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Tomorrow I think that Ill own up, or once Dad has calmed down anyway. I dont know what hell do to me, he might laugh, he might cry, he might faint, he might even strangle me.

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Unbearable Tomorrow I think that I'll own up, or once Dad has calmed down anyway. I don't know what he'll do to me, he might laugh, he might cry, he might faint, he might even strangle me. But I think I've got to put him out of his misery. I like my Dad, he takes me fishing, he gives me arm wrestles in front of the fire on cold nights, he plays scrabble instead of watching the news in the evenings. He always keeps his promises. Always Dad has two bad parts though. The first is that he hates flies in fact he can't stand them. If there were a fly buzzing around the living room of an evening, he'd kill it. He wouldn't use a spray, because it would damage the ozone layer, he'd chase them round with a fly swat. He's a really good shot-he almost never misses. When his old one was almost worn out, I got him a nice new yellow one for his birthday. It wasn't yellow for long. Soon it had bits of fly smeared over it. I think that its funny how many different colours that flies have inside them, mostly brown and black. Sometimes there are streaks of red and blue. ...read more.


It should be easy. I'll slurp my soup. He really hates that. He will tell me off. He might even yell. I just know that he cannot go the entire meal without telling me off. That night, mum set the table with a new tablecloth, the good knives and forks, and the plates that I am not allowed to touch. She even puts out serviettes in the little rings. This means that this is a very important meal. We don't usually use serviettes. Gran, (or Mum's Mum) comes in her best clothes. She wears gold glasses and he frowns a lot. I don't usually see her very much, so she doesn't really know me, but I know from when I listened to Mum talking to Dad before, she doesn't like children. It is easy to tell that she doesn't like children. You can tell when someone does not like children because they smile at you with their lips but not with their eyes. Anyway, we sit down to tea. I put my secret weapon under the chair. I'm sure that I can make Dad crack without it. But it is there if everything else fails. The first course is soup and bread rolls. I make loud slurping noises with the soup. ...read more.


He is very red in the face. 'Andrew,' he says. He is going to crack. I have won. 'Yes,' I say with a mouth full of custard. 'Nothing,' he mumbles. Dad is terrific. He is under enormous pressure but still keeps his cool. There is only one thing left I can do. I take out the secret weapon. I place the fly swat on the table next to my knife, everybody watches me as I pick it up and begin to move it ever closer to my face and make it look like I am going to take a good bite off of it. To make things look worse I put some custard onto the fly swat and once again make it look like I was about to eat off of it. Gran runs into the kitchen yelling, 'He eats flies!' I can hear her being sick in the sink. Dad stands up he cannot take anymore. He cracks, 'Aaaaaaagh,' he screams. He charges for me with his hands open and out like claws. I run for it I run into my room, lock the door and lay low for the night. Tomorrow, when he calms down I'll own up, I'll tell him that I went out and bought a 50p fly swat and covered it in currants and little bits of liquorice that I smeared onto the fly swat. Well, I wouldn't really eat flies, not unless it was really important anyway. ...read more.

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