Have a pea that's been roasted:
This is in it's entirety completely bloody true, I promise:

My mum is a very light sleeper - I discovered this in my teens when trying to return to the house intoxicated in various forms, and get to bed without waking anyone up.

Now I'm in my mid-thirties, and a few years ago was visiting my mum.

The second or third Harry Potter film had just come out on video, and she loves it, because she reckons she's just like one of the teachers in it - the one played by Zoe Wannamaker - and to a certain degree she's quite right.

Now - she was insistent that I watch - or at least try to watch - the video, but her and hubby were off to bed (they're in their sixties and anything beyond 9pm is a stretch these days), so here's the telly, here's the video, here's the remotes - off you go, and you know where the fridge is if you fancy a sandwich.

So I started watching it, and I vaguely got into it - I had enjoyed the books when they came out, and - irritating child-actors aside - I thought the film was quite engaging.

Half way through, I decided that yes indeed and sure enough - a sandwich and another beer would be a good idea (she knows me so well - it's like she's my mother), and so I hit "Pause", and go and make myself some sort of BLT-type affair.

I return to my seat, and look around for the remote, which seems to have hidden itself entirely from my ken.

Now - the older children among you will recall that certain telly-and-video combos mean that after the video's been paused for a while, it stops the tape and flicks back to actual telly automatically, at the volume the telly was before you turned the video on.

This happened at this point, and BANG the telly came on and what was it? Channel Five. It was now late at night, so showing was soft porn - cue some topless girl bouncing up and down shrieking excitedly at the top of her bleedin lungs, at top volume on the telly because my mum has the telly loud as she's a bit deaf.

In desperation I look for the remote where the fucker is I don't know under the chair by the sofa on the pouffe on the table where the FUCK are you DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR I desperately start reaching for the remote, my back to the living room door as I search with my hand where is it where is it where is it oh god where is it

when I hear

"Erm ... Vagabond ... " I turn and stare, terrified, over my shoulder - the living room door is open a tiny crack, "Could you, ah ... turn the volume down please, we are actually trying to sleep upstairs ... " as I turn back to the screen, the actress finally reaching the climax of the scene.

Oh god.

I honestly was just looking for the remote. I swear to god, mum.

Will I ever be able to raise this in conversation, and the truth be known?

Will it fuck.

Length? She might as well have made me a cup of tea.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:33, 3 replies)

Oh dear
There's no way of explaining that one without increasing your own guilt I think!
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:53, closed)

... surely the volume of the TV when it came back on again, would be the same as the volume you set while watching the video?
(fatboybubba, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 22:51, closed)

Doesn't work like that...
The volume on our DVD recorder is very low so we have to turn the telly up so's we can hear it. When the telly comes back on, it scares the birds from the trees and makes your ears bleed...
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 15:02, closed)