Let there be drums

My dad has just bought me a drum set. It's a great present, and I love it. It has a foot pedal and sticks to to bang with and everything. Everyone laughed when I played with it. Dad now says it's the biggest mistake he's ever made. And I can't find the sticks anywhere.

I can't see how it was a mistake. Not like with the calc'lator he bought, that can't add up properly. Or the clock with the hands that run backwards. There's nothing wrong with the drum set. It sounds perfeck to me.

It doesn't matter much anyway, not having any sticks. My broken golf clubs make good sticks. So I can still play with it.

WOT! NO WATNEY'S

My dad has now finished building his pub. It's great 'cause I can go to the pub with him.
He told me that his Grandad use to take him to the pub all the time when he was a little boy.

His Grandad was something called a bookie. I don't know what that is exactly, but dad says that it was a good job, and he made a lot of money being a bookie.

He said that bookies didn't have shops when he was a little boy and the bookie had to go to all the pubs to collect the bets.

Bets are what you call it when you give money to a bookie and choose a horse to win a race. If the horse you pick does win, then you get your money back. If not, the bookie keeps it.

My Great Grandad won lots of money being a bookie, 'cause the bookie always wins. He then used to take my dad and my dad's Nan to the pub night times and buy lots of beer and whiskey and cigarettes.

I think that the best job of all is to be the pub boss. He gets the money that the bookies win and doesn't have to go out and worry about the coppers.

Coppers are people you have to give your money to, if you want to stay out of jail.

Dad said that he thought the same. He said he always dreamed of being the pub boss when he was a little boy. He told me he wanted a 'nice little pub in the country', all nicotine stained and smelling of stale beer. There would be two old men sitting in one corner, playing dominoes and supping the remains of their pensions. A couple of Teddy Boys would be at the juke box, chatting up a couple of girls with blond pony tails saying; "Go on love, another Babycham won't hurt you." At the bar, would stand some farmers with beetroot faces, moaning about the weather.

Dad said he would dream of seeing his Grandad again. He would be angry and crashing his ham of a fist on the counter 'cause Ted was a tanner short. Then buy him a pint anyway.

He'd see his Nan sitting at a table, playing whist with some friends. She'd sit there with an inch and a half of ash dangling off the end of a half inch cigarette butt, that would be glued to her bottom lip.

He said to me; "Is it only Player's Weights you could do that with?" How do I know!? Anyway, he said that only the butt ever hit the ashtray. The ash would have long ago dropped into her cleavage.

This time he didn't say that he was dreaming of a time before the war. But I could tell, by the look on his face, that he was. He sighed and said; "I have my dream country pub now. The only difference is that it's in a different country. And the only thing missing is; my Grandad's winnings."