A disadvantageous trip

On another note, I'm back at parents' this weekend, and am feeling more than a little taken for granted- I'm surely not old enough for role reversal yet? Although I openly admit to only returning out of fear of developing some nasty malnourishment related disease, from what I've seen so far i needn't have bothered with the train journey. Aftter spending five hours on various trains and being stranded in Craven Arms- which turns out to have been verrry aptly named, and being flashed at twice by the same guy, I finally dragged my damp little self back to my parent's house, expecting a warm welcome and real food, but found, instead, a note taped to the front door.
They'd gone to the pub, and I didn't have a key, which resulted in me scrambling in headfirst through a window- whilst wearing a skirt and heels, managing to duly ladder my tights, fall off the window ledge and smash a vase; but I never liked that one anyway, so s'all good. Righting myself, I turned to find a synchronised lace curtain twitching thing going on in the street outside- good to know the neighbours would intervene if they saw a nearby house being burgled, at least. Plus, I feel that my good deed for the day has been accomplished- some of these gentlemen neighbours clearly haven't seen a girls knickers since they married; divorce isn't really a social option in this neighbourhood, which has yet to catch up with this new fangled decimalisation idea.
Finding another note (along with the house key, which might have come in useful if they'd left it about 8 feet to the right of the kitchen table), i was instructed that a) they'd bought me a pizza "especially", as they know how much I like such things, and b) they wouldn't be back until late so would I kindly do the horses?
My mother collects ponies.
Whereas I, on the other hand, find them more than a little alarming and spending my first night back in the wilds of Cheshire out in the rain trudging through knee high mud is not my idea of fun. Far from it, but being the dutiful daughter I am- and being on the verge of informing them that I'm not going to stay with them for my entire Christmas holiday- I went.
An hour later, I remembered exactly why I fled to London, and had begun muttering obscenities under my breath.
Never again. I rolled back in and downed three fingers of the half frozen vodka* the mildly amoral Alec, flatmate and best friend, thoughtfully pressed on me as I was packing. He knows me so well.

* Its a pathetic excuse for vodka- what kind of alcohol freezes? The cheaper-than-a-days-worth-of-food breed, apparently.