Letter from Australia

I’m back in London now, and I do miss my family. I enjoy hearing stories about my little nephew. He’s three. It’s amazing the pace with which they change. I heard he’s started speaking with a thick Spanish accent and now only communicates through song. He already has a job. He delivers milk to pensioners while riding his white Labrador, Leroy. Leroy is now apparently the size of a small pony and has become very gracious and charming. His dedication to personal hygiene equals that of a cat. My mum has grown a moustache and become a wrestler. Her husband is her manager. They travel the country in a Mini Minor looking for wrestling opportunities. And my sister went travelling! She went to the Turkey/Syria border and joined IS. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch. Ted disapproved but it’s hard to be taken seriously when your pleas are communicated in the form of a tender Spanish melody. ‘Ah, give it a rest Ted! Non! Non,Ted! Allah mak bah!’. Ted picks up his guitar, crying, and climbs aboard Leroy before galloping off into the distance, singing emotionally about his mum being lost to IS. He smashes the milk bottles into the pensioners windows, cursing them in Spanish’. Oh Ted, they won’t want you as their milkman now.

Posted in Fiction Post Comment