To ensure the neighbours don't think that I've been abducted by aliens or sold into slavery, I've returned home for the weekend. Father's still living in the shed but I managed to coax him into the house earlier by leaving a saucer of milk on a plastic plate attached to a long piece of string. It seemed to work and we had a short conversation before he disappeared back into the shed and ultimately into his underground network. He's not looking well and the close fitting velvet suit he's sporting gives him the look of a dishevelled mole.
Mother's out with her new fancy man according to our opposite neighbour, Mrs Dawson whose twin sister Mrs Beavour confirmed that she'd seen the pair of them queuing outside the fish and chip shop last Friday "they'd ordered hake apparently," she confided as her son's football coach doubles as a potato boy at busy periods.
Wilf's visiting tomorrow so I am going to roast a chicken in his honour. Will Mother return from her romantic jaunt in time and do half-mole-half-man creatures eat anything apart from earthworms?
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