Love is...what?

When I grow up I'm going to have lots of love affairs.
I know I'll be married to dad by then but he won't mind, he will be very old when I've growed up. He's had loads of love affairs anyway. With Princesses and film stars and footballers' wives, though not with Posh Becks, and barmaids. They're the best he says "Always say thank you they do."

He says he loves the smell of Black ladies though Chinese are better cooks.
Princesses can be a bit snooty if you haven't got four posters.
And movie stars always look at themselves in the mirror and not at him.
He gets a great kick out of Footballers' wives, but that's true of any one's wife.
Barmaids are great, especially fat ones. They're always so grateful. Though he does get fed up having to keep changing his phone number.
But when mum says "who's best" he always says "You."

I don't know why people get jealous. Mum isn't jealous of my dad she says he can have a love affair over her dead body. He says "That's very selfless of you."

But I don't think he can have love affairs any more. Not now he's got me.
"What bloody time do I get?" He says.

That's why I want him to tell me all about his love affairs now, while he can still remember them and thinks I don't understand.

He never talks to anyone else about his love affairs and there is one he won't even tell me. The one that broke his heart and made him rebound on to my mum and have me.

I think it may have been one of the Princesses. He probably ran out of four posters and couldn't afford any more. But then he has plenty of money. He must have because whenever we go to the market, he always buys the big size ice creams and they're very expensive.

A CRYING SHAME

I had my first tantrum today. I don't know what came over me. I must be catching dad's black moods I think. He was having one of his, probably because my brothers who aren't my real brothers were watching "bloody cartoons" and he couldn't get any peace and quiet.

"Good" I thought, I can get to do my blog. But no, he shouted at me "Get off my bloody 'puter" he said.
I don't know what came over me, I screamed. He said it was a tantrum. It made him sad and he went down the pub.

Now I'm thinking, I can have a tantrum whenever he's being horrible and won't let me have things. Maybe I can have a tantrum and get to try try Coca Cola or eat his cigarettes.

What do you think?

I never get your comments. There's a box at the bottom of this page.
Or you can e-mail me if you're like my dad and don't like signing into things you don't understand.

The prefect world

Hi everybody, I got some great news.

I can do a poo standing up. Not many people can do that. Dad says even Uncle Malcolm can't do that, "not sober at any rate." Uncle Malcolm lives in Australia but they don't want him there. Dad says"If he can drink their awful beer he deserves to stay."

When he saw me stand up for the first time, he was amazed 'cause I'm only 8 months old.
I'm nearly 9 months actually but 8 months sounds more impressive.

He said he knew I was a clever little bugger and then I did a poo at the same time.

Mum wasn't so impressed, she'd just washed the floor, but dad said "If only she could talk as well, I could put her down for Oxford and she could be a politician."

I don't think I would like to be a politician. Dad says they are "scumbags" and should be banned. I don't want to be a scumbag and get banned. What I think he really meant was, well, I can't think what he really meant.

Dad has some great ideas about what should and shouldn't be. He says that in the perfect world there'd be no money, no religion, no politicians and people would be allowed to smoke in the pub.

That's weird, because it's almost exactly what I wished for. That and to have David Beckham for my real dad. I'd keep mum for my real mum though. I think she'd like that too.

I'd keep dad as well. He could live next door and write his books and smoke his cigarettes and shout at the servants and I could have my own 'puter and...

Oh, but I'm only dreaming again. I'll never have my own 'puter.

TRUST ME, THIS IS TRUE

Now don't go thinking that because I'm only 8 months old, I don't understand because I'm nearly 9 months and I do.

My dad says, and I believe him, "If every one trusted everyone else and we were all trustworthy, there would be no need for anything else."

The irony, yes I've looked it up and don't understand the explanation, but it's the word he used so I'll let it stand, is that the least trustworthy someone is, the more they benefit from those who are.

He says that we only need money because we can't trust people to do in return what we do for them. Who has the most money? The same people we should trust the least.

We have politicians because people are too stupid to tell them to "fuck off". They say "OOo, trust me and I won't take so much of your money to give to the rich people." The stupid people trust them and we all get shafted.

He says religion is another thing not to trust. It only exists because people can't be trusted not to go bonkers if there wasn't the slight chance they'd get fried when they died and can't be trusted to be nice to each other without the fear.

But above all, he says, don't trust people with smiley faces. They're always after something.

I keep my toys in a box because I can't trust Manchester not to touch them and snot on everything.

I hope I can trust you to keep clocking my blog now that it's starting to sound a bit preachy. I've looked at some of the other blogs and Jesus Christ don't they preach!.

I promise to write about love affairs next time.

Blogs and dogs are stupid

These blog things are silly aren't they? I mean, I start here in the middle, continue on and then go down to the beginning, which is at the end. Even the Chinese with their up and down and the Arabs with their right to left seem to make more sense. Then when I've finished for the day, I have to press 'start' to 'close'.

Sorry, I'm beginning to sound like my dad, he's always complaining. Being stuck out here with him in the middle of Thailand is bound to 'pression me. Still, he's not as stupid as our three dogs. How they got to be here I can't 'magine. I wouldn't have chosen them to live with us, I'd have chosen proper dogs.

The boss dog is called Leo. She's the boss because she says so, and being the eldest and fattest. She's a Doberman but doesn't know she's only a miniature, being about the size of a proper Doberman's fat breakfast.

Then there's Tiger. He's ginger and scruffy. Why the called him Tiger, I can't 'magine. Tigers are brave, fierce and magnificent. Our Tiger isn't. Oh, he's brave and fierce enough when it comes to yakking and chasing kids and old ladies on motorbikes. He knows they're not going to stop and chase him back. But if someone lets off a firework, and believe me they do that all the time out here in the middle of nowhere, then he runs and hides under the cupboard. Should have called him Powder Puff I think.

Jenny is black and shaggy. Gary says there's a bit of Chow in her, but then, what does he know? nothing. She likes to be left alone but the other two won't let her and she's stupid enough to do whatever they tell her. So she's the one who gets shouted at the most. It's always Jenny that gets caught with dad's newspaper in her mouth. Even though it was Tiger who pinched it. And it's always Jenny with her head in the rubbish bin when dad goes to see what all the noise was, while Leo and Tiger just sit there shrugging their shoulders.

Dad says he should get rid of the bloody three of them but the reason they're here in the first place is because someone else had already got rid of them. And mum never listens to dad when he puts his foot down.

She keeps coming home with stuff that dad doesn't want, like purple plastic baskets, things with pictures of the Kings head on it, Leo, Tiger, Jenny and my brother Pang.

He's not my real brother. He's not even my half brother. He's somebody Else's. His mum didn't want him as she had a new baby and no proper husband so mum brought him to live with us. Dad put his foot down so he got to stay.

Dad says he couldn't see the little bugger starve. He only wishes he would eat so much.

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Hey everybody, clock my blog:

http://babewithoutboxinggloves.blogspot.com

It's a bare knuckle account of life for an 8 month old girl living in Thailand. She hasn't yet learned when to keep her mouth shut so be prepared to be shocked.

Driving ambitions

"Hello my India Princess" he said as I climbed onto his lap. He'd been picking all the pockets off his new trousers. "Wouldn't be so bad if I had lots of money to put in them. Who but a boy scout or a soldier wants all these bloody pockets" he said as I gave him one of my biggest and bestest smiles and did a wee. "You little bugger" He said and I laughed, which made him laugh too.

He didn't laugh for long though because Gary arrived. I was sad too as it meant I'd have to put up with moron Manchester touching all my stuff and getting snot on it. I think I hate Manchester more than dad hates Gary.

Apparently, when I was just born, Gary said to dad "Just think, they could grow up together and maybe even get married one day." He was talking about Me and Manchester, yuck!

I would have loved to have been there, well I was but didn't know it, when dad said
"My aspirations for India run a million miles higher than that." I don't think Gary knows what 'aspirations' means because he was supposed to have said "Yeah, it's great to have an ambition isn't it. What's your ambition then?"

Dad tried to ignore him but he carried on, "No, go on, tell me, you got to have an ambition you know." I would have loved to known what was going on because my dad said :
"Well, getting my book finished and having it published. But there's a fat chance of that happening with you round here every five fucking minutes."

"No, no, I don't mean like that, I mean like mine's to live long enough to see Manchester grow up. At least ten years, so's he'll remember who his dad is. Babies don't remember nothing, you know that don't you?"

Well, my dad's dead clever with words sometimes, when he wants to be. "Gary, that's not an ambition, it's a curse. If Manchester grows up with no knowledge of you, it would be a blessing"

I can't think why he keeps coming round, can you?

DRIVING LESSONS

Gary drove his 4x4 pick-up truck right over the patch of dirt dad had spent the morning digging for mum to plant some of her flowers and parked it right where dad has told him a million times not to. He marched straight over to us, dad in his wet pants, me with none, leaving Samanee to lift out the pushchair while holding Manchester at the same time. None of them looked happy.

"Fucking Thai drivers!" he shouted. Dad groaned

"Before you say anything Gary. I know." Dad went on to say "Someone cut you up, someone came straight out of a side road without stopping or even looking, you had to brake on the roundabout. Oh, and six year olds shouldn't have motorbikes."

That shut him up. It true, they drive differently here in Thailand. dad finds it amusing. He says that at Christmas time, the big fat man in charge is given a new catalogue of all the road signs to choose from. "I think we'll have some of these yellow stripy things to put on the ground and some more of those blue signs with the arrows on and, oh look at this, three coloured lights on poles, they're fabulous aren't they?" If there is any money left over he'll buy another hundred silhouettes of buffalos to stick in any empty places that are left.

"The problem is," says dad. "No one tells the drivers what they mean." Then he laugh.

Dad never gets sweary when he drives. "I know they're pratts. So long as you don't hit one there's no problem."

'Well, they shouldn't be on the road." huffed Gary.

"Well, you shouldn't be in my house. Fuck off." replied my dad.

I told you he was good with words sometimes, didn't I?

Colour prejudice

It's going to be one of those days today I think.

Dad's just gone into town, we live in the country, so he will be all shouty and sweary when he comes back. He always is.

Anyway, I can have some peace and quiet while he's out. Dad likes peace and quiet when he's working on his 'puter, so do I.

I have begun to learn about colour. I've not noticed before. That's one of the best things about being 8 months old; there's always something new and exciting to think about every day.

Most things are green. the trees are a a browny grey. The ground is dusty pinky. I can see a bit of yellow on the bananas and some spots of red, pink and purple on the flower tips but mostly they are white. My dad is right; there is no blue. Except the things that should not be blue. Like the roof on the policeman's house in the village, the plastic water pipes and my new shoes.

My dad's great for wanting things banned. But Heir Hitler never bans the things he says should be.

"They spend all their time banning people for smoking in the pub, and the newspapers for telling everyone who they are shagging." He says. "But not for making things the wrong colour." He thinks people can't be trusted to choose the right colour so they should not have the choice.

If that was true, mum would have bought me pink shoes. So for once I think he may be right.

We went to Gary and Manchester's house once. dad says we won't be going back there again.
"I had to put my sunglasses on when I go in, not when I come out." he said. "It's a kaleidoscope."

It was such a big word for him to use that I had to look it up in the dictionary, the dictionary he never uses, to make sure he hadn't made a mistake. Well, he had and he hadn't.

I can see how he got it wrong but it actually comes from two Greek words, mixed together meaning 'beautiful form' and in no way describes Gary's house.

TROUSER TROUBLE

dad's just got back from the market. I thought he'd shout at me for being on the 'puter and I'd have to sign off quick but he's just huffy and puffy and picking all the pockets off the new trousers he's just bought.

"Can't find a bloody pair of bloody trousers without a bloody hundred pockets on them." I told you he'd be all sweary, didn't I?

I better go now anyway. He needs a cuddle. besides, I'm not wearing my 'dryper' pants and am dying for a wee.

Toilet tips.

Isn't poo lovely.

When you've tried all the usual tricks to get attention, do a poo. Everyone will say" Cor blimey, what's that smell? I bet India (or whatever your name is) has done a poo. Then they will come and give you the attention you crave. And you may get a bath into the bargain.

Sometimes I hold it in, not all the time, sometimes it comes out on it's own but if I can, I hold on until every one's doing what they call ' important stuff '. When no one is taking any notice of me. Then I do a poo. If you know its bath time, and I can tell, hold on until after you're all dried and powdered and dressed. Then do a poo. It's great you get to have another bath and lots of attention.

Farts are different. If you're growed up, don't do farts. Everyone just says you're disgusting. I know this from when my dad does one. "Oh, you're disgusting." They all say. But when I do one, everybody laughs.

It's such a shame I can't do farts when I want to. They always come out when they want to. I think they have a mind of their own. Maybe they just sit around inside my bum and think "I wonder what the weather's like today?" Then they come out for a look and say "Oh, it's windy again."

GOING FOR GOLD

My dad is definitely boss in our house.
It's just that mum has the better ideas, so we always do what she says.

He'll say "I think I'll just pop down the pub." and she'll say
"No, I want you to look after India, I have to do the ironing." Or he'd say,
"I have have lots of work to do today so I want peace and quiet."
"Well, change India first, I think she's done another poo." I like it best when mum changes me. She sings lovely songs. Not like him.
He says silly things like; "Yes, I'll change her, I'll change her for a baby that doesn't Shit for Thailand." He's only joking of course.
If I was that good he'd want to keep me and put me in the Olympics.

He'd be dead proud, and Thailand would be champions of the world at something for once.

Did you know that 'fried rice ' in Thai is 'cow pat'? Dad thinks it's very funny when mum says "We got cow pat for tea today." I can't see what's funny about fried rice, can you?

Dying for a smoke

My Dad smokes cigarettes. he say "Why not."

"I can afford it and it stops me getting angry. Well, anything that stops you getting angry must be good for you.

"If I was still in England," here we go again, "I'd have to pack up because it's so bloody expensive." Why can't he just say"expensive"? He's always swearing which isn't nice because I'm so 'pressionable. "I costs me less money to smoke than I'd save if I packed it in." he said.

Even an 'pressionable 8 month old can tell that's dibberish.


"Anyway, It doesn't affect my health like Heir Hitler would have us believe." Heir Hitler is what he calls the government, all governments, and it's true, smoking doesn't affect his health. He can chase after me for ages and only gets a little out of breath and doesn't have to have a sit down that often.

Dad says governments should be against the law. "All they do is go around shagging each other and lying about it. He says everybody is stupid who votes for them. They never say thank you. They just kick you up the bum.

His ideas of Heir Hitler may well be right. What do I know at 8 months old. I just wish he'd say it nicer.

"Now you can't even smoke in pubs. What's that all about?" I heard Gary tell him the other day. "Pubs are where you go to have a fag for fucks sake."

"You see Gary, the brewers are scared of being sued by their staff that's why they let Heir Hitler ban it. Now they'll pay the price for their stupidity and all the politicians will loose their jobs on the boards of breweries. It's what we clever people call 'poetic justice'." Gary didn't answer, just nodded, drank his beer and smoked his cigarette.

"For bloody hell's sake Gary, don't blow your smoke over India you stupid bugger."

"Who're you calling a bugger?" he replied.

"I don't see anyone else here and even if I did, it would still be you. You're the most selfish smoker I've ever met. You stupid bloody moron."

Great, they're off. Gary had been here over an hour and dad hadn't lost his temper once. They were having a fight. It was so exciting.

"Oh, that choice coming from you. You're a smoker."

"Yes, but I don't blow smoke in anyone's face and I don't smoke near India." Dad was getting mad. it was dead cool.

"Oh, India, India, precious fucking India, don't blow smoke on India." Gary being stupid made dad slap him on the ear, which made Manchester cry. Whoa, I know he wouldn't but I wouldn't want a slap from my dad. I thought Gary might try to fight dad back but he didn't.

My dad is right, Gary is chicken poo. But my dad isn't he's brilliant.

A word from the not so wise

When my dad has his black thoughts he likes to drink beer. I tasted it once when he wasn't looking. It's horrible, I can't see how it can help. If he finishes all the beer he drinks rum, whiskey, brandy and anything he can get his hands on. That must be even worse if he only drinks it when all the beer is finished. I don't want to grow up and have black thoughts if I have to drink beer.

Anyway, when he's like that it means I can have a go on his 'puter. He's in 'kit see dam' mode at the moment so doesn't care what I do. If he was well I'd get "Oy, what are you doing? Leave that alone you little bugger."

As it is, he's watching me now and smiling. I wonder what he's thinking.
He told me once what he was thinking when he had a black thought. "Oh, this and that. I've not always been a good man you know. I've done many bad things in my life. Regrets? I don't think so. I'm sorry for many things but I don't think I have any regrets. I've always said, and I tell you now little India, If you think you'll regret doing something, then don't do it."

I thought that was such a wise and wonderful thing to say. My dad's such a clever old bugger. Then it came to me; how am I to know that if I'm to regret something if I've not done it? Then it will be too late not to do it and I'll have regrets.

I can't wait until I can talk and tell him what a load of dribble dish he comes out with at times.

Be careful what you wish for, it may come true

My dad is brilliant. He can say some funny things, sometimes. He can paint lovely pictures even though they don't look like anything. He writes exciting 'venture stories on his 'puter. I have to take his word for that though. He makes beautiful things from wood with his chisels and stuff. He can drink loads of beer without getting sick. But he can't sing. He tries, he tries too often and I wish he wouldn't.

My dad says that if he had a wish it would be to understand and play music. "No, correct that, if I had two wishes, one of them would be to understand and play music." He didn't say what the other wish would be.

If I had two wishes, one of them would be for all the stupid people in the world except for my dad to pissadear.

There wouldn't be many of us left but we'd be much happier. There would be no money, no Gary or Manchester, no religion and people would not have war. Just lots of time to have love affairs.

I'm not telling what my other wish would be. I think everyone should have a wish and keep it secret. Don't you?

A lesson in the kitchen

Sorry I didn't write yesterday but my dad was working all the time and didn't stop. Only to have a wee. Then it was bedtime. I really, really need my own 'puter.
It was quite funny though, watching him work, getting all twiddly and sweary at the keyboard and humbling funny music with his nose. He said they were called 'she santys' and he learned them when he was a sailor. My dad's been many things. He's been a soldier as well and a cowboy and a mafia man. Now all he does is write about it.

I can't wait until I can read and I can see what he's written. I bet they're rubbish though. He never writes about love affairs. That's what I'm going to write about when I grow up.
I know what his password is already, it's 'spittoon'. He doesn't know many words 8 letters or longer. I got it on my fifth try. I don't know why i didn't try it first. He's the only man in the world who uses the word spittoon I think.

Dad says that during the war, here we go again, his Nan used to make rabbit pie. I think that's just a name. You can't make pies from rabbits, they're too small and you'd have to use a whole one to make a pie. OK, cows and buffalos are different, you can cut a big piece off one and he'd not notice but you can't do that with rabbits and I know my dad would never kill anything to make a pie.

He told me this when he was making a beef pie for his tea. He says I can have some when i get my teeth. I have two already but he says I have to have lots. I don't thing you have to have a whole mouthful though, otherwise he wouldn't be able to have beef pie.
He says making the pastry is the best bit. "It doesn't matter how dirty your fingernails are when you make pastry, they always come out clean." I think it was one of his stupid jokes. He forgets how 'pressionable I am. If I wasn't a clever little bugger I'd probably believe everything he says. I expect Manchester believes everything Gary tells him but then Gary isn't clever enough to make pastry and if he was, his fingernails would be dirty and I'm not joking.

SPA IN A JAR

"In the old days," he was telling me how he lived with his Nan because he had lots of brothers and sisters and there wasn't enough room in his dad's house for him as well. The toilet was in the garden and there wasn't a bathroom. Well, it's the same here in Thailand nowadays. For Nans that is. We have a concrete house with lots of bathrooms and toilets, all indoors but my Nan doesn't. She lives in a wood house on big legs with steps to get in and her toilet is in the garden and she doesn't have a bathroom.

It's quite funny to watch her having a bath. She wears a long nanny dress like all the old ladies wear over here in Thailand and washes herself while still wearing it.
she has a big stone jar full of rain water which sits all day long in the sunshine. It sits there all night long as well I suppose but in the moonshine instead. The water is lovely and warm in the evening when she has her bath. She sometimes strips me off and dunks me in the the jar. It's lovely and great fun. I wish we had a stone jar in our garden so's my mum can dunk me every day. I have a pink plastic bath. It's fun too though not as good as Nan's stone jar.

Dad says his nan didn't have a stone jar in her garden. "What's the point, there's no bloody sunshine in England." She had a tin bathe that hung on the outside wall and she'd bring it into the kitchen every Friday and fill it with hot water from the 'Ascot' (Google it yourself). He'd have a bath and then his nan would get in after. "Every Friday night, whether we needed it or not." Another one of his stupid jokes.

War and the part he didn't play

Mum gets up at six o'clock to get my brothers ready for school, leaving me to cuddle with dad while he waits for her to bring him coffee and I let him tell me all the stories of the adventures he's had.



They're not my real brothers only half brothers. Which half is my brother and which half isn't I don't know. I like to think it's Kop's feet and the rest of Pang. Pang is really funny and chases after me, pretending to be a frog. Kop is twelve and doesn't really like me much. They're little buggers too, though not very clever.



Dad tells me everything when we're in bed together and I'm his 'little India Princess' and not a little bugger. Well, he doesn't tell me everything exactly, he never talks about love affairs which is a shame as that's what I'm really interested in.



He tells me about when he was a little boy and about the war. I don't say anything to spoil it for him but I know he's not that old. Yes, he's really old but not that old. Grandad was in the war when he was a little boy. I think he's telling me what his dad told him and gets confused. Mum was in the war too and she's not old. I think it was a different war.



I've Googled war and know a lot but I don't like it. War is stupid and people shouldn't have war.



Did you know that in the war, babies didn't have what they like to eat? Everything was powdered and mixed up into a gooey mess and that's all they got with their milk. They didn't have ice cream and nuts and pork sandwiches and potato chips and Coca Cola.



You did know? Well nothings changed in this house.



Dad says he'll kill anyone he caught giving me Coca Cola. He meant any fizzy drink but he actually said "Coca Cola". Actually he said "bloody Coca Cola". His friend Gary was at our house, he has a baby too. His name is Manchester and he's 4 months older than me. "Stupid bloody name if you ask me." dad says, "Ugly little bugger as well." I have to agree with that. Anyway, he was at our house and was drinking cola in his bottle.



"Any bugger gives my India bloody Coca Cola and I'll kill them."



"What the fuck do you mean by that?" said Gary.



"What I mean is, what kind of dumb idiot gives bloody Coca Cola to a baby?" He didn't shout or anything. I don't suppose dad really cared if Gary gave Manchester a gin and tonic but Gary gets on dad's nerves and always makes him angry.



"Well the kid likes it, I'll give my kid whatever I wants." Gary replied.



"I suppose you'll have him tattooed and have his nose pierced next, so's he'll be just like his stupid father."



"Yeh, if I wants." It was getting good, I like it when dad has an argument with Gary but this time it didn't go any further. dad just walked away and pretended to work on his 'puter. Gary shuffled around getting red and custardy and shouted at his wife, Samanee to "get the bloody stuff together, we're bloody leaving."



I can't wait to try Coca Cola. It sounds lovely. It must be lovely if dad won't let me have it. He won't let me have lots of things. He's really horrible at times.

Hi again, that's better, he's asleep again so I have a chance to get to know you.

As I said, my name is India Frances Hope, I'm 8 months old and a clever little bugger. At least that's what my dad calls me and he should know, being a clever old bugger.

We have what he calls a liberal relationship. I don't know really what that means exactly, maybe it's that he lets me do what i like and it doesn't upset him even though he says it does. I get a little upset by some of the things he says and does but I don't mind really.

I looked up liberal in my dictionary, well, it's his really but he never uses it, says he knows all the words already. He's such a liar. It has six different meanings and I wouldn't say any of them fit him.

I then looked up relationship. "The state of being connected by blood or marriage." That I understood, we are connected by blood because he's my dad and when I grow up I'm going to marry him.

Mum says I can't because he's already married to her. When I learn to speak I'll have explain to her that there's such a thing as divorce. If she loves me as she says, she'll understand. He married her on the rebound anyway so it probably doesn't count.

Yes, I had to look up rebound as well, I seem to spend half my life looking in the dictionary. Thank Christ he doesn't know many big words or I'd have no life at all.

I had such a shock and it made me very sad. "In a state of recovery from rejection, disappointment etc: he married her on the rebound from an unhappy love affair."

He never speaks about it and I wouldn't push my luck by expecting him to. I'll get to the bottom of it one day, Then I'll help him get over it and he will be happy for ever. In the mean time I'll just have to put up with his 'kit see dam'.

Well I told you I was a clever little bugger didn't I? I Understand Thai as well as English. That's because I am Thai. I was born in Thailand. So was my mum but dad wasn't, He was born in England.

'Kit see dam' means more or less 'black thoughts'. He has them about once a week, they don't last long which is a shame because I get to have a go on his 'puter without him shouting at me.

The first time I saw him having a black thought it was dead scary. I didn't know it was a black thought, I didn't understand. He told me to "bugger off and leave me alone." He said I was getting on his nerves, touching his things all the time, making a mess and everything. "Bloody you too." I thought. "I don't need you either."

I think that's why we get on so well, now that I understand he's had an unhappy love affair and is rebounding.

Getting up and running

Hi, my name is India Frances Hope, I am 8 months old and want to tell you all what it's like being me. I haven't got much time at the moment as my dad will be awake soon and want to know what I'm doing on his "bloody 'puter again." please visit my blog again when I've sorted out what the hell I'm doing.