Now we can be real jungle explorers

The jungle. It's a fiercesome place, filled with oversized disease carrying insects, lost neighbours and heaps of cat poo-our garden actually. Mum and Dad saw Mrs Next-Door sneaking through the broken fence once. She was carrying an air rifle. Dad thought she was hunting for cats to shoot and he went out to find her but he got lost. Mum went out to search for him and found Mrs Next-Door. She was hopping about, swatting at flies with the barrel of her gun. She had trodden in cat poo and was a bit unhappy. Mum said she'd lost it which was quite funny for Mum.

So Dexter and me are going to chop up some logs for The Parents. Dexter is amazed when I tell him.
'Will your Mum and Dad let you do that?' he asks, as we crunch along the drive to the garage.
'Oh yes,' I say, airily; although I know The Parents would NOT let me near an axe really. 'There're some axes in the garage. They need some logs for the fire. They told me.'
We squeeze past the car and come to the workbench. There are two small axes hanging from nails. Dexter accidentally scratches the car but it's not much. We run into the back garden-jungle, whooping and waving the axes. Now we can be real jungle explorers. Some of the weeds and bushes are over my head. I hack them down and startle two cats out into the open. We spend forever looking for branches low enough to hack off. There are none. I only find a few weedy twigs lying on the ground.
'Can you burn cat poo?' asks Dexter. 'I've found loads of it.'
'I tried setting fire to it once,' I say, 'it's a bit smelly. Let's go to the clubhouse and try out your ears in the dark.'
We race to Dad's tumbledown shed, leaning against the garden wall. And inside is just what we've been looking for.

Back to the Story

Dexter is supremely keen on Rudolph and his sleigh pulling ability. He thinks he looks so great in his flashing Rudolph ears but he actually does not. This is a picture done by a baby-child and this is about as clever as Dexter looks in his flashing Rudolph ears. I, on the other hand, am very interested in Santa's sleigh because it is a remarkable invention. I would truely like a toboggan that could fly but I'll settle for one with a motor. Strapping Dexter and his flashing Rudolph ears on the front might be an interesting idea though.

Back to the story and back in time to Christmas! Remember-the Parents were trying to fob me off with collecting firewood with Dexter.
Dexter is standing outside looking up at the sky.
'I'm getting an x-track for Christmas,' he says, flashing his Rudolph ears on and off. 'I'll let you play with it if you want.'
'Could do,' I say, trying not to be bothered.
'Yeah, it's really good. It's the one on TV and I bet I'm getting the super-x car to go with it!'
'I expect I'll be a bit busy,' I say wanting him to be quiet and listen to me for a change.
'And it'll be the red one,' he says.
'I'll be too busy,' I shout, 'playing with my MOTORISED TOBOGGAN!'
Dexter's Rudolph ears stop flashing. 'Can't see the point-when there's no snow.'
I decide to change the subject.

Spoilt Boy

Dexter is a spoilt boy-that's what the parents said. I heard them muttering about him after a visit from Dexter's Mum. That party his sister had, got just a teeny weeny bit wild and the house burnt down. It's supremely brilliant because it means that Dexter and all his games will live with us until they build the house back up. Dexter's Dad is a builder so it shouldn't be too difficult. Dexter is going to move in with us tomorrow and can sleep on a mattress on my floor. When Dexter's Mum asked if this was OK, Mum and Dad put on their solemn faces and said, 'is this acceptable to you, Wilfred?'
So I pretended to think about it and pulled a tummy-ache face. 'I suppose it will be acceptable,' I said sadly but my feet couldn't help doing a little jig. 'And I suppose he'll be bringing all his toys with him, I'll just have to clear some space...'
'Oh, everything was burnt in the fire!' shrieked Dexter's Mum. 'We'll have to buy him a whole truckload of new games and toys-I hope you've got the room, Wilf...'
'No!' shouted Mum and Dad.
'YES!' I shouted at the same time but even louder.
'That's all settled then!' said Dexter's Mum.
The Parents were too busy doing goldfish impressions to reply.

The Family Holiday

I have been quiet because I was forced to go on holiday with the parents. They wouldn't listen to me when I said that I could stay with Dexter and his big sister. His mum and dad were going away AND they were letting Trixy and Dexter have a party! Anyway we had to travel about 50 million light years in the car to get to Cornwall where the only thing you can eat is cream tea. This is supremely disgusting and what with all the marching about to stare at places and having no food, my ribs now poke out alot. The cottage was fab (see picture) although the parents thought it was a miserable shack. There was running water-coming down the walls and electricity-from 9pm-9.30pm and an open fire-but no chimney. We didn't spend much time there for some reason but we did spend too much time going to see crumbling buildings and big gardens where I had to fill out little forms to make sure I enjoyed myself. The supreme place to visit in Cornwall is, 'Barometer World'.
www.barometerworld.co.uk
If only more places were as interesting as this place.

The Magic-get-out-clause

On Planet Parent they believe in the power of the 'coat' . The 'coat' will stop you catching cold, flu, pnuemonia, kidney ailments and any number of nasty diseases. I believe the 'coat' is a nuisance-it gives me heat burn and stops me running faster than Dexter. His parents never make him wear a coat. But that's not the worst of it-I also have to wear a vest. In my opinion that and a coat could be fatal. Will they listen? I wouldn't mind too much but it's still not even snowing.

I've had enough of pretending to believe in Santa and being nice because it's Christmas. I turn at the door and look at them happily unwrapping their little Christmassy tree toys. The fire is flaming and it's getting a bit hot what with it being like Summer outside. They look so cheerful-it's almost a shame to say it but...
'Father Christmas will burn his bum if he comes down on top of that fire!'
But Dad's prepared. 'I expect he'll come in through the window then, Wilfred. And it's 'bottom' not, not the other word.'
Oh no you don't, I think. 'But you always lock the windows before you go to bed, don't you?'
Dad looks at Mum. 'Put your coat on before you go out, Wilfred,' she says.
That old ploy. Distraction. 'And if he can't come in through the windows he won't be able to being me any presents!'
Dad gets up and rubs his hands together over the fire. I bet he's really sweating in this heat now.
'And Dexter's house has two burglar alarms,' I point out.
'He'll just have to use magic then!' Dad almost shouts this out.
Now I know he's desperate, he's using the magic-get-out-clause. I spot Dexter through the window and decide to let them off the hook.
'I suppose so,' I say and try to run off.
'Coat!' they both shout.
'But it's not snowing!'
'COAT!'
There's no arguing with them sometimes.

Good King Wenceslas

I need hardly point out Mum's terrible mistake here. She expects me to go and get sticks for the fire and that's alright BUT the snow is not lying, 'deep and crisp and even' like in the sad carol, 'Good King Wenceslas'. It's not lying at all, it's not even falling-nightmare.

I hope my story isn't too confusing for you. Basically you need to know how difficult the life of a nine year old can be-especially at Christmas. Carrying on then...
In the sitting room there are some sad carols playing on Radio Dinosaur. I would like to watch the TV but my Unspeakable Parents won't let me. They have decided it is time to decorate the tree. Mum stands on a tall and exciting ladder. She puts lots of little wooden toys and heavy glass balls on the tree. These decorations are mostly as old as my parents and make the branches bend.
'Just hand them up to me, Wilfred,' says Mum, with her hand sticking out.
'Can't I just put one on?' I ask, juggling two of them very carefully.
'NO!' my parents say together.
I try something else.
'Can't we have a tree which sings when you shout at it?' I ask. 'Dexter has one.'
My Dad pats me on the head.
'Look, son, why don't you listen to the carols or go and find Dexter? You two could find lots of sticks for the fire!'
Mum beams at me. 'Oh yes! That would be so helpful, dear.'
I decide to give the carols a miss-they're making me want to kill something.
'I'll find the sticks,' I say. 'Sticks, logs, branches, trees...'
'Just sticks, Wilf,' Mum jumps in. 'You know kindling. Like the poor peasant collected in this carol, 'Good King Wenceslas'.'
She's babbling rubbish now-time to scoot.