The last time I passed a night at my mothers I was the young side of eighteen. That was almost thirteen years ago. The next day I crawled out with one bag, a bust ear, fractured nose and bruised ribs after Uncle Jack got drunk and gave me a pasting on dad's behest. Apparently there were rumours that I'd been seen half naked with another man down the infamous Goaters Alley.

This evening, in a hideous repetition of history, I have returned to my mothers in almost the exact same state I left. I will not give full details here as it's late and I need to get cleaned up and have a serious think as to what I shall do. So, for now I will just give you the cast list:

Dad: John McManus
Uncle Jack: Brian The Postboy

Get the picture?


  1. I hope your mother gives you a good pasting for being such a wimp.

    You let that fey little post 'boy' beat you up?

    In my day the queers were Real Men -

    Like Rock Hudson.

    And Liberace.

    (Who, like me, took on and defeated the Gutter Press!)

    You, sir, despite your childhood longings,

    Are no Liberace.

  2. Abigail,

    Cut me a little slack... I'm sure somewhere beneath your knitted cardigan and combination locked bra, that there's a heart. It may be black and rotten and smouldering, but I'm sure its there and has only began decomposing due to neglect.

    Love me Mrs Winthrope... Please, just Love Me!!! XXX

  3. Abigail, Helena: Thank You! X

    Don't hold your breath for a post this side of midnight. I've just got in, am shattered, and it will be a longish post.

    The Real Tristram Spencer. X


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