There is an annoying little man who follows my mother around who calls himself my stepfather.
I have never got along with him. We have absolutely nothing in common and he has never taken an interest in me – except to try to chat up my girlfriends or to enjoy inconveniencing me by making promises that he has no intention of keeping. My mother has said that she will never meet anyone else. Consequently, we are all resigned to putting up with him.
I must admit, however, that he is a great source of amusement to my brother and me. He is not the brightest knife in the box and his mispronunciation of certain words can often reduce the pair of us to secret fits of giggles. He can often be heard pontificating on the state of the nation – ‘I blame the immagants,’ or ‘The reason kids are obeast and have arthur-ritis is because of all the foreign muck they eat like chicken mascara and all them fried musher-rooms.’
He is actually afflicted with Echolalia – the habit of repeating the ends of your sentences back at you ‘. . . sentences back at you’ whilst nodding like a puppy with Tourette’s syndrome – though this is irritating rather than funny.
His reasoning is often so muddled that people come from miles around to worship it. The other day, he was sitting making pig noises (eating his lunch) when I got up to turn the television on. ‘That’s complete rubbish, that BBC News 24,’ he said, spraying crumbs over Audrey.
‘Why is that, John?’ I yawned.
‘It’s just the same thing over and over again,’ he replied. ‘They should change it – make it different every time.’
‘But that’s the nature of rolling news, surely – isn’t it? The reports will only change if something new develops,’ I tried to explain.
‘It’s crap,’ he said. ‘They should start off in the morning with what is happening at that time, and then tell you what is happening at lunch and dinner time and so on through the day as it happens. Not just the bloody same thing over and over. It’s rubbish.’
I went into the kitchen to seethe.
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