You lucky, lucky, lucky bastards.
I do get to keep my bikes in the front room, but that’s about it.
Otherwise I queue for the bathroom, get shouted at for having a poo, get the stringy legs of the chicken I cooked for tea, get to spend a thousand million pounds in the supermarket, get my undies stolen, get my socks stolen, get to wait up for the offspring to come in, have to pay for a million bus fares, get abused for daring to walk to the bathroom without clothes, have to agree to various piercings, haircuts, fashion abominations, act as a go between twixt siblings who are not talking to each other, work like a dog, get shouted at for moaning, get shouted at for not moaning, have to take the rubbish out, have to clean 4 other peoples skin off the bath, always end up washing my hair in soap because they’ve used all the shampoo, drag the miserable feckers to see their grandparents, buy cheap bike stuff to save money for Xmas rubbish that gets broken or discarded by Boxing day, wear crappy old clothes to pay for the latest fashion garbage and share my bedroom witha shoe collection that Imelda Marcos could only dream of.
You lucky, lucky bastards.