Black Friday

Ah, good old Friday. A nice quiet day – children at nursery and kiddies clubs. Me at work. Cat doing nothing.

I pay the Chuckle brothers, I mean plumbers, with a wad of cash.

Would you trust these guys with your bathroom?

(Thank goodness I kept my trousers on.)

I’m still recovering from walking into the local bank, asking for three grand in 50 dollar notes, showing no id and walking out with it. Maybe they thought I was holding them up.

“Yes, Officer, he was 6 ft 4” with grey hair, heavy sunken eyes and exhausted looking. Spoke with a strong South African accent. He had an accomplice with him. He kept asking questions and had a nervous twitch.”

“Uh huh. Young or old?”

“About 60, maybe 70. Walked with a limp.”

‘No, not the old git, the accomplice.”

“You could say he was baby-faced.”

“Nervous twitch?”

“Yes. Kept clicking his fingers. Right in my face too. Think he’s a nut case that one.”

Tom is actually a master of disguise, so he’d probably get away with murder – he usually does.

  

Wanted for a large number of crimes – mostly domestic (check out the socks).

“Ish that a hundred dollarsh, daddy?” enquires Tom.

“No. A bit more than that, son.“

“Wow, more than a 100 dollarsh!” he shouts. ”You could buy a lot of lollysh with shat.”

“Yes. And keep quiet about it. I don’t want mugged.”

“Whatsh mugged?”

“It’s a severe beating administered to someone who’s in need of relief from their cash, or other assets such as photographic equipment. It helps if you are a tourist.”

I know he’s not listening. I sigh. Kids ask loads of questions but never listen to the answers. Some of the stuff I tell them is pretty useful too, like the solvent based yellow pigmented inks that adhere to vinyl, the history of Rangers and why the Tigers are better than Pymble, even though we lost 5-1.

“Oh. You’re rich, aren’t you, daddy?”

“No. Certainly not but we’re doing ok.”

I shop at lunch-time. To my surprise I find it doesn't make much difference not having the kids with me. I still can’t think clearly and remember what I need. I go to the default position and buy a 20 pack of white rolls, some apples and a packet of ham. I grumble to myself that Ozzie supermarkets are crap. Well they are, compared with Tesco, Asda and the like. There you could get a proper packet of ham that would last a  month for about fifty pence and get two free chickens with it. Here, you get five slices for 5 dollars and it’s not even processed. It’s the proper healthy stuff, made of real ham – weird. If I’d have wanted proper ham I’d have gone to the butchers. Honestly, can’t even buy rubbish these days.

You can find all sorts of fruit in supermarkets

I make the kids and I pizza for dinner. Came out perfectly, cooked at a random temperature and time, as I cant see the dials on the oven properly, never seems to work right, so my luck is deffo in. Anyway, It’s a hit and gone in about 30 seconds. I wonder if I’m feeding them enough. I offer some rolls. No takers. William asks for more fruit. I allow him ONE apple. I’ve lost count if he’s had five or six already.

I worry about the TV stuff they’re into now, all American teenager sitcoms. They’re not funny at all.

I put my foot down, switch the sitcom off and introduce them to The Blackadder, a proper historical comedy, with proper comedians, written by proper script writers. Five minutes in, I make the mistake of mentioning that Baldrick (Tony Robinson) is from Nailsea, where their Great Nana lives.

House prices plummeted in Nailsea recently

“What, really?!” says William excitedly.

“Yep.”

“Wow, she’s famous!”

“Who’sh Baldprick?” asks Tom

“It’s not Baldprick, Tom, that’s rude. Its Baldrick: B,A, L, D, R, I, C, K. It is, isn’t it dad?”

“Why ish Baldprick rude, daddy?”

“Tom, he’s the smelly peasant one, next to the Blackadder.”

“Does Great Nanna know Baldrick, dad?”

“Hmmm. Yes, probably.”

“Wow!”

“Do they, like, have lunch together?”

“Errrm hmm, maybe. Don’t know.”

“Oh. Yuch, he must be stinking.”

There follows a spate of questions “Why is the Blackadder on a horse? Why is that man carrying a sword? Why did he get his head chopped off? Why is the Blackadder peeing on the tree?”

“Ish great Nanna in thish epishode?”

“Can I have a horse for Christmas? Ish it Chrishmash tomorrow? Why has the king got a beard?”

Percy’s trousers bring it all to a head…”Why does Percy have a cod-piece? Whatsh a codpeash?  Can I have one for Chrishmash?”

“No, don’t be silly, Tom”, says William. “Cod pieces cost a lot of money, don’t they dad?”

I don’t know how to respond to this so choose silence as an answer.

“Daddy can buy ush codpeashes!” shouts an indignant Tom.

“No, he cant!” says William, “They cost too much.”

“Daddy can!!!!” stamps Tom

“He has hunnersh of dollarsh. I shaw him mugging the lady in the bank today.”