Kevin Page.
Mrs P, the Boomerang child, her partner, and George the dog have gone away.
So I'm doing that most Kiwi thing that Kiwi blokes do. I'm baching.
Of course when I first heard the news I was going to have some time to myself I was ecstatic.
No queue for the bathroom. I could ditch Married At First Sight and watch what I wanted on the telly.
I could take a break from the gluten free environment of our place and eat and drink whatever I wanted, when I wanted ... the list of positives went on.
Memories of similar baching times in years gone by came flooding back.
Back when the bathroom shelf wasn't dominated by the required bottle of multivitamins for the ageing, Mrs P would disappear with the kids for a week to visit Nana and I would be rattling round in the house on my lonesome.
Not that I was home much.
Back then it was an opportunity to live life on the edge, at one with nature, which basically meant giving the personal best in beer consumption a serious nudge and generally go "up the (footy/golf/whatever) club" every night.
A takeaway on the way home (a different one every night obviously; don't want life to be predictable) and a bit of sport on the telly as I dozed off and I was sorted. Then I'd do it all again the next night.
Naturally the "evidence" of my less than healthy approach to life over that week had to be removed before the family came home.
So, like most baching blokes I'm sure, an hour was set aside before the arrival to clean up, make the bed, do the washing up etc etc. Easy.
But now I'm older.
Sure I've had every intention of cutting loose and rekindling the past but one low alcohol, low sugar beer (in the unfamiliar surroundings of a trendy bar that I was certain used to be a good old fashioned pub, didn't it?) into my time alone I remembered I had to get home to record Mrs P's favourite programme.
I should point out here I have neither the patience or nous to do anything technological such as set up the telly to record anything. She does that.
So I raced home and just pressed the button on the remote thing. Easy. She said it would be.
Now what? Oh well. May as well have some dinner.
To be honest, I couldn't really be bothered with a takeaway. Fish and chips bloat me these days, burgers are too messy and curry can result in a variety of belly noises and the risk of, er, interesting fragrances.
So I just cooked up some pasta on the stove to go with that bit of leftover gluten free meal we made together last night. And I ate it as I watched Married At First Sight.
Then I did the washing up and went to bed.
There was no all-nighter. The personal best beer consumption mark will stay where it was in 1985.
I'll watch Married At First Sight again with Mrs P tonight when she gets home because it's OUR programme. And we'll probably watch it while eating another tasty gluten free meal.
I've come to the conclusion baching is OK. But baching for the, ahem, more mature bloke is a bit different from days gone by.
I like to think I did test myself against the elements though.
But I really must get Mrs P to show me how to get the temperature just right on that pesky one at the front.
- Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to kevin.page@nzme.co.nz