The little fella is fourteen next week apparently, so they're all going out for a meal. I mean, when I say all, I mean all but me. I never get invited fucking anywhere me. The tight bastards. Anyway, he's asked if he can take his girlfriend, wooohoooo, that's what all the fucking aftershave before school is for then. And he's also asked "please don't embarrass me," the fucking cheek of it. That of course is like a red rag to  bull for me Dad, who's decided that this is the prefect occasion to have the "bird n the bees" chat. I caught him practising in front of the mirror before. It's going to go something like this: "Hello Frannie, how lovely to meet you. George has told us all about you. Take a seat. Now then, when a Daddy Sparrow and a Mummy Sparrow love each other very much and they want to have baby sparrows, Daddy Sparrow puts his penis into Mummy Sparrow's special place and 9 months later they have a baby sparrow. When Dadd...

Christ on a bike, it's starting to feel more than a bit like Christmas round at our house, following the arrival of yet another parcel for yours truly. My best mates, and the undisputed No1 fertiliser supplier in the whole of the country - Thomas Bell of Brigg - have only gone and sent me a thing called an Advent Calendar. You've probably never heard of one, so here's a brief description. It's like a thin box, about the size of a piece of A4 paper, and there's all these little window things on it with numbers on them, right? Now I think that the idea is that behind one of the windows is a little prize, and you have to guess which window it is. So, you might say "7" and you open window seven and there's fuck all there, so you close window seven and have another go. Well, get this, the one they've sent me must be a dud or something, 'cos there's a little prize behind ALL the fucking windows! Honest. Woooohooooo. How do I know that? Well, ...