Saturday, 26 November 2011


Just as I'm getting used to being called 'Gandad' - no, that's not a spelling error - my grand kids are still at the 'whasat & that & that' and 'ow, bum' speech stage.

Just as I'm getting used to that, I'm reminded I'm a father of a teenage girl. Around my living room, or lounge, if one is posh, I found at 05:30 this morning three grumeaux de femelles adolescentes .

Tots, which she is most definitely not, I'm quite used to being just kinda there (or not). A skinny critter all elbows and gangly legs that breaks into impromptu gyrations - I believe it's called 'dancing' - to some tune only in her head,

That, and some frenzied wallet-emptying ritual that occurs between IT and The Bear once week.

Oh, and that, and waking up on the couch wondering why the world had suddenly become pink and frilly, only to discover some joker(s) had strapped a bra around my head, turning me into a human fly fashion statement.

But another two? Blimey. I knew they bred eventually, but not that fast? One hand flapped around half heartedly from under a quilt in the general direction of a make-up bag when I walked in, which I obligingly passed, only to see it grabbed followed by, er....?

Ladies don't snore. It's true because The Bear says so. So it was well, um, something else?

I have a very vague memory of teenage girls, having another one who's now a twenty something, and I remember bumping into a couple or three some 40 years ago.

I remember them being annoying. Do they all create landfill in lounges?

Gotta go. It's gone one, and there was a mass stirring, followed by stares of collective horror in my direction, a mass grabbing of make-up and stampede to the bathroom.

I believe it's called a "Shriek of teens".......

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