My dad has some rather strange ideas. In fact, he's a bit of a mong. When I was little he tried to stop my mum giving me Calpol when I was ill, because he thought I was developing an addiction to it. Perhaps he had visions of me breaking out of my cot at 3 in the morning to burgle and pillage the neighbourhood in order to fund my next bottle of the soul destroying substance.More recently, he decided to build himself a mini barbeque out of wood to save him assembling the new one. Of course his wooden invention set on fire and both he and myself (who was called in to help) ended up with blisters and burns all over our hands.
But today really "takes the biscuit", since I discovered that he's taken the wooden urn that contained my Granmother's ashes for 10 years (until we decided to empty her into Lake WIndermere), drill a whole in it, nail it up a tree and use it as a fucking birdbox.
Jesus christ.
2 comments:
Eddie may not have been so wrong about Calpo, before I could open the kids lock on them I used to pretend to be ill to get some, and then when I cracked the kids lock at an early age I just used ot have some
I say we try and OhDee on the stuff when we get back to aber. It would be the campest cry for help ever.
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