Time does fly when you’re enjoying yourself, I’m told. Well whoopee-do. It must be nice for some people tiptoeing through the tulips on a Cancun beach listening to Cold Play, whose progenies have become a successful wang distributor and Doctor of Philosophy at St Gertrude’s College Cambridge. Bully for them for good parenting. Ours struggle to reach average. One’s dyslexic, which is at least trendy, and the other smokes so much pot he can hardly remember his own name. One can’t spell bed and the other can’t get out of it. So what year have we had? Well ‘I’m a Celeb’ was a high point. The car keeps stalling, our broadband’s rubbish and Mothermouse feels neglected. And that’s after me buying her a shed, ungrateful cow. We did go on holiday but I backed the hire car into an Audi and it cost an arm and a leg. The four-sum with Jim and Brenda backfired. Apparently I should have told them first so Brenda got quite upset. I never liked them anyway. What a waste of oysters that was. My attempt at amateur dramatic back in April didn’t go much better. ‘Something to do to get out of the house, meet new friends’ she said. It was Pirates of Penzance and some woman laughed when I took along a CD of his greatest hits. Snotty bitch. And Mothermouse’s rash has come back, which is nothing; I repeat nothing to do with me. So that’s 2015, just another year of struggle for us nonentities. Much love and kisses and thanks for your missives, they’ve been so interesting.
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