I like my mum

My dad sits in the kitchen a lot reading a paper or a book or sometimes he listens to the radio. I don’t know why he doesn’t come and sit with me and my mum and watch Dixon of Dock Green. He could have some After Eight mints too. My dad sleeps on the lounge floor on cushions from the sofa. I’m going to make a camp in the garage and have some friends sleep over. My dad can have my bed tonight. He shouldn’t sleep in the lounge. It makes me sad that he can’t get upstairs to his bed, but he walks to work every day. I don’t understand why my dad can’t sleep upstairs. Me and my sister have got a space hopper. It’s orange. I left it by the fire in the lounge. It’s now got a big growth coming out of its head. My mum said if you get too close to the fire this is what happens. I don’t want a growth like our space hopper. Me and my sister don’t sit too close to the fire anymore. Mohammed Ali is having a rumble in the jungle. My dad says Mr Ali used to be called Mr Clay. I asked him what I used to be called. My dad said I used to be called John. Why can’t I be John now? My dad says he and my mum adapted me and now I’m called William. What’s adapted? My dad says it’s not adapted its adopted. I haven’t a clue what he’s going on about. Sometimes grownups just make up words so we don’t know what they’re saying. I like Mr Ali and I ask my mum if I can have some boxing gloves. I fight with my sister. We have three two minute rounds. No punching in the face or below the belt my mum says. I hit my sister in the willy. My mum says no punching below the belt. But my sister isn’t wearing a belt so I hit her in the willy again. My mum sends me to my room. Next time my sister should wear a belt. The Man with The Golden Gun is on TV. My mum says I can only watch half of it because it’s a school night. I tell her ok, but when she tells me to go to bed I don’t want to. My mum turns the TV off and I can’t stop crying. I won’t go to bed and walk round and round the landing. If Roger Moore knew he’d come and rescue me and we’d drive off in a car that could go under water and fire rockets at the baddies or at least my mum. I want to go to poo, but for some reason I can’t. Well I can it’s just that I hold onto it too long and then it’s too late and it comes out, when I’m least expecting it, in my pants. I do this for two years. Sometimes I bury my pants. I get into trouble with my mum when I come home and she asks where my pants are. When I tell her I buried them she doesn’t look too impressed. I have to go to hospital every week and a nurse sticks a tube up my bottom and pumps liquid into me. I don’t hold onto my  poo then. It comes out so quickly sometimes the nurse gets covered. I don’t feel sorry for her. What does she expect if she sticks a tube up my bum? My mum isn’t very pleased that I keep soiling myself. She holds my head by pulling my hair back and pushes my pants into my face. She rubs all my poo into my face until I’m covered in my own mess. My mum doesn’t say a word and leaves the room. I can’t believe what my mum just did. I stand perfectly still in total shock, covered in my own poo, except it’s no longer poo, now it’s on my face, in my mouth, up my nose, stuck to my hair, now its soiled me it’s called shit. I still like my mum because she lets me watch Dixon of Dock Green and eat After Eight mints. I just don’t like her quite as much as I did before she rubbed my face in it.