband takes the call.  “Yes.  Mmmmm.  No.  No, I cannot drive.  I’ve been drinking.  Yes.  I suppose I can get a taxi.  Yes.  Mm.  OK.”

Youngest is drunk.  Youngest is spectacularly drunk.  Youngest is so drunk the police are involved, for his own protection.

There’s a park in Harrow Town Centre where the teens hang out and drink and smoke and fight and make out and who knows what.  It’s close to the station, and to the lower slopes of the hill, reasonably lit but right by a main road.  This is where Youngest has tied one on, and gone on a rather wobbly walk, nearly walking into the traffic and generally being unsafe to himself and others around him.  Which is why the police are involved.

Eldest Son is also at this park, getting a bit of a buzz on but mostly trying to find a bass player for the band.  That washed out but it does mean he is there at the same time.  He sees the police (5 of them) round a scruff of teens and thinks “Ha, someone in trouble.  Who.  Holy shit, that’s Youngest.  I’d better get over there and see what’s going on”.  Good thing really – he phones us, liaises with the police and generally behaves like a responsible citizen.

The phoned-for cab arrives and Husband goes off to Harrow.  I pace.  I pace a bit more.  Daughter phones, for some other reason, so I tell her all about it.  I pace a bit more.

Husband phones – the cab driver does not want to bring Youngest home and if he did, would charge £100, in advance, in case he puked in the cab.  Fair enough, he would have to clean it up and probably lose the rest of his night’s income.  And Youngest is spectacularly, vomit-covered and lying in the recovery position on a cold pavement, drunk.

General consensus – take to Northwick Park Hospital A&E.  Get medical attention.  So a ambulance taxi is called for.  When it arrives Youngest is wrapped in on of those space blanket things and taken away.  And yes, he did puke in the ambulance, so good job they didn’t take that can!

Friday night in A&E is not the most pleasant way of losing your buzz.  Husband is there, so is a drunk who is in pain but not danger, and not handling it very well.  Lots of moaning and crying and calling on God.  Lots of waiting around.  Youngest is put on a saline drip to both help rehydrate him and lessen the hangover.  Hard call there (cos by this time Husband wants him to suffer lol!) but it will mean he will sober up quicker and they will be able to leave quicker.  Hard call.  But the leaving quicker is worth more, at this point, than the suffering at some future point.

I have been kept informed of this, and kept Daughter informed.  She is cooking her dinner at midnight – nice to see university life has not changed her habits in any way.

At 3 am, Eldest Son comes home.

Hi mum, who’s home.
Me and you, son.  Where have you been.
Police station.
What!!!

The police arrested my mate for cheeking them,  so I waited for him.

Phew!

Husband finally arrives home with Youngest at 3.45, by which time I am keeping my eyes open with matchsticks.  Youngest is a state – his clothes are filthy and he stinks, but he doesn’t look so bad.

But the next day, oh boy, does he suffer.  He has a monster of a hangover – he worships the porcelain, he has the shakes, he has the headache and he wishes t he ground would eat him.

And I think – good, serves you right!

What all the above means for Youngest:  He had to be seen by a paediatrician at the hospital.  By law now, because he is underage, his school have to be informed and a social worker will have to visit the house to talk to Youngest and Ourselves as Parents to ensure we are keeping him on the straight and narrow.  We are so looking forward to that.

 

 

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About bookmole
I am pro-choice. You make yours, I'll make mine, okay?

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