Fake Tree

Well, I’m home. It’s the Christmas Hols! Thank bloody God for that! Dad turned up at lunchtime and we drove home in near silence. I think he’s trying to be in a mood with me on behalf of Sal because I haven’t called her since the engagement announcement. Big bloody deal. It’s not my fault that I’m wise enough to know that the whole damn thing’s doomed from the off.. He also made a fleeting query about how I’d got on with my mocks so I glossed over that subject to the best of my ability. It’s bound to rear its head again before too long though so I’d better come up with some creative excuses for not divulging my results.

Mother was asleep in the living room when I got home. Dad reckoned she was exhausted from putting up the Christmas decorations. He’s so bloody soft it’s hopeless. I’m not sure even I would be worn out from taking a four foot fake tree out of a box and plugging it in. I couldn’t help noticing the empty glass of brandy on the table next to her but thought I wouldn’t mention it. Dad looks thinner than I’ve ever seen him before. Probably a mixture of stresses – being married to my sizzled mother is one, and being about to fork out for the most disastrous wedding in modern history the other. It’s enough to put you off getting married and having kids… Must get those jonnies..

Having said that of course, my marriage is bound to be a roaring success as I know I’m destined to end up with a bloody fox who is just desperate to do my every bidding and answer my every whim. Can’t bloody wait for that! In the meantime I shall make do with keeping Zoe Hall suitably serviced. Bring it on!