spiky hair and all that
i popped home last night - more to see john than the wife. he's enjoying himself the lad - unusually happy to be fair, which i must say riled me a bit. i mean he could have showed some indication that he was missing me not being there. anyone would think he was glad i'd fucked off. maybe he's got himself a bird. he's not a bad looking kid. takes after me there. whatever it is he's discovered hair-gel. his heads fucking caked in it, all spiked up n stiff n that. he wants to be careful he don't have her eye out.

she's tarting herself up. off out somewhere. she's looking quiet nice to be fair. she more or less ignores me though and then ... as i'm getting ready to leave ... she tells me she's filed for the big D?

"On what fucking grounds," i says.
"Adultery, mental cruelty. There's a lot to choose from Marshal, " she says.
I'm totally fucking lost for words. I mean, i may not have been the ideal husband from fucking neptune or mars or whatever it is but for god sakes ... there's worse than me.
"I can't believe you ... i tell her. Have i ever hit you?" I say, gobsmacked as i am.
"No, she says. You've never hit me. Thanks for that, "
"No, i don't mean ... you don't have to thank me," i says, and now i'm thinking she's winding me up here and i know when i'm not wanted. I tell the lad goodbye, i'll come and see him saturday, take him over to watch the hammers, and i near fucking lacerate me hand ruffling up his hair.
"Daaaaaaaad! It fu ...! It bloody took me ages doing that!"
"Sorry boy I ... oh fuck the lot of yer ..." i say, slamming the door behind me.