Like mother like daughter

Since Eve was born I have been clutching at straws that there might be something, other than being a bit stroppy when she is tired, that she has inherited from me. She has the Boy's hair colour, blue eyes and occasionally looks scarily like his brother or my mother in law (if you are looking for something to screw with your head at 3am then feeding something that looks like your mother-in-law takes some beating). However this week I have finally found an area where Eve is like her Mum.

To explain this I need to take you back to Cardiff University Student's Union bar in the early 1990s. My sister was at Uni there and I, as a 14 or 15 year old, had gone to visit her. The bar doormen were quite tough so to get me into the bar she had to sneak me in quite early before the bar got busy and the doormen got picky. This meant I was in the bar with my sister, some of her friends, her ex boyfriend D and the Cardiff Uni rugby team at about 6pm.

To begin with the evening was quite refined, or as much as students ever are. I began by drinking pints of the tipple of choice of your average teenager, cider. After a few pints of the nicer tasting stuff, I moved onto larger. Hitherto I had never liked lager, but after a few pints of cider I was willing to give it a go. A couple of pints later, and a drunken conversation with a cute member of the Uni rugby team, D and I decided it would be a top idea to drink vodka with orange. After one drink, the mixer seemed like too much effort, so he and I stood by the bar just downing shots of vodka.

My sister, showing much common sense and foresight, decided at this point to go and spend the night with her then boyfriend leaving me in the capable hands of D and her flatmates. We stumbled back to the flat where my memory gets a bit hazy.

My next memory of the night was walking into her sitting room where her flatmates were sitting and asking them what I should do with the vomit I was holding in my hands. The next memory I have is of them cleaning the sitting room floor, and the final memory is of me lying with my head over the side of my sister's bed with a bowl underneath it.

The next morning it transpired that I had pretty much redecorated the flat. However, displaying a remarkable new talent, I had not at any point got vomit on myself but rather been very effective in projecting some distance and with considerable velocity (apparently the one down the mirror was especially impressive).

It was as I held my daughter yesterday as she projectile vomited all over the floor, bookcase and pot plant (fertiliser anyone?) but not on herself or me that the Cardiff Uni incident came back to me and I realised I have passed to my daughter a very important talent.