Trevor Belshaw Author

Author of Out of Control

Easter

Easter

Hi Emma,

I hope you got a lie in after Carmel’s break up party last night. I managed to get an extra hour, so got up about twelvish. I didn’t feel too bad considering the amount of booze I put away. I can’t remember getting home, but worryingly, Mum found a pair of men’s underpants in the porch this morning. All my clothes are in a pile on the chair near my bed, so I know I arrived home fully dressed. Who was that bloke I was talking to, late on? I know I snogged him outside the loo, but that’s as much as I can remember. Was he okay? Don’t tell me I snogged a minger. My street cred isn’t what it was since that tart, Olivia, told everyone in Slappers night club, that I had crabs. I know it must have looked like I was scratching at nits, but it was those knickers I got from Ali’s market stall last week, they had some dodgy stitching and were irritating me all night. I’m going to take them back on Saturday. I paid a bloody fiver for those; Ali can do one, I’m not wearing seconds. I ended up going commando in the end, which was very risky in that short dress I was wearing. I had a bit of a rash round my bits next morning, though that could be down to the fact that my razor is blunt. I think Gran’s been using it again. I don’t know why she insists on having a Brazilian at her age. Her pubes are like a Brillo pad: she needs a chainsaw to trim them really.

Poor Gran, she’s starting to feel her age a bit now. She’s in her 80s, so doing really well, but her knees are giving way and she’s struggling with the stairs now. When she stands up or sits down her knees crack so loudly that you’d think you were down at the rifle range. Mum says we’ll have to move her downstairs soon. We have a room at the back that’s only used to keep Dad’s knock off fruit and veg out of the sight of prying eyes.

Gran wasn’t keen on the idea at first, but changed her mind when she found out that Dad didn’t like the idea either. Dad said he’d have a heart attack carting all his stuff upstairs to Gran’s room. Gran said she’d like to see that and asked Mum to point the indoor security camera at the stairs so she could record it and watch it over and over again.

Dad called her an evil old cow and said he wouldn’t move his stuff out, so Mum said, in that case we’d have to get a stair lift fitted. She said it would come in handy when Dad came home from the Dog and Duck after a lock in. She reckoned we could get one fitted for about three thousand quid. Dad choked on his half eaten biscuit and said he’d get the veg shifted that afternoon. Mum was really disappointed, I think she was hoping to get that young, fit handyman around again. Her knees go weaker than Gran’s when he’s in the house.

Somehow the conversation got around to religion. Not a subject usually debated in our house. Dad put the TV on and Sky News was showing the pope giving a sermon to the faithful at the Vatican. He switched channel only to find that BBC News was showing the same thing.

‘Bloody religion,’ he cursed. ‘It’s the cause of most of the suffering in the world.’

Mum crossed herself and went to make a pot of tea. Gran gave Dad the evil eye and called him a bloody, commie, heathen, and told him he was heading for the flames of hell.

‘You’ll be there to see me arrive,’ said Dad, getting a good insult in for once.

Gran was taken aback by this; she doesn’t like losing to Dad, so she threw a saucer at him and said that he should respect religious people like her.

Dad’s mouth gaped open, as did mine. ‘I didn’t know you were religious, Gran.’

‘I wasn’t, until just now,’ Gran replied. ‘But if he doesn’t think God exists, then it’s indisputable proof that he does, because that, lefty, heathen, waste of space is always wrong about everything.’

Gran decided that she was going to go to church. ‘What time does it open?’ she asked.

‘It’s not a bloody pub,’ laughed Dad. It’s open all day, especially as it’s the big day. Easter Sunday.’

Gran told dad to shut his blaspheming mouth and shakily got up from the table to get her hat and coat.

‘How are you going to get there, Gran?’ I asked. ‘It’s too far to walk and the buses are on Sunday service.’

Gran tried to put on a look of peace, love and harmony. ‘God will provide, my dear. Failing that, you can give me a lift.’

I told Gran I couldn’t because I didn’t have an MOT for my car. Gran wasn’t impressed with that excuse.

‘Your criminally insane father, drove for years without any tax, insurance or MOT.’ She looked at Dad accusingly.

‘I was on the sick,’ Dad bleated. ‘Anyway, it didn’t stop you scrounging lifts. You were in that car as much as me.’

‘I only asked so much because I was hoping you’d get nicked,’ hissed Gran.

She shuffled across the room to get her coat.

‘Why don’t you borrow Elsie’s Mobility Scooter?’ I asked. ‘I can go and get it for you.’

‘Because she’s banned from driving one, that’s why,’ chuckled Dad. ‘She raced that silly old bugger across the road through town, and ran a blind woman over, remember?’

‘She should have looked where she was going,’ Gran sniffed.

‘I could push you in the wheelchair, Gran,’ I offered. Gran’s had a wheelchair since she had the operation on her septic toe. She was supposed to take it back once her foot had healed, but she never bothered.

Gran thought about it for a bit, then decided she wasn’t going after all.

‘I’ll watch the pope on the tele instead,’ she said, looking at Dad with a grin on her face.

Dad gave up and went to the pub for a lunchtime session.

Gran watched about thirty seconds of the pope’s sermon before picking up the remote.

‘I’ve seen that one before, it’s a repeat,’ she lied, and switched over to watch, Cash In The Attic.

I don’t know about this religion thing, Emma. It’s so confusing, I mean, which one is right? They can’t all be. I watched a program about the Vikings the other week, and they believed that when they died, they went to a place called, Val’s Haller, I think Haller is Viking for bar, or diner or something. Anyway, it’s nothing like heaven where you’re supposed to sit on a cloud listening to angels playing a harp. I’d hate that, harp music makes my little neck hairs stand on end. Gross. I’m not sure about heaven either. I mean, where did people go to before religion was invented? Is heaven full of cavemen? If it is, how did they hear about it? Then there’s the question of what you look like in heaven. Do you look like you did when you were in your prime, or do you look like you did when you died? That’s a horrible thought, looking like Gran for eternity.

Then there’s Buddhists. They believe they come back after they die. You might not come back as a person though, you could be a cat or a dog, or even a beetle. Bugger that. I don’t mind coming back, but I’d still want to shop at Primark. Olivia would come back as a louse, no change for her then. LOL.

That’s all for now, Emma, I’ve got to get my stuff ready for that dog grooming promotion I’m doing tomorrow. Hope that tart, Olivia doesn’t find out. She’ll tell everyone I’ve started Dogging.

Tracy, blissful.

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3 Comments

  1. I’m still laughing!
    Please keep this up, Trevor. Too much misery around. Oh Lord! I sound like Gran. 8- )

  2. I’m still laughing!
    Please keep this up, Trevor. Too much misery around. Oh Lord! I sound like Gran.

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