Keep your Wig On

A little known fact about my Dad is that he wears a wig. When I was little I quite liked his wig; I called it his big hair and he would pretend to make it bark at me. Underneath his big hair is a smattering of microscopic hair and to make up for this he likes to grow an enormous beard. He catches food and insects in it and last Christmas I bought him a special beard brush. Now he likes to weave his beard into a plait which quite frankly is a bit embarrassing.


'A-larm! Midnight! A-larm! Midnight! A-larm! Midnight!'
I wake up with a start. Dexter is flashing blue and green at me.
'Shut up!' I say. 'You'll wake Mum and Dad!'
'You programmed me,' Dexter intones in his annoying way, 'keep your wig on.'
I slip out of bed and put on my dressing gown. It's time for me to make it up to The Parents. I'm getting to be quite an expert at creeping round dark houses, so no need for Granpa Jack's stupid torch. Downstairs in the silvery sitting room the Christmas tree twinkles. I heave the musical vacuum cleaner from behind the sofa and leave it with the rest of the presents beneath the tree. Pity I didn't have a box, underneath the wrapping paper it does look pretty much like what it is but without the music. Good job I've got this extra present. But first there's a job to do. Serena is curled up in front of the fireplace. I find a plate of mince pies and carry them through. Serena must be hungry because she trips me up and the pies go flying. I avoid treading on most of them and pick up one for the plate. I hate mince pies but it has to be done-a mince pie has to be eaten. More tomorrow. feeling too sick to continue.