I've got to bleed myself of you

Every time the entire family piles into Purple I feel the need to intone Morrisonly: 'Is everybody in? Is? Everybody? In? The ceremony is about to begin...'. But then I mentally acknowledge that what is about to begin is not a ceremony but a drive to Mother in Common Law's or the shops or that one time, Clare. I also remember that my brief obsession with The Doors was perhaps not the happiest incident in my music appreciation history, nor something I want to encourage in the musical tastes of the Bridge Crew. Sure, go with the drug-fueld compositions ladies, just make them a little less sophomoric than those of The Lizard King.

Where were we? We were getting into the car and yes, the destination is Mother in Common Law's. It is my good non-wife's birthday and we're popping up for dinner. Common Law holds a birthday coffee in her right hand. Everything that I hand to her today includes the qualifier 'birthday'. Her birthday presents, her birthday breakfast, her birthday remote control. With my left hand I reach behind me for the seat belt and pull it around in front of me with an enthusiasm that belies my excitement about the evening ahead. I elbow Common Law's arm. There is quite some spillage.

'I'm sorry! Sorry! Sorry!' I only use exclamation marks for taking the piss and apologising. Common Law responded, as is her wont, in a deader than deadpan manner:

'Oh, my fault. I should have been watching what you were doing.'

And so she should. You should all remain constantly vigilant while in the physical presence of Gimme.