Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Monday, 19 September 2016
Lap-dancing for your son
Today I have a mild hangover caused by drinking the flat dry during H.I.'s birthday celebrations, but I should say that I had a lot of help with this.
The biggest helper was H.I.'s daughter, who tried to get her son's attention by twerking (look it up, Weave) about a foot away from his face. Her daughter showed her how to do it properly, but this only made the lad even more uncomfortable, so his mother tried to put him at his ease by suddenly shouting "STRIP!", then taking her top off to begin dancing in nothing but her bra with her tits in his face.
He stared at me with a perplexed and pleading look in his eyes, and I tried to imagine how I would have felt if my mother had done this to me, but it was unthinkable. How times change.
I had planned to return to the Workmate assembly today, but I think I am in an even less suitable state of mind to continue this task than I was last week, so right now I am planning my immediate future afresh. All I can envisage at the moment is a fried breakfast, but I doubt if that is going to materialise.
I am blessed - it is plain - with a lively and unorthodox family, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Besides which, I enjoy watching women dance in their bras, and opportunites to do so have become quite sparse these days, so if it involves ruining a young man's evening, then so be it. You have to bear in mind that his mother and I are not blood-related, so I you can get those images of a disfunctional family out of your head right now. Well, maybe not right out of your head, but there is no reason to call social services.
My relationship with my biological daughter is much more restrained and traditional, but this could be because she was brought up hundreds of miles away from me in North-East Scotland. I like to think that it would have been much the same if we had stayed together during her childhood, but my policy has always been to not pretend to children that you think or behave differently than you actually do, so I will never know.
As soon as H.I.'s daughter was old enough to cope with the information, her parents became very open about everything with her, and she in turn asked questions which many other families would have struggled to answer without acute embarrassment. She still asks these questions.
One evening when she was about 12, she came downstairs and found them smoking a joint. Her reaction was to inform them that this practice was illegal, and that she was going to tell the police. She never did, of course, because the incident took place a year or so before she embarked on her career as a teenage tear-arse who had herself to be collected from police stations every now and then.
After this little spate of delinquency, she blossomed into a straighter member of society than her parents had ever been, but - and this is important - she retained all of her naturally eccentric traits.
Like I always say (John), a true eccentric is never fully aware that they are.