therealpm | (no subject)

*throws rubber back*

Just give me the tea, Peter.

*ducks out the way and sniggers*

*hands over a cup of tea*

I would remind you that this affair is entirely your fault.

*Takes tea*

Hardly.

It was entirely your idea to introduce the *shudders* bees.

It was your idea to start an altercation in the first place.

*tuts*

*glances at clock*

What time are your children expecting dinner and are you in a fit state to apparate?

More than adequate, thank you.

If you want to get rid of me, you can just say so, you know.

*finishes most of tea*

I would hate to face the wrath of a famished Freddie.

True... and it is Sally's turn to cook, so I suppose someone should be there to man the fire extinguisher.

*Drinks the rest of the tea rather quickly*

I shall leave you to it, then - unless you particularly wish to have oven chips, sweetcorn and sausages for dinner?

*looks torn*

Must I run the gauntlet of over-processed gunk every time I visit the children?

Unless you wish to cook or we order in take-away - yes.

*Gets out of chair and makes way towards fire*

If you're coming I shall see you in a moment, if not - don't do anything preposterous if you can help it.

*ponders for a brief moment, then stalk sover and grabs John's arm*

Come along, we're going to the supermarket. I highly doubt that your kitchen contains anything remotely approaching a fresh vegetable.

Very well.

*John pulls Peter into the flames*
*Almost instantly, the two appear in an empty changing room in a supermarket close to Parliament*
*As they step out into the main store, John nods at the confused sales assistant and picks up a disused basket*

Very well then, Delia, what do we need?

Wha-

*blinks, slightly disorientated*

...less dragging and more warning would be appreciated next time.

*tags along behind John, giving the assistant a baleful stare*

*hmph*

I suspect it will be necessary to cater to slightly naive palates. Roast chicken drumsticks with baked potato wedges and steamed greens should be sufficient.

We need some tomato sauce too... and onions... and ice-cream...

*Picks up final items then proceeds to checkout*

Can you pack while I pay?

*Begins small talk with woman on the checkout*

Yes, the weather has been rather odd recently... no thank you, we don't need that double-bagged... yes, he really is - always!.. I don't know why I put up with him sometimes either!... yes... there you are... Thank you - good evening to you too!

*Grabs bags and walks out*

There's a secluded corner round here we can disappear from without being noticed.

First a bed, then a changing room and now a dark alleyway. I question the honour of your intentions, Mr Bercow.

*smirks as John gapes*

Hurry up, you dragged me out here without my coat and some of us aren't as young as we used to be.

I'll have you know I am a rampant heterosexual!

Hold on...

*Translocates the both of them to the Bercow household*

Of course, John. Whatever you say, John.

*stumbles as they arrive*

Your momentum compensation is o- oh hello, Freddie. we've come to help cook dinner.

I don't know, are you sure you're old enough to be allowed to help cook?

Oh really?

Well I suppose that's alright then, come along.

Yes, yes, Freddie and Oliver are most mature for their ages.

Freddie, why don't you wash these and you set the table, Oliver?

Marvellous, I'll sort the wedges out...

Peter, if you could sort out the chicken?

Edited 2012-02-23 21:23 (UTC)

Yes, do you have a roasting tin?

Good evening, Sally.

No, I fully intend to use my bed, tonight.

No, I'm sure John fully intends to use his bed.

*looks down*

Freddie, you run along to the kitchen, I'll be there in a bit.

...you never mentioned footage.

No, Sally, it's not what The Machine was designed for and anyway, it hasn't got the range for the length of time required.

No, John already vetoed that; blame him.

He's the Speaker, he's allowed to. Ancient laws and all that.

Well the penalties are rather nastier than a fine. Things from another dimension track you down and rip...

...I'll just go and sort dinner out, shall I?

*wanders off to the kitchen*

Sally, if you wish to continue this ridiculous discussion of a reality television boost then so be it, but right now we have vegetables to cook!

*Follows Peter into the kitchen*

No need to worry, boys - go and sort the table out while Uncle Peter and I get dinner sorted.

The Machine can't access Sally's phone, can it?

Nothing, dear! Just sorting out dinner!

*dinner is cooked and served and everyone gathers round the dinner table*

*shoves the trays of chicken legs at John*

Put those in a dish, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and a little pepper then put in at 200 degrees.

Already working on it

*taps away on blackberry whilst John bustles in the kitchen. By the time food is served, the phone is back in his pocket and he walks out to the dining room with a smug grin on his face*

Freddie, don't be mean to your brother.

No throwing food, Jemima.

No Sally. Just... just no.

Never mind boys, eat up - Uncle Peter picked it out for you.

Oliver, I hear Nick Clegg eats all his greens.

Good boy.

No, Freddie, that's no reason for you not to. After all, I always eat all of mine.

John, are you sure he isn't part hoover?

Yes, I'm sure.

Well, wasn't that lovely?

*Sees Jemima yawn*

Is someone tired?

Come on then, I'll take you to bed. Boys, can you be very responsible and sort the table out for me? I knew you could...

*leaves, holding Jemima*

Oh have they, Sally? How very odd.

Right, I ought to be leaving for my own bed fairly soon...

Freddie, let go of my leg.

Well you can come and visit The Machine at some point instead, how about that?

Good, now are you going to let go?

Freddie...

*returns*

...Freddie, let go of Uncle Peter's leg.

Yes, he will visit again soon, don't worry.

Freddie, Oliver - I do believe it's bedtime. Chop, chop.

...Boys, come on.

...Please?

Please go to bed.