Lots of excitement of late, and as is the tradition of my son’s birthday, we seem to have gone to the water park where the kids have a blast, 14 year olds in lumbering bodies too big for their minds to fit into, naive and fun loving. It makes me laugh, my son is still small compared to his mates, (he’s growing, i’m not worried) but his mates, a couple in particular are enormous and still like running about and jumping into water, despite what a general view of them glued to their phones might suggest. As my old mate J’s Dad used to say, we’ll call him Mr G, just in case he’s reading this,
“Put a Bloody Jumper on” meaning for fucks sake kids, get a grip will you. Just muck about, and be kids because you are not an adult, not yet. I should have that carved as an epitaph on my gravestone, i’ll ask Mr G first of course, but it’s a code i’ve been living by, try and look after yourself, if you can. People will only let you down! Where did that come from? Friends don’t but some people do, especially those in charge at the moment, although you’d be forgiven for thinking that no one is in charge because not a great deal is being discussed regards the future, bleak as it is looking come October 1st when the power companies strap on their extra wide girthed dildo (Dongman the Destroyer, I Imagine it may be called) and fuck us all up the arse
Then, very sadly, the following day, Mrs T heard through the medium of Facebook, that our old house “Froggers” so called by us, or Frogpool Cottage to the Postie, suffered a catastrophic fire on the night of my sons birthday. I had the pleasure of driving one of his mates home after a sleepover, he lives just up the road, and from the front the inner windows looked dark, like something evil had entered but nothing more, but from the back; Oh Man, the whole rear of the extension we built was burnt out, the windows blown out, the doors boarded up and the roof caved in, they escaped the house in what they were wearing, not even any under crackers left. Poor young family with a little girl and I believe one on the way (unconfirmed, but when has that bothered any of you?) and the lovely little house destroyed. I drove past thinking i’d take a photo, but it was really upsetting, we raised our family there, and to take a photo would be like taking a shot of my Dad in his coffin, would serve no purpose to take a photo of an empty husk, better to remember the good times. Selfishly, and I’m not sure if it is, or if this is another emotion altogether, but one of the first things we thought was; Dodgy electrics? Despite having the certificates to prove its done properly, then we thought, candle? Then you can tie your self up in many more knots than is healthy, and to be honest I can not stop thinking about the family, poor guys were due to go on holiday the morning they were woken up by an explosion, and driving down at 2pm a small removals van sat outside with a meagre showing of possessions right at the back of the van, just behind the passenger seats. So instead of a fabulous Belvedere from the balcony of a hotel in Ronda (I’m paraphrasing) they’ve got a burnt out shell with a twisted metal balcony clinging onto the scorched reclaimed brickwork. Gutted.