same old same old yuletide bull

Ever Dearest Diary,

Well. Father is due home in eight minutes time and expects the dinner on, and the hot water. I am, of course, shit-faced like you would not believe. I’ll keep you posted.

He arrived, sternly, I looked busy, it wasn’t enough, as always. Busked away with him muttering under his breath, “useless”.

Yeah, well (in my mind at least) ‘fcuk you dad!’ I’ve done what needed to be done today, tidied up, made dinner, whatever I do, it’ll never be enough.

It’s Brontë’s immortal Jane Eyre, excepting that the Thespian, the prodigal son, grins and bears it with chagrin, until the rain in the dark pours down, the fire side embers glow, and silence away from him descended upon this happy log cabin.

He’s back. Bang! Crash!

...and gone again.

then here just as soon as he’s passed.

Dinner time. Silently. I do the washing up, obediently.

Now I’m back in the cabin with Ron’, gettin 5T0N3D. Stay On the Flex

Max-out.