Eight and a Half Inches of Column

As teenagers, I’m sure we were all freaked out by the thought of our parents/step parents getting it on in the room next door. It was gross, and potentially life-scarring if you were ever misfortunate enough to catch them in the act, or even in a stage of snog over the washing up.

Now as adults, past the "No, you may not leave the house until you are of legal child bearing-age, and I’m not babysitting" and "Please us a condom!" and even worse, "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!" accompanied by a wink, there comes a time when you may have to bring a serious partner back to Ma and Dad’s for a birthday/Christmas/monthly endurance visit.

With the double bed in the spare room all set out, or a sibling chucked onto the sofa due to being of a lower social status (single and dependant), the oldies are practically asking you to do it...aren’t they?

The conudrum is, do you get it on blatantly under your folk’s nose, or pretend that you’d much rather read/sleep/count cracks in the wall than have any sort of physical contact? Is there a stage where we proclaim: "I am an adult and my sex life is my own business!" to our parents and refuse to have a weekend of celibacy?

The key point to remember is that families are close entities, and a little bit of gossip can rush around the place like wildfire. You don’t want Aunt Josephine commenting on your lack of modesty accidentally before Last of the Summer Wine comes on. And if you’re unfortunate enough to have a slightly batty pair of old folks like mine, you definitely don’t want it turning up in the Christmas update letter:

‘John, Suzie and the twins bought a house in Oxford this year, Jenny is getting on well at the hospital, and Bettie is a ‘dirty little minx’ according to what we overheard her boyfriend telling her... Lots of love, Mrs Von-Tassle.’