It’s been a few weeks since I wrote about these guys, but I had a little time this afternoon.

“What you going to do?”

“Well, what can I do? The school want to see Beth and I, they’ve suggested next Tuesday”, retorted Paul, as he carefully rolled a joint.

“It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think?”

“Ironic? Why?”

“Well, Jake getting suspended for taking drugs while you’re lying here… taking drugs.”

“Ah… the beauty of being a grown-up. You want some?” Paul lit the joint and took a long drag.

“No thanks”, replied Anna, “that stuff will kill you.”

“Don’t be daft. A bit of puff on a Sunday morning won’t do any harm. But suit yourself.”

Anna knew that there was no point getting into this. It seemed that everybody of Paul’s age lit up now and again, but she’d keep her body clean.

Next Tuesday, the hearing. Paul travelled out from London to meet up with his son, Jake, and ex-wife Beth. The three sat outside the headmaster’s office, Paul and Beth feeling almost like naughty children themselves.

“Ah, Mr and Mrs Simpson, please come through”. An officious man came out to meet them. Beth no longer used Paul’s surname, but that didn’t seem important just now.

They were ushered into the headmaster’s tidy office, although Paul shut out most of what came next. Yeah, yeah, yada, yada. The school seemed to appreciate that there was only a limited amount that parents could do but were concerned about anybody of Jake’s age being seen to be smoking anything while they were dressed in school uniform.

“That could have been a lot worse”, Beth whispered to Paul as they left the office.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here. Do you fancy grabbing a coffee? Come on Jake”, he commanded. Jake had remained seated outside the office during their meeting, but they now whisked him up as they left. “You’re suspended the rest of the week but are back next Monday”. Paul suspected that the school dealt with something like this every week, so if they did anything more, there’d soon be nobody left to teach!

A half-hour later, they all sat in Starbucks together. Jake was relieved that he hadn’t been in more trouble. “No trouble? You little sod! Your mum and I both had to take the afternoon off work because of this! You know we’d talked about going for a curry at the weekend with Anna? Forget it. And the Liverpool game. You might think you got off lightly with the school, but let’s hope *these* punishments will teach you a lesson.

They sipped the rest of their coffees in silence, and ten minutes later, Paul announced “Look, I’m gonna head off. I need to get back to London.” The station was only five minutes away. Preparing to leave, he agreed with Beth a time on Saturday morning when he would come back over to pick Jake up again. As a parting shot, he said ruefully to Jake:

“There’s a lesson in this, buddy. Let’s hope you learn it.”

“Don’t take drugs?”, suggested Jake.

“Don’t get caught.”, replied Paul.

I wrote some backgrounds to these characters below:

Raging Bull

I tend to follow quite a few blogs, just on the basis that once my appetite is whetted, I’ll think “I’ll just follow then for a short while and see how I like them”.

As it happened, today I was reading a died-in-the wool advocate of a particular political persuasion. They wrote political posts, which I don’t mind because I myself am interested in current affairs. But anybody who is dyed-in-the-wool anything, I’m wary of, because it usually means they’re not prepared to see faults in their own side. I find that if you’re going to look at things objectively, you generally have to be pretty-much independent.

The last straw came this morning when they targetted a politician from the other side, and the first thing they did was to criticise their spelling. And, I just sat there, thinking “would they criticise me for that, too?” With only one usable hand, they wouldn’t believe the gymnastics I need to perform when I write a post. They would not believe the dumb-ass mistakes I make when I first put something down onto paper. They wouldn’t believe the amount of proof-reading that goes on, because the stroke left me with dodgy eyes, too, and typos are embarrassing. Yet there are are still typos in there. They wouldn’t believe that I usually publish my posts privately first, so I can listen to them one last time before I make them public, to make sure they “sound” right. And that nobody else sees each post until about the 12th version.

Ah, well, one less blog to follow…

Fandango’s One Word Challenge (12 November 2020)

for Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC), arrest. An extra helping of nonsense today!

Got drunk celebrating a sale,
Arrested and thrown into jail,
The morning arrived,
And our prisoner cried,
“I’m afraid I still feel pretty frail”.