One of Zef's little mates spent all last night rushing between the dining room and the kitchen vomiting, until someone told him to use the toilet, then it was upstairs, downstairs, upstairs downstairs, poor little sod. The rest of the teenagers spent the night playing craps and roulette and blackjack with Maurice The Wife Ignoring Croupier, and I played too and won NOTHING AT ALL, despite an early winning streak.
So, that bastard Zef never got me a Christmas present! He spent all day in town today buying himself fitted hats and sports jackets, after foisting 436 vomiting seventeen year olds on his poor mother and brethren last night, and now he's in his room sulking because I told him to "get out of my sight"! He doesn't know he's born! When I was his age I was paying my own rent and my own food and working all the hours somebody's Skygod sent, and I bought my family Christmas presents and didn't have my friends over on Boxing Day to vomit! And I didn't sulk! Only occasionally, when my girlfriends would find out I was cheating on them. Or when I ran out of fags. Forsooth!
I am going to claim one of his fitted as my own, I think. That might learn him. Otherwise I fear he is doomed to grow up into a SELFISH ASSHOLE! And that would make one of us very sad.
The wisdom of Uncle Maurice part one: "Man with no grass, him look for lawn."
The wisdom of Keith part 1:
"Man with no grass, him look for weed."
More wisdom than I can handle, frankly!